inoh

A/N: This chapter was fighting me every step of the way. I'm so happy it's finally done 😭 I hope the end doesn't suck, I have no nerves left to go over it again.

You arrived at the Cody residence far too fucking early for any human interaction - much less the tedious, obnoxious kind - and so far any interaction you’ve had with a Cody that was not Andrew or J had been exceedingly tedious and obnoxious.

You parked your car in front of the garage. At least Smurf’s Jaguar was gone, meaning the manipulative hag attached to it was as well.

But you saw both Craig’s and Deran’s car - as well as Baz’s, though the latter you had been expecting. It was him who called you, after all.

It was pretty pathetic that all these grown-ass men who had their own places still slept at mummy’s all the time, though of course you knew about the manipulative, toxic hold Smurf had over her sons, so that thought was probably not the nicest to have.

It was early! You didn’t have the brain power or will to life required for nuanced takes on anything.

You threw the door of your crappy car shut. Pete gave you shit about it constantly, and how he was bored of fixing a pile of shit all the time when it would just inevitably break down on you again. You were sure his insults he hurled at your car whenever he worked on it were not beneficial to the overall state of it, though he never listened to you when you argued the point.

Craig and Deran - you could finally keep them apart, and wasn’t that a big win? - sat at the table by the terrace door, eating a lavish and fatty breakfast while watching Pope across the pool.

“Oh boy.” You muttered to yourself and sighed.

Baz hadn’t been exaggerating. He called you an hour ago to tell you Pope had been in the garden since before 6 a.m., swinging at his punching bag without a single break as if his life depended on it.

It was now 10 a.m.

He had that expression again… that same expression he wore when he didn’t hear the guards telling him rec time was over while he was bench pressing in the yard. Or the time guards sedated him because he was manically scrubbing at the walls of his cell with his toothbrush…

The concern the sight of him sent through your body like an electric charge was not enough to make you not notice just how hot Andrew was.

His gym shorts sat low on his hips. The exertion he’d put his body through since before the sunrise made his muscles look all the more defined. Sweat clung to his pale, freckled skin and glued the hair that had begun to grow out to the back of his nape.

“You took your sweet ass time.” Baz stepped out of the house, already oozing annoyance, and pulled you from your silent admiration - admiration, definitely not shameless drooling. Nope, you had standards. 

And oh, it was too early on a Sunday for bullshit like that!

“Ex-fucking-cuse me? Who do you think you’re talking to?” You crossed your arms.

“I called an hour ago.”

“Yeah? And I’m not at your fucking behest, dude. I’m not even here for you. You can go choke on a bag of dicks for all I care.” You scoffed and turned away from him and his snickering brothers.

You had met a lot of cocky, self-satisfied assholes in your life, but Barry Blackwell was definitely in the top five worst offenders.

Andrew had yet to notice your arrival. He gave a jump when you appeared in his peripheral vision that had narrowed as his focus had honed in on the punching bag, allowing you to get closer to him without him realising than you’d usually ever managed.

“Hey.” You crooned and stepped into his space. Andrew rasped your name, a breathy whisper that dwindled to nothing when you brushed your lips against his in a sweet, fleeting kiss. Your hands found the thick velcro straps of his boxing gloves. You tugged his gloves off him just to slip them on yourself.

You shuddered.

“They are wet.”

A blush spread across Andrew’s cheeks.

“Like really wet.” You held your hands out for him to fix the velcro straps in place anyway.

“Keep complainin’” He huffed. You gave his shoulder a little love-tap with the glove and shot him a wide grin before turning around towards the punching bag.

Your first strike made the metal structure it was suspended from rattle.

Andrew’s eyes widened behind you. You ignored the wolf whistling coming from his brothers. Your next punch landed even harder. His gloves were too big on you, and you felt the wet lining chafe against your unwrapped knuckles, but you hardly cared. Some primal form of satisfaction settled over your raw nerves and buzzed pleasantly every time you landed a punch.

Andrew slipped around you to hold the bag in place, allowing you to exert even more strength. The sun was already smouldering despite it not even being noon yet. Sweat started to gather on your brow and neck. You felt his hazel eyes resting on you. You were so used to his staring at this point - after three years of working with him and weeks of him following you like a lost puppy - it honestly felt strange when he wasn’t doing it.

“Someone at the prison found out.” You muttered between punches. “About you.” A dull pang tore through your knuckle the next time your fist connected with the punching bag, the weight you put into it causing a harsher impact with the unyielding material of the bag. You didn’t even wince. “About my father.” The next punch landed even harder. “About everything. You know that place. Rumour spread like a goddamn wildfire.”

You didn’t meet Andrew’s apologetic eyes. You knew the second he found out he’d feel responsible, which was why you hadn’t planned on telling him. He wasn’t. This was your cross to carry, always had been. Andrew added little to that burden.

“You can fight.” He rasped, his voice so small in comparison to the man it belonged to. It was almost laughable.

“Don’t think I’d have survived juvie otherwise.” You huffed between punches. “Or the loony bin.”

You took a step back and wiped your forehead on your arm.

“I’m not gonna lie, Andrew, I’ve been thinking about doing the thing I always do when things get difficult since Thursday. Didn’t even want to go to work on Friday but that would have just added fuel to the rumours.” You slumped down on the springboard next to the bag, right next to Pope’s towel and water bottle, though as far away from the edge of the pool as you could.

“These are really disgusting.” You hold your gloved hands out to him. A fleeting smile tugged on the corner of Andrew’s mouth. He sat down next to you, in between you and the water, to free you from the sweaty boxing gloves. You could take them off on your own, had many times, but you rather enjoyed watching Andrew’s profile and the concentrated expression on his freckled face as he undid the straps and gently tugged the too-big gloves off your hands. It was… nice to be taken care of for once…

You reached for the towel to wipe your hands.

“What do you usually do?” His question came out barely loud enough to interrupt the silence between you.

“I leave.” You shrugged. “I run away. I’ve never been in a place that was great enough that I’d be willing to deal with discomfort.”

Andrew ducked his head. His eyes slid off you, falling to the floor to your feet instead. He understood. He loathed that you were about to leave him, but he understood.

“But…”

He glanced up. Your expression softened.

“...I don’t want to. The instinct is still there of course - will always be, I guess - but… when I was thinking about it, I had to think about leaving you too, and… and I don’t want to do that.”

A crease formed between Andrew’s brows. You reached out to smooth it out with your thumb, letting the pad of your finger drag over his sweaty skin. Andrew leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. You wondered whether anyone had ever offered him such simple affection, affection that wasn’t tied to manipulation or demands.

You sure knew nobody had done it for you.

“Shit is really fucking messy, and that terrifies me, Andrew… but I feel things for you I’ve never felt before and I think… I think if I let myself be driven away from this, if I continue acting the way I have been, denying these feelings and hiding from whatever this between us is… I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

You didn’t know whether you’d ever been that open with Andrew - or anyone. Perhaps when you told him about your father, though this felt… bigger.

“I haven’t been taking this seriously.”

“‘tis okay.”

“It’s not though.”

Andrew opened his eyes. Sad, big, hazel eyes met you. He’d leaned into you further without even noticing and was taken aback by this sudden proximity for a brief moment. Your hand slipped down his face to cup his cheek.

“You deserve better. You deserve to have your feelings and relationships taken seriously.”

Andrew licked his lips nervously. “We are in a relationship?”

A smile tugged on your mouth. “Yeah.”

His insides did a somersault. His hand wrapped around your wrist, softly, always with such aching gentleness for you - as if he believed, truly believed you deserved it - to keep your hand on his cheek.

“Will you be okay at the prison? With people knowing?”

“Well, they don’t know. They have rumours. It’ll give me some headaches for a while, but I don’t think it’ll escalate beyond the fact a few more guys will think they can get into my pants. And you’ve seen me shut that shit down in the past.” You shrugged. Your gaze wandered over the garden, the tiki bar in the corner and the pool, growing distant and empty. “There will be a fire in my office on Monday.”

Andrew next to you tensed.

“I won’t be there, but many files and documents will be lost. Yours will be among them.”

“What about digital copies?”

You scoffed. “Folsom is too underfunded to have anything digitalised, sweetheart. There will be no proof you were ever one of my clients.”

“People know.”

“People think to know. You were part of my book club. You came by to talk sometimes, to escape the mistreatment of the guards. That’s not enough for an official client-relationship.”

“And the warden?”

“Oh, I still have the CCTV files from the SHU. The warden does not want your abuse to become public knowledge. If someone comes sniffing around, I’ll have him heel and say exactly what I want him to say, no problem.”

“You’re ruthless.”

“Hm.” If you had to be.

You watched the ripples on the water surface of the pool. Your hand dropped to Andrew’s thigh when he let go of your wrist. “Vin is out.”

“I know.” Andrew sniffed. “He came to me. I have it under control.”

You nodded. “Just thought I’d give you a heads-up.” You shook yourself, forcing yourself out of the sombre mood that had taken hold of you and turned towards Andrew. “So, that was me. What has you abusing poor punching bags since six a.m.?”

“Who told you that?”

“Baz called me.” You plucked a dead leaf off your skirt and flicked it away. “I intend to give his phone number to every pesky charity organisation and car dealership I can find. You know, as payback for going through your phone to find my number and thinking he can call on me like some fucking servant.”

“I’m sorry.”

You just shrugged it off and watched Andrew wring his hands in his lap. You didn’t urge him to talk or scramble to fill the silence with some useless drivel. Either Andrew was going to talk in his own time, or he wasn’t.

You braced your hands against the lounger behind you and leaned back, closing your eyes and tipping your head up to enjoy the warm sun on your face. The pool filter gurgled softly in the background. Bits and pieces of his brothers’ conversation - some plans for a big party tonight - drifted in and out of your focus.

“She put meds in my food.”

You turned your head at the familiar sound of tiny pills rattling against plastic. Andrew shoved two orange pill bottles into your hand. You read the names on the prescription on the labels.

“Who’s that guy?”

Andrew shrugged. “The guy Smurf stole the pills from?”

“She’s been giving you these? Without you knowing? What the fuck?!” You turned the pill bottles over to read the name of the medications. They didn’t ring a bell, not that that surprised you. You were a social worker, not a clinician. You knew a little bit about medication from your experience of working with your clients, but not nearly enough to recognise meds by their names and know what they were prescribed for.

“She only told me because my piss test came back positive and they kept me in lock up overnight. Said I took LSD, but I don’t do that shit, never have. Smurf confessed then.”

Andrew wasn’t with you every second of every day, despite it often feeling that way, but had you really missed that he’d been locked up?

“Many medications for like ADHD and shit are considered controlled substances. They are very strong stimulants. You even need a paper trail to bring them to a different country without getting charged for drug smuggling.” You looked up to find Andrew already looking at you. “Are you alright? With your PO, I mean.”

“He let me go with a warning.”

You nodded.

“Smurf told me to keep takin’ them, that I need them. Said I should tell my PO I’m back on my meds before my next piss test.”

You blinked at him in disbelief. “She thinks that’ll take care of this? Andrew, if these show up as LSD on your drug test, your PO will want to see a doctor’s note and a prescription. Taking prescription-only pills without one is the same as taking coke in the eyes of the law. And- and you don’t even know if these are appropriate for your needs! Taking just any random psychotropics, especially without a doctor overseeing it, does more harm than good.”

He ducked his head. “So you think I shouldn’t take them?”

“I-” You stopped yourself. You weren’t his social worker anymore. You didn’t have to be neutral. “Not these, definitely no. I’ve been offering you for three years to help you look into medications to help you cope. I’m not saying you should now stop considering it, but if you want to look into meds to help you cope, do it the right way, Andrew. These- who is to say these have made you feel any better?”

“Smurf says they have. Said they made me calm.”

“And how would she fucking know that, huh? Most pills take several weeks to show their full effects. They just make you sleepy before then, doesn't mean they are helping.”

“But I’ve been better… right? I- I- I’ve been normal.”

“Sweetheart…” You sighed and chucked the pill bottles aside to take his face into your hands. A big, trembling shudder coursed through him at your touch. His eyes fluttered shut, concealing the wetness beginning to gather on his lower lid. “Normal is a concept created by those who wanted an easy excuse to discriminate against everyone they deemed unworthy of receiving basic human decency. No one of us is normal. You’ve been… different, but honestly I thought you just had time to settle a little after getting out. It can be quite overwhelming to be back in the real world.”

Andrew grasped at his thigh, digging his meaty fingers into his thighs just above his knee until the skin over his knuckles and beneath his fingertips turned white. “So you like me better now? When- when I take them?”

“Andrew…” You murmured and caught his chin in your hand. He resisted your urging to look at you, and even when he gave in shortly after and moved his head, he didn’t lift his eyes. “Andy, look at me.”

Tension coiled tightly around his shoulders, but your soft tone combined with your gentle touch, and the unfamiliar nickname that oozed such easy fondness, poured prickling warmth straight into the centre of his being and underwashed the walls he’d drawn tightly around himself as a little boy so nothing would ever hurt him again until they crumbled to dust beneath your steady, grounding, calm gaze.

Andrew lifted his eyes.

“I liked you when you first arrived at Folsom. When you sat in that room with me so stiff, I thought maybe they had brought in a statue instead of a man, when you were so on-edge and scared and overwhelmed that you could barely talk to me. I liked you when the reality of your prison sentence settled in, and you lashed out in all your fear, when you attacked that guard and when you got in my face and yelled at me.”

Andrew winced at the memory. You didn’t seem bothered by it.

“I liked you when the guards had shoved so many meds down your throat you could barely do more than drool. I liked you when you were in the middle of a psychotic episode in solitary, and I liked you when you showed up in the parking lot of my workplace out of the blue. Andrew, I have liked every version of you.”

“She said you wouldn’t.” His voice sounded raw and heavy, as though a barrage of unshed tears were pressing down on his vocal chords. “If I don’t take them. That you’re scared of me.”

You stroked his cheek and wrapped your free hand around his in his lap to peel them away from his thighs before he hurt himself. “There is only one man I am afraid of, and it isn’t you. I wasn’t scared when you cornered me in the library, was I, love? Why would I be now?”

“Didn’t mean ta scare ya.” He muttered, ducking his head again. The pill bottles had found their way into his hands again somehow. He turned and twisted them between his fingers and peeled at the labels.

“I know.” You murmured.

“Just… just wanted to be near you.”

“I know.”

You leaned in. A wolfish grin tugged on your lips. “And look at that… I’m right here. No bars, no guards, nothin’ keeping you from me. Isn’t that something?”

An almost shy smile skittered across Andrew’s lips. You took the pill bottles from his lap and promptly chucked them over his shoulder and into the pool.

“But you won’t be taking those. Not if I can stop it, handsome. I’m not letting you go back to prison.”

Andrew shuddered at the thought.

“Not going back there. Ever.”

“No, you aren’t.” You agreed and ran your fingers through his hair. You couldn’t wait for it to grow out, for the pretty auburn curls you only got one look at during your initial intake interview with Andrew and then never again.

“I know some people.” You continued once Andrew’s fidgeting mellowed out to a more normal, more settled level. “In a clinic not far from Oceanside. They specialise in mental health crises, but I could probably get you an appointment - if you want to discuss a drug regimen that would actually be suitable for your needs.”

“And what-” Andrew rubbed his neck and stared at the orange pill bottles floating in the pool. “-what d’you think those are?”

“I’m not an expert in these things, love.”

“Yeah, but… you’re really smart.”

“Charmer.” You chuckled and pressed a kiss to Andrew’s cheek. He tried to turn away from you to hide the blush creeping up his neck, but you saw it regardless. 

“And you know me.”

“I really can’t tell, Andrew, and it’s not about me anyway. It’s about what you feel you could need some extra help in coping with. It could be the slight, rather pronounced OCD tendencies my apartment has been getting to now.” You bumped his shoulder with yours. “Or sleeping. Paranoia, anxiety, depression. All things a little chemical serotonin boost could alleviate a little. Help you function with a little less struggle.”

“I- I- I’ll think about it.”

“Oh, now he thinks about it?” You teased and pinched his side, earning a gruff look from Andrew. “What? A girl not allowed to be a little salty? I tried for three years to get you to at least consider it and now, what? I let you lick my cunt and suddenly he considers it?”

A furious flush spread across Andrew’s cheeks. It only spurred you on. 

“If I had known that was all it took… maybe I would have let you do it in the library three years ago.”

He opened his mouth, but no sound made it out, so he closed it again before finally managing a quiet, choked-off, “-you wouldn’t have.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I’ve always been very motivated to help you.”

The shift in his expression was a split-second thing, but you’d spent three years watching his face like a hawk to decipher what was going on in him when he refused to talk. You were up and running from him with a squeal on your lips. Andrew chased after you. You adored how much more playful he had gotten in just the last few days. You adored that you could make him feel safe enough to just be… himself. To just exist without questioning his every move.

You adored that you’d been made one of the few people on this earth who knew just how goofy his humour could get, and you adored his humour.

It was almost suffocating how much, how deeply you cared.

You were not yet brave enough to put the proper name to it, and all the less for the shadow of your father looming over you.

But there was no shadow right now.

You chased across the grass, narrowly avoiding Andrew’s things so uncharacteristically strewn across the entire place and almost crashed into a sun lounger. Andrew was on your heels. You knew the only reason you’d made it more than a couple of steps was that he was letting you.

A breathy chuckle behind you announced your imminent defeat.

You climbed over another lounger and tried one last, rather desperate dash for freedom that brought you dangerously close to the pool - a circumstance you did not realise in your frantic, giggling running.

Just like the puddle on the smooth bricks surrounding the pool.

You slipped on it, not enough to land on your ass, but enough to lose your footing - right next to the pool.

Your heart climbed into your throat. Sheer, blind panic flooded your nervous system and drowned out any fun you’d been having, any sense, and any ability to figure out an escape from the imminent, terrifying plunge into the deep water.

You tried regardless, arms flailing in the air, breath trapped in your throat, heart hammering in your chest as your insides twisted in mortal fear-

Arms wrapped around you from behind and tugged you back sharply. Your back collided with Andrew’s firm chest. His warmth coiled around you, normally unbearable in the scorching heat of the California sun, but comforting in this moment.

You were trembling all over. 

Tears already stung in your eyes despite nothing having happened, and you hated it. It was a pool. You’d have clung to the edge like a wet cat and hated your life, but it’s not like this was the ocean with deadly waves and sharp rocks and all the other dangers lurking beneath the surface.

“I’ve got you.” Andrew muttered against your hair, lips pressed to the crown of your head. His arms coiled around your middle kept you upright even when your legs crumbled under the weight of the fear crashing down on you.

You had no reason to feel this way. Nothing happened.

That’s not true, you forced yourself to think. I am afraid of deep water and just almost fell into deep water. It is normal to have a bodily reaction to that. It’s not nothing. You are afraid. It’s not rational. It doesn’t have to be.

You pressed your eyes shut and tried to count the seconds while taking a deep breath. Your fingertips strained against Andrew’s strong arms. Your nails were probably driving into his flesh, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t seem to even think about moving away from you.

He just held you.

He held you and buried his face against your neck, breathing in the same calming pattern you had shown him and were now failing gloriously at implementing.

He held you until you weren’t trembling anymore, until you patted his arm as though to tap out of a fight.

You wiped at the corners of your eyes in what you hoped was a subtle way, but Andrew noticed. His brows were furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line tightly. He glanced over your shoulder at the pool, and oh boy. If looks could kill, that pool would have been deader than the Dead Sea.

“It’s okay.” You murmured and forced yourself to release the tension in your shoulders. “I’m okay.” You ran your hands through your hair and emitted an empty laugh. “You can stop trying to kill the pool by looking at it, Andrew.”

He huffed. Then, without warning and in an unusually handsy fashion considering the fact you weren’t alone, he tugged you into him by the waist and buried his face against your hair again.

“Don’t like it when you’re scared.” He muttered.

You couldn’t help but smile as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Had anyone ever said that to you? Or even felt that way?

“I’m okay. You saved me.”

Andrew hugged you tighter.

When he eventually pulled back, he reached out to cup your face, not without brushing your hair aside so he could have an unrestricted view of you. He wore a pensive expression.

You waited for him to find whatever it was he needed before being able to speak, your hand wrapped loosely around his wrists.

It was easy to be patient for Andrew.

“I’ll go talk to those clinic people.” He murmured eventually, gaze sliding off you to fix on something behind your back.

“I’m very happy to hear that. You don’t have to agree to any meds or anything, but I think hearing what they might have to say could be good.”

“-if-” he continued and looked back at you. “-you tell Pete he can put people on your street.”

You tried not to roll your eyes. Emphasis on tried. You wanted to squirm out of his grasp, but that man was almost freakishly strong.

“A few gangbangers on my street won’t change anything, Andy.”

“If it doesn’t change anything, why insist on saying no?” Now he was the one who sounded exasperated with you. 

Variety is the spice of life - or something like that.

Andrew grabbed your wrist when you pulled harder to get away from him and dragged you back towards him, looming over you with that intense, almost feral expression he always got before starting a fight on the block.

His brothers tensed. Baz made half a step towards you while Deran and Craig were up and out of their seats.

It made your blood boil that they actually seemed to think Andrew would hurt you. It made you absolutely furious.

“It would just put them in danger-”

“-they’re gangbangers-”

“-so they deserve being cannon fodder for a serial killer?! I don’t need you or Pete to realise I’m nothing but a huge bitch, alright?! For fuck’s sake, Andrew! Can’t you just accept my decision?”

You didn’t mean to blow up on him.

You deflated when he dragged you away from the pool and onto the lawn before letting go of your wrists.

“You’re not.” He whispered.

“I don’t care about his victims, okay?” You replied, voice even quieter than his. “The people he kills? It doesn’t affect me. Remember how- how we talked about dissociation?”

He gave a small nod.

“Well, I think I dissociate from empathy or something, because I feel bad for the feelings my mum has to go through when he breaks out and for my former best friend from college he put in the hospital during one of his vacations, but I feel absolutely nothing for the truckers I lured in for him-”

“-They were predators. They fucking deserved it-”

“Or for my boyfriend I had when I was eighteen. My first boyfriend. My first love. My father killed him, fucking slaughtered him, and when the cops showed me pictures of his body I felt nothing. I knew about those girls, those girls he’s killed since escaping this time, before Pete told me and I. don’t. care.”

Tears clouded your vision. Not for his victims but born of shame because what horrible, wretched person would be left so utterly unaffected by such senseless, brutal killings?

Andrew was quiet for a moment, and his silence hurt worse than if he had turned away in disgust, worse than you could have ever anticipated it would feel.

What would he think now? Now that he was forced to realise you weren’t some pure, perfect, angelic being? It was terrifying to let him see the ugly, broken parts of you. Yeah, you’d spend three years holding the broken pieces of him together in a ruthless, broken system with nothing but determination and a debilitating inability to give up on people, but who could ever look at you after hearing that and deem you worthy of the same?

Of course he would no longer care about you once the perfect, idealised version of you he’d created in his mind in his lonely, cold cell during long nights shattered before his eyes.

When he found out everything about you was nothing but a fucking lie.

You were a lie.

He made a step towards you. You backed away on instinct. Skittish like a deer unsure about the man approaching.

“You said- dissociation is emotional detachment or severe disconnection from physical and emotional experiences… it’s a- a coping thing. When shit gets too heavy to carry, the brain just… just shuts it off so it won’t hurt you anymore. Like- like cutting off a rotting limb so the rest can survive. It doesn’t make you bad, just… just human.”

A tear rolled down your cheek. “He kills girls who look like me, Andrew. Because they dare to look like me. And I still love him.” The last part, that terrible confession that haunted your whole life, escaped your lips in a breathless whisper. “It is bad. It’s fucking evil.”

“It’s heavy.” Andrew said. “Not evil.”

You forced a smile.

It was sweet that he was trying to comfort and help you - you didn’t miss how he’d incorporated some of the things you’d told him over the years - but no matter how sweet his words, he could not undo all the years those feelings and convictions had had to take root inside you.

Just like you could not undo all the damage Smurf’s manipulations had done, nor how deep her hold over him ran, and likely always would.

You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes and groaned. “It’s too early for emotional vulnerability and deep dives.”

“It’s 10 a.m.”

“Yes. Early.”

Andrew raised a brow.

“It’s Sunday. That’s for- for sleeping in and brunch and rotting on the couch in sweatpants. I hate being awake.” You whined the last part.

You watched Andrew suck his bottom lip between his teeth through your lashes. “‘could buy you breakfast.” He muttered, glancing to the side to escape your attention, another blush already beginning to creep up his neck.

“Those oatmeal and chocolate chip pancakes you like so much?”

“You would?” On any other day, with any other person, you’d cringe at your hopeful, sweet, pleading tone and the fucking puppy eyes you made, how his simple offer had all the tension slipping off your body, leaving you all soft and sweet - and opening your heart to another person was so disgusting.

And at the same time you knew, if the roles were reversed, you’d be quick to offer Andrew the same. And it would make you happy too, to take care of him.

The day had barely started, and you were already exhausted.

You texted Pete and called your acquaintance at the clinic while Andrew showered. You refused to go out in public with him reeking of sweat.

You yawned at least three times during the drive to your favourite diner, and if Andrew drove around the block a couple of times while your eyes were closed, your forehead resting against the window, well, you wouldn’t have been able to tell.

He knew how exhausting it could be to be afraid, to be emotional and to let other people see that side of you. His sessions with you at the prison had often left him drained, which was a good thing - sleep had been even harder to come by in that place.

You dug into your stack of pancakes with all the fervour of a starving woman. And you were. Starving. You got the call from Baz while still deep asleep and just rolled out of bed to make your way over to Smurf’s place. You were already proud of yourself for managing to put on some matching clothes, brush your hair and not forget your shoes before leaving the house.

Andrew watched you with faint adoration twinkling in his hazel eyes. You glared at him, wrapped your arm around your plate and turned away from him. He hadn’t made any move to touch your food - he hadn’t moved at all since sitting down - but from your reaction, he knew better than to try. Ever.

He didn’t fancy getting bitten.

Or, well… maybe.

You didn’t ask how Andrew knew about your favourite breakfast you only got on special occasions or when you desperately needed a pick-me-up.

Of course he knew.

It was hard to imagine that there’d been a time before Andrew, that there were things he didn’t know about you.

He’d gotten so deeply entwined in your life, even before he was released, and it had only gotten worse in the days after.

Not that you minded.

Especially now that you’d made the decision that you didn’t care what other people thought, that you wanted Andrew, whatever the consequences of that would be.

“You know,” You said, chasing a drop of maple syrup running down your lip with your tongue and pointing at him with your fork. Andrew’s eyes followed your tongue. His cheeks tinged pink, a colour that only darkened when he abruptly tore his eyes away. You smirked. “My Sunday is holy to me. I have a whole system.”

“A system?”

“Uh-huh, and I’ve already bent it for you, mister.”

“Should I feel honoured?”

“You should.” You nodded. “Especially after I touched your nasty gloves. You know, I’m almost relieved to know you have at least one thing in your life that isn’t squeaky, shiny clean.”

“I’m pretty sure nobody says ‘squeaky, shiny clean.’”

“They should!” You muttered around a mouthful of pancake. “I’m just sayin’.” You swallowed with barely any chewing, like a pelican devouring a fish. Andrew looked slightly disgusted, but also as if he was oddly fascinated. “If you want to spend the rest of the day with me, you have to follow my rules.”

Andrew leant back in the booth, draping his arm over the back casually and grinning at you. “Lay it on me, boss.”

“When we get home-”

“Home?”

“Home. My home. It’s straight to bed. I’ve already missed-” You glanced at your watch. “-two hours and forty-two minutes of bed rotting time.”

“Oh no.” Andrew said in the most detached, unimpressed tone ever.

“Exactly, mister. We’ll need to rot extra hard to make up for the lost time.”

“Consider me at your service.”

“Good.”

“Do the pancakes make up for some of the lost bed rotting time?” 

The term sounded odd coming from Andrew’s lips.

“Mh-hm. A little. Teeny bit.” You finished the last bite of sugary goodness and grabbed your cup of water before mirroring Andrew and leaning back against the cracked synthetic leather. “So, bed rotting. How familiar are you?”

The corner of Andrew’s mouth rose even higher.

“A total newbie.”

You clicked your tongue in disapproval. “I see, I have my hands full with you.”

“You always do.”

“Charmer, but this is serious, Andrew. Get your head in the game, or you’re out.”

“You wouldn’t do me like that.”

“Oh, I would, handsome. I take my Sundays very seriously.”

“Okay, okay, okay. I defer to you, ruler of the holy Sunday.”

“That has a certain ring to it- Stop distracting me, Andrew!” You huffed and crossed your arms. Andrew gave you his best puppy dog eyes, which paired with the grin still plastered across his stupid handsome face and that faint auburn five o’clock shadow, ruined a perfectly good pair of panties within seconds.

“Bed rotting, only comfy clothes or no clothes allowed. Shitty movies or scrolling on the phone. Nothing that required even an ounce of brain power. Snacks-”

“In bed?” Andrew raised a brow.

“The unhealthier and crumblier, the better.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“The only getting up allowed is for snack refills, the toilet, or to get the takeout order from the door.”

“Takeout?”

“Oh, yes. Takeout. At least two different kinds and enough for at least the entire next week. I want to be drowning in spring rolls and pizza buns.”

Andrew chuckled.

“And there may or may not be some devil’s lettuce involved.”

“You smoke?” His lips curled again, one corner of his mouth climbing so high it revealed one pearly white fang. You swiped some syrup up off your plate with your finger and sucked it clean. He placed a few dollar bills on the table, including a generous tip for the waitress.

“I dabble. Perhaps. Sometimes.”

“I never would have thought.” Andrew held the door open for you, and then again the car door.

The drive to your apartment was quiet, Andrew for once forgoing his obscure playlist of miscellaneous rock songs from different genres and eras. You never knew what to expect next.

As soon as the door shut behind you two, you dragged Andrew closer by the collar of his shirt and pressed your lips to his. He stiffened beneath your touch, a tiny gasp falling into your kiss to be crushed by your lips.

“Does this fall under bed rotting regulations?” He mumbled as you walked backwards to your bedroom, taking him with you.

“All bed-based activities are permissible.”

You tugged at the button of his jeans. The back of your knees hit the edge of your bed. You let yourself slump down on the mattress and pulled on his jeans to take them down with you. You pushed his shirt up and into his hands to get access to his tanned, freckled skin. He took your hint and pulled the shirt over his head to drop it on the floor.

Your fingers hooked under the waistband of his boxers. You looked up, finding Andrew’s eyes already trained on you, a furious blush blooming on his cheeks.

“‘this okay?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Yeah?” You rolled the waistband down, revealing more of the firm muscles stretching across his hips. “And this?” You pressed your lips to his hip. A shudder tore his entire body. He pressed his lips into a tight, thin line and gave you a tiny nod.

You cupped his already hardening dick through his boxers.

“I want to make you feel good, Andy.” You purred and mouthed at the bunched-up waistband. You tipped your head to the side, watching him. “Do you want that? Do you want me to make you feel good?”

“Y-yes-”

That was all you needed to hear. You pushed his boxers down further and slipped off the bed, coming to kneel between his feet. Andrew’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides. You ran your palms up his thighs and towards his arms, dragging them down until they reached his hands.

“Relax for me, love.” You opened up his fists and guided his hands to your hair. He kept them there, awkwardly resting against your skull while you ducked your head to lap at his twitching cock. Andrew inhaled sharply above you.

“Relax.” You cooed and rubbed his thighs while peppering soft, coaxing kisses all over his twitching, velvety skin. “You’re so tense.”

“‘m always tense.” He mumbled, embarrassment and shyness colouring his raspy voice.

“Mhm… we’ll just have to fix that.”

Still stroking his thighs and hips, you straightened up to spread a trail of kisses up his firm, if a little protruding, stomach and back down towards his hips.

Andrew grabbed your head all of a sudden and gently pushed you off. You were confused for a moment, not used to guys turning down freely offered blowjobs - but then again Andrew wasn’t like most guys.

“Hey,” You cooed and got up to cup his cheeks in your hands. “What’s the matter? You don’t want it?”

“I-” He clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. Hesitantly, he put them on your waist, barely touching you, as though he was still unsure whether he was actually allowed to hold you. Like someone could have changed the rules without telling him.

“It’s okay if you don’t.” You brushed some of his hair back and nuzzled his jaw with your nose, pulling him closer, wordlessly reassuring him that physical contact was more than welcome.

“Don’t like- standing over you like that… seeing you on the ground…”

“Naw, you’re so awfully sweet, Andy.”

You didn’t miss the way he shuddered at the nickname. You turned him around, pushing him down on the bed to straddle his lap.

“This better?”

“Yeah.”

“I can still suck your cock.” You purred, walking your fingers along his pec. You felt him twitch, his cock pressed to your already damp panties. “I can get all comfy between your legs while you sit over there, with your back to the headboard. It’s nice and padded.” You murmured between fleeting kisses pressed to his jaw and cheeks. His hands tensed at your hips.

“Go on, love, get comfy for me.” You slipped off Andrew’s lap and watched him scoot back before settling between his legs. He still looked awkward and tense and uncomfortable, but that was pretty much his baseline…

“This better?” You ran your hands over his chest and stomach, past his hips and over his thighs. He gave a tight nod in response. You took it as permission to proceed, bending your head down to pepper kisses over his hips, ignoring his hard cock for now.

You stroked his thighs and hips, rubbing your own thigh together as you lay on your side, nestled between Andrew’s legs. 

Tentatively, almost shy, Andrew weaved his fingers into your hair eventually.

“That feels nice.” You cooed and leaned into his touch, encouraging him to keep it up. He dragged his blunt nails softly over your scalp, coaxing a quiet moan from you that felt like liquid fire in his veins.

You didn’t touch Andrew’s cock again until he was shifting his hips restlessly, bucking up against the air while you covered his thighs in kisses, gentle bites and hickeys.

He rasped your name, a sound so delicious, so decadent and rich, you had to close your eyes and bite your bottom lip against the wave of desire it poured straight into your core.

“You want more, love?”

Andrew nodded.

“Use your words for me, big boy. What do you want?”

His mouth fell open around a silent moan, and he dropped his head back against the headboard, squeezing his eyes shut. His fingertips curled against your scalp.

“What do you need, Andy?”

His mumbled words were almost too quiet to make out, even in the relative silence of your bedroom (the seagulls were once again giving one of their concerts).

“-to suck my dick-”

Your grin widened. “Good boy.” You purred. Andrew groaned. You wrapped your fingers tightly around his base and dragged your flat tongue against his swollen, leaking head, lapping up the pre-cum already beading at his slit and moaning at the taste of him spreading over your tongue.

His hands fell away from your hair, instead twisting into the sheets. You watched with both idle fascination at the pleasure tugging at his features, and wicked delight to see him come undone at your touch so easily.

You kept things slow and light, spreading sweet kisses and tiny kitten licks across his entire length after one, rather half-hearted, suck against his balls had him cursing and tensing up.

You didn’t want to break poor Andrew the first time you had his dick in your mouth.

You took his tip into your mouth and swirled your tongue over him.

“Andrew.” You purred and pressed a kiss to his leaking slit. “Look at me. I want you to look at me when I make myself choke on you.”

He shook his head. “‘m gonna come.”

You dropped a hand between your thighs, pushing aside your skirt and panties to relieve some of the desperate need gnawing at you.

“That is kind of the end goal here, sweetheart.”

He shook his head again. “Want to fuck you- want to make you feel good.”

“Yeah? You’re so sweet, Andrew.”

“‘m not sweet.”

You crawled up Andrew’s body, tugging your panties down at the same time, and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

“To me you are.”

He grabbed your waist with much less reservations this time. You straddled his lap and shamelessly pressed your sopping cunt against his hard cock.

His breathing was heavy and laboured, pupils blown so wide only a thin sliver of hazel remained visible. His auburn hair shone like molten metal in the narrow strips of light that fell through the gap in your curtains.

Andrew buried his face against your neck. His arms came up to wrap around your waist, to pull you closer, feel you rocking against his aching cock. “Tell me- tell me how to- make you feel good. Please.” He rasped out your name between groans, pleading, begging for you to tell him what to do, for you to give him clear instructions, to save him from this state of never quite knowing what the whole world seemed to intuitively get without ever needing explanations, to give him a task he could not fail at and the praise he’d never received.

He jumped to your every request eagerly, and quickly you found yourself on your side, with one of Andrew’s arms around your waist, the other curled around your throat, trapping the back of your head against his chest as he nuzzled the crown of your head and fucked into you from behind.

Like a beast finally unleashed, he pounded into you, each thrust accompanied by lewd squelching noises and the tell-tale slap slap slap of flesh hitting flesh. He pressed his mouth to your head, breath heavy and loud, and peppered kisses against your temple and the shell of your ear. You dug your fingers into his arms or tore at the sheets beneath you, delirious from the pleasure he slammed into you.

“Your thick cock fills me up so well, Andrew-” You moaned, toes already curling and feet kicking helplessly against the sheets. Andrew hooked his leg over yours and put more of his weight onto you, pushing you harder into the mattress while you all but screamed his name.

You came hard, your walls tightening around Andrew and dragging a broken groan from his lips. His hips moved ceaselessly, keeping up their brutal pace throughout your climax, forcing his cock deeper into your constricting hole and dragging every last drop of pleasure from you, until you were sobbing his name and drooling all over his arm.

He didn’t stop.

He rolled onto his back and pulled you into his lap again, hugging you to his chest while fucking into you from below, moaning and sobbing into your neck while you ran your fingers through his hair and whispered sweet praise, repeating again and again how good he made you feel, that he didn’t hurt you, that you liked it when he got rough.

At one point, when he was draped over your trembling body, your knees aching against the mattress, head squished into the pillows, ass in the air, you called your safeword - the word you’d told him meant he had to stop no matter what, the word that existed for his comfort more than your safety, so he’d know even when he got rough because you asked for it, you would tell him when it stopped being good.

You didn’t say it because you wanted to stop - you were good right where you were, getting fucked into oblivion by your smoking hot boyfriend - but you sensed Andrew needed the break.

His breathing came rapidly, erratically, not in the same, out-of-breath-from-physical-exertion-way. 

And you wanted him to know you’d actually use the word, actually tell him to stop - and you needed him to know, to realise that he would.

That no matter how deep he was in the throes of need and want and pleasure, he would stop.

You curled up at his side and talked him through breathing exercises, your hand running up and down his sweaty chest - until he relaxed, until he turned to putty beneath your fingertips again. You pressed sweet kisses to his cheek and whispered quiet praise while your hand wandered down his abdomen, towards his still hard cock.

He’d been too in his head, too wrapped up in spiralling thoughts and the feeling he had to perform for you one certain way to even come. Poor thing was exhausted and still pent up, pounding into you with no sense or reason, and while you didn’t object to that - you couldn’t enjoy yourself if Andrew wasn’t enjoying himself as well.

You pumped his cock, his skin slick from your arousal, keeping your hold on his nice and firm, running your thumb over his tip every once in a while.

“Come for me, love.” You purred and dragged your teeth along his jaw. Andrew tensed. A guttural, deep groan rumbled in his throat before he came, splattering ropes upon ropes of cum all over his lower abdomen and your hand.

“Good job, sweetheart. Did that feel good? You came so hard for me, darling, thank you.”

Andrew turned his head to the side, eyes glossed over with unshed tears. Your smile softened further. You leaned in to kiss him, deep and slow, and utterly unhurried. You lay there for a while, ignoring the mess Andrew made of himself and you made of the bed, kissing and grabbing at the other person’s body, hands stroking across sweaty skin and squeezing supple flesh, drowning in each other and the moment until long after Andrew’s cum had dried.

Next Chapter

“Hiiiiii Andy.”

At your cute drunken slurring, he chuckles, “Hey, pretty girl. You all still having fun?”

“I wasssss,” you pout. He can hear traffic rushing by and it prickles the hair on the back of his neck. “And then my friend twisted her ankle really yucky, so her sister had to call an ambulance, so now I’m alllllll aloooone and I miss you!”

Pope launches out of his bed, already tugging on clothes and grabbing his keys before he’s even asking, “You’re alone? What are you doing?”

“They wouldn’t let me get in the amber- the bamba- am-bu-lance. Don’t be mad at me pleeease.”

“I’m not mad,” he assures, “just let me know where you are and I’ll come pick you up.”

“Noooo you don’t h ave to do all that. I’m okay; I’ve got Uber and stuff. I just wanted to hear your voice because it’s so nice and makes me so happy.”

“I’m coming to get you,” he says, firm this time as he slinks through his house in the dark. No room for arguing. The idea of you in a car with a strange man makes him even sicker than the thought of you drunk and alone on the street. “Tell me where you are.”

“Uhhhh, we started at this bar called Sporty’s…” Your voice trails off and he can hear you thinking hard. It would be cute if anxiety weren’t making his skin crawl. He hasn’t felt this visceral, tangible need to protect someone in a decade. You go on as he slides into his truck, “Then we walked like a block or two to get to this other club and that’s when the ankle thing happened, so I guess I’m…Shoot, I can’t see any street signs and it’s so busy it’s making my head hurt.”

Andrew sighs and connects you to the truck’s Bluetooth so he can start driving. He knows where the first bar is and he’ll drive all of Oceanside in concentric circles if he has to. “Can you share your location with me, sweetheart?”

You let out a pleased giggle. “You’re so smart, Andrew.”

A second later, his phone pings that you’re now sharing your location with him. He praises, “Good girl. Now sit down and stay put, okay?”

“Ooooh, daddy Andrew tonight.”

Andrew shakes his head and sighs, rolling his shoulders. “Just be good.”

“Okay, okayyyy. Don’t hang up, though, please? I don’t wanna be alone.”

“Never,” he replies, fast and certain. “You never have to be alone anymore. I’ve got you. I’m almost there.”

When he pulls up just a few minutes later, you’re sitting on the curb with the straps of your skimpy dress falling down your arms and the lower hem hiked up nearly to your panties. Andrew has a conniption. He’s not mad at you – to him, you could very literally do no wrong – but he’s absolutely fucking pissed at every single man who walks by and whistles or stares or does crude gestures. And he’s annoyed that he can’t really be mad at your friends since there was an emergency, which only makes him more annoyed.

Your gleeful squeal when you spot him getting out of his truck softens his edgy mood, at least. A little. When you fling yourself into his arms with complete trust, nuzzling his neck and kissing his face all over, he softens the rest of the way. Because you’re safe now, so nothing else matters.

“Thanks for coming to get me, Andy,” you giggle, leaning all your weight on him. “You’re such a good boyfriend.”

He slings an arm low around your waist and helps you stumble toward the car. “Am I now?”

“You’re perfect,” you stress seriously. “You always take such good care of me. I like you soooo much.”

“I like you back, killer.” Grinning, he manhandles you into the passenger seat, clicks your seatbelt, and kisses your temple. “Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

The whole drive home, you sing along way too loud to the playlist of songs you added to Andrew’s phone in the name of educating him on pop culture. Andrew just rolls the windows down and basks in your delight. He parks on the street in front of your place, his huge black truck comically large and imposing among the tiny pastel row houses. You wait patiently for him to open your door, undo your seatbelt, and help you to your feet on the sidewalk. He even digs your keys from your purse and unlocks the front door because he can tell your fine motor skills aren’t necessarily at their best.

Once he has the door locked safely behind you, the security system he installed himself engaged, Andrew sits you down on your living room couch, gets you a glass of water, and instructs, “Drink all of that. I’m gonna get you something to eat to fight off that oncoming hangover.”

You nod obediently, so precious and wide-eyed he wants to eat you alive. After heating up some leftovers for you, Andrew perches on the couch next to you and watches you eat and drink.

“Y’know,” you must absently, still drunk but losing the sloppiness, “I think a lot of people would be freaked out by how you stare at me.” Before he can tumble into a wormhole of insecurity, though, you go on, “I like it a lot, though, because I kinda know I’m the only thing on your mind. You make me feel like I’m the center of the whole universe. That’s a good warm feeling. So I think you should stare at me whenever you want all the time.”

Andrew’s blushing hard and smiling like an idiot as he averts his eyes for the first time in twenty minutes. When you make a little whimpering sound of protest at losing his hazel gaze, he looks at you seriously and promises, “Alright, I’ll stare at you whenever I want all the time.”

You give him a happy hum. Finished eating now, you start to get down on your knees in front of him and bat your eyelashes. “I thought I might say thank you for being so chivalrous.”

Andrew shakes his head and stops your descent, keeping you on the couch next to him. He cups your cheek tenderly and says, “Thank me by getting a good night’s sleep, alright?”

Pouting out your lower lip dramatically, you press your forehead to his chest and whimper, “At least stay here with me? I don’t wanna sleep alone.”

He kisses the top of your head and replies, “If you’ll be good and actually sleep instead of trying to get in my pants.”

“But I like getting in your pants. That’s where my favorite toy lives.”

Andrew lets himself crack a smile at that. “Your favorite toy, huh?”

“Don’t teeeease me,” you whine back. When he gives you a stern gaze, trying hard to stifle his amusement, you lift up one hand, offer your most innocent eyes, and add, “Pinky swear. Just wanna be in your big big big arms.”

He links his pinky with yours and grumbles, “Good girl.”

“Don’t play dirty,” you reply, shoving a finger into his pec. Then you move to stand, get hit with vertigo, and beg pathetically,“Can you carry me, Andy? I feel like a noodle.”

────﹒♡﹒────

You’ve got the tv volume on low, some rom-com you’re half paying attention to. Thinking about Smurf, the grandma from hell. Her and her weird reverse oedipus complex. 

You’d been privy to the weirdness that goes on between her and the guys for years. There’d been many “yo what the fuck” looks sent Deran’s way. He’d always shrug and say something like “that’s just Smurf.” 

When you first started coming around the Cody house, Smurf was not your biggest fan. Always side-eyeing you. Never saying anything outright, but you could definitely tell she didn’t trust or like you. It took some time but she eventually warmed up to you, as much as a woman like her could. You remember her calling you “funny” once, but you don’t think it was a compliment. 

You never thought the ire she usually reserved for Cath would be turned to you, but you guess that’s what you get for stealing away her “baby”, Andrew. 

You’re still deep in thought when you hear the key turn in your door. Pope comes in carefully, toeing off his boots at the door. 

“Hey babe…” you say cautiously. 

Pope doesn’t respond; just makes his way over and settles in next to you, wrapping you up in his arms. He lets out a deep sigh, nuzzling his face into your hair. You let him hold you for a moment, feeling his body melt into yours. 

You lean back slightly, meeting his eyes. They’re full of his usual intensity, but there's an edge to it that’s not normally there when you two are together. 

“You wanna talk about the fight with your mom?” you ask carefully. 

Pope grumbles, giving you a questioning look. 

“Deran and Craig told me.” 

“Of course.” He huffs. “Nosy fuckers…” 

You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up your throat. Earning you a pointed look from Pope. 

“Sorry…” you say, rubbing your hands along his chest. 

“They tell you what she said…?” 

You let out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah… apparently I’m a tramp.” 

“You’re not.” Pope says angrily. Gripping your jaw, keeping your eyes on him.

“Babe…” you say, nuzzling your face into his palm. “You okay?” 

Pope grunts, tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. 

“M’ better now that I’m with you.” 

“What about Smurf…” you sigh. “I mean- it’s not great if she hates me. Hates us… together.” 

“She’ll get over it.” 

“And if she doesn’t?” you question. 

“Then that’s her problem.” Pope says flatly. 

“I don’t want to cause any issues between you and your mom…” 

“I already have issues with Smurf.” 

You’re about to protest when Pope holds your face in his hands, looking deeply into your eyes. 

“I’m not gonna let her get between us.” 

“Andrew…” you whisper.

“I’m not good at this… the talking.” Pope huffs “It’s hard for me sometimes…” 

You nod, giving him a look of encouragement. Rubbing your hands along his chest. 

“You mean more to me than anything.” Pope says softly. “You see me… not my fucked up parts. But me.” he caresses face, leaning his forehead against yours. “I’m not losing you.” 

You snuggle closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“You’re not gonna lose me.” you say, giving him a gentle peck on the lips. 

“I love you Andrew.” you say, clinging to him. 

“I love you too.” 

────﹒♡﹒────

“Later.” You tug the plastic bag from his hand, thunk it onto the entry table, and hook a finger through his belt loop. “Kitchen’s close enough.”

The fridge whirs, oblivious, while you drag him backward until thighs hit cool marble.

Pope can smell cilantro, gasoline from his truck, the sweet-and-salty rush in your sweat. You taste it, too, licking the hollow beneath his ear like a kid sneaking frosting.

“One track mind,” he mutters, masking a thick swallow when his jeans tent under your touch.

You pull back just far enough to look at him.

“That's not true. I think about a lot of things. They all just end —” Your hand settles over the hardening shape in his pants. “— here.”

He laughs a little, but it dies when you kneel.

You slip two fingers beneath the waistband, teasing skin before tugging down. Fabric puddles at his feet, leaving him bare and aching. You move to trace the underside with your tongue, a lazy path from root to head, then look up through your lashes.

“You leave me alone for hours.” Your hand tightens at the base of his cock, possessive. “What else am I supposed to wait for but you coming home and letting me have this?”

Pope guides himself to tap against your tongue. You happily oblige with an open mouth.

“Yeah? You wait all nice and good for me, princess, or did those needy little fingers wander?” He feigns a thoughtful hum. “Sheets looked a little rumpled when I walked in.”

He watches your mouth struggle to form words, tension fluttering in your cheeks where he fills them.

“Tried,” you admit, voice thick with obstruction. “Made it ‘til lunch before I… got impatient.” Your palm glides up his length in apology. “Does that still count as waiting?”

He winds your hair around his knuckles and tugs until you’re staring straight up at him, guiding your mouth off him with a soft pop.

Pope clicks his tongue, pity painted on like cheap gold leaf.

“Aw, sweetheart. Must've felt like torture, didn’t it?” His thumb smears the shine across your swollen lip, then lifts so you can see the string of spit stretch. “Don't worry, I'll help you learn some real patience... after you watch me finish what you couldn't wait for.”

MARIA NOTE happy tuesday besties! wishing u love in your heart and freakiness in your spirit! stay cunty! stay hot!

He was scrubbing a drink stain. Hearing the door, he stiffened slightly, his eyes darted up to meet yours.

"Oh," you said, tossing your bag onto a high stool. "Hey, Andrew. I thought Deran was closing tonight."

"He... had something to do, and I can't clean tomorrow," Andrew said and paused his scrubbing. "Bar is closed, you know?"

"I know, I just got off a brutal ten hour shift and needed five minutes before heading back to my apartment," you said with a sigh, rolling your shoulders to work out a knot. "Do you mind if I just sit here for a little? I won't get in your way."

Andrew looked at you, his eyes scanning your tired face.

"It's fine," he said as he walked into the kitchen. "You can stay."

"Thanks." You smiled.

For a few minutes, the only sound was the sound of his hands working. Most people found silence around Andrew Cody intimidating, but you’d known the Cody family long enough through Deran to know better.

Andrew was a man of few words, but he was grounded, precise, and surprisingly thoughtful.

"Rough day?" Andrew asked quietly, trying to break the silence.

"You have no idea," you chuckled, leaning your chin in your hand. "Every customer today seemed to have agreed on being as difficult as humanly possible. I think I lost half my brain cells by noon."

"People are noisy," he offered. "Don't know when to turn it off."

"Exactly," you agreed, brightening up. "That's why I came here. And it's a good thing you're here. You're the only one who actually respects quiet."

Andrew’s hands paused and he cleared his throat. "Yeah. Well. Quiet's good."

He turned back to the counter, reached for a stack of clean towels beside you, and his fingers brushed against yours for a moment. A sudden surge of static electricity seemed to pass between you.

Andrew quickly withdrew his hand, his shoulders tensing again as a faint blush crept up the back of his neck. He turned his back to you to wipe down the prep table, his movements a little more rigid than before.

"So," you began gently, watching him work, "did Deran leave you with all the cleaning duty, or are you just being nicer to his bar than he is?"

"He doesn't clean the grease traps right," Andrew said. "Leaves 'em sticky. Bugs get in."

"Good thing you're here, I reiterate. He'd probably let the place burn down before he deep cleaned a grease trap."

Andrew turned his head slightly, giving you a half smile. "Probably."

Then, he stood for a second, rubbing the back of his neck, seemingly searching for what to say next.

He wasn't used to small talk, especially not with you; not when every time you smiled at him, he felt his heart beat faster and he didn't exactly know what to do with that feeling.

"You... wanted something to drink? You said something about lemonade," he asked as he gestured vaguely toward the bar. "I think we have some pink lemonade left. Or water."

"A cold glass of pink lemonade would actually save my night," you said softly.

He nodded quickly, took a tall glass, and filled it with ice before going to the kitchen to get the lemonade pitcher. He offered it to you, careful not to touch your fingers this time, though his eyes remained fixed on your face as you took a long sip.

"Good?" he asked.

"Really good, oh my," you nodded.

"Deran will be here soon," Andrew said quietly, his eyes dropping to the polished surface of the counter. "He went to pick up something. Should be back any minute."

You set the glass down, tracing the condensation on the side with your index finger. "I'm not really in a rush for him to get back, you know?"

Andrew blinked. "He’s got the keys to the back room. If you needed something from his office-"

"Andrew," you interrupted gently, catching his gaze and holding it. "I like your company. You know that, right?"

The words seemed to surprise him. Andrew froze completely, his hand still resting on the counter. His eyes widened just enough for you to see the genuine shock behind them.

"My... company?" he repeated, almost a whispering. He looked at you like he was trying to figure out if you were pulling a joke, scanning your face for any sign of insincerity.

"Yeah. Yours," you smiled with honesty.

Andrew shook his head slightly, a furrow forming between his brows as he looked down at his own knuckles. "I don't... You don't have to say that to be polite."

"I'm not being polite."

"It's just... Weird to hear that," He cleared his throat, struggling to find the right words. "You are Deran’s friend. He is... easy to talk to. People... people like people like him. Not my company." He paused, his jaw tightening slightly.

"Well, they're wrong," you said and you were dead serious. "Do you know that If I have to choose between all of you, I'd choose you? Every single time. I love Deran but he's too much sometimes."

Andrew stared at you, utterly motionless. For a second, it felt like the entire room held its breath. Andrew’s mind was clearly racing, trying to process what he’d just heard.

"Me?" he rasped out.

He swallowed hard as a flush creep up his neck into his cheeks.

"Yeah, you, Andrew," you confessed softly, giving him a shy smile.

Andrew opened his mouth, but made no sound. His hands trembled on the counter before he withdrew them, leaving them at his sides, as if trying to control a sudden feeling he hadn't felt in a long time.

He looked away for a brief second, a helpless smile breaking through his face before he looked back at you.

"Okay, that's... nice," he admitted softly.

After that night, your days turned into a something you didn't know you needed.

It started with small things: you dropping by as he was finishing up, or Andrew hanging in the bar long enough after your shift just in case you walked through the door.

Then it was quiet late night drives along the coast after picking you up from work, sitting side by side in his truck, watching the dark waves roll in without the need to fill every second with noise.

With Andrew, everything felt deliberate, real and honest.

Those quiet drives and stolen moments at closing time slowly redefined everything between you.

What had started as comfortable friendship had shifted into something far quietly blooming under the surface.

Neither of you explicitly labeled it; it was written instead in the lingering touch of his hand as he passed you a glass of pink lemonade, the way his jaw softened whenever you walked into the room, and the rare smiles he saved for you.

You found yourself looking forward to his presence more than anyone else's, while Andrew silently guarded his growing feelings, convinced that someone like you could never truly look at him that way.

You began noticing the way his eyes tracked your every movement, and Andrew began to realize that your frequent visits weren't just about passing time in an empty bar.

You were both tiptoeing around a secret that neither wanted to ruin, yet neither could suppress for much longer.

It was a slow dance between two people who had seamlessly fallen from comfortable companions into being completely undone by one another.

Tonight, the bar was closing after a long day. You were sitting on top of the stainless steel prep counter in the back kitchen, swinging your legs casually while Andrew moved around the small space, putting away the last of the rags. You planned to have breakfast together tomorrow morning so he had to close the bar clean tonight.

Even after days of seeing each other, there was still an nervous energy between you two.

He finished and walked over, stopping between your knees. He looked up at you, his eyes scanning your face with that intense gaze that used to intimidate people, but now just made your pulse race.

"Deran asked me earlier if you are always coming around for him or for the free pink lemonade," Andrew said softly. "Said you never used to stick around this much after closing."

You tilted your head, watching him waiting for your answer.

"Maybe I only come for you," you murmured, letting the words drift softly between you.

Andrew froze.

"You what?" he rasped out.

A smile tugged at your lips.

You didn't break eye contact.

"You heard me, Andrew Cody."

The air between you grew thick, charged with tension. Andrew looked at you, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. He swallowed hard as his gaze dropped to your lips before snapping back to your eyes.

"Do you want me?" he asked, whispering, rough with exposed vulnerability.

You let your eyes soften, leaning forward, bringing your face closer to his.

"Maybe," you whispered back, teasing, but with enough heat in your voice to leave no real doubt.

That single word shattered whatever restraint Andrew had been clinging to.

He leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours with hungry intensity.

"Maybe, huh?" He whispered with a raspy voice and an exhale escaped him. His hands came up to frame your face, his palms were warm and trembling just a tiny bit against your cheeks.

The kiss was hard and possessive, his lips were firm, moving against yours with desperation.

You let out a sigh into his mouth, your hands flying up to wrap around his neck, tangling your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck.

At your response, Andrew let out a rough sound. One of his hands slid down from your cheek to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tightening gently to hold you right where he wanted you, while his other hand gripped your waist, pulling you so close there wasn't an inch of air left between you.

He kissed you deeper, his tongue parting your lips, taking control in a way that set your skin on fire. Every touch was heavy and deliberate.

To Andrew, you weren't just someone passing through.

In the dark mess of his life, having you here, choosing him, wanting him, felt like a miracle he was holding onto with everything he had.

-'🖤⛓ ⁠*⁠.⁠‧₊˚

Pope had just gotten back from a job this morning, a little banged up but nothing more than usual. He took you on one of the nicest dates you've ever been on. Everything had been perfect, the restaurant, the food, the necklace he gifted to you (which you didn't even bother asking where he got it from).

He holds your hand tight as he guides you up the few steps to your front door. When he pulls away to say goodbye you don't let him, squeezing his hand and pulling him to your chest as you lean back on the door.

"What?" Pope asks, looking a little startled at your quickness.

You yank him against you, slamming your lips to his for a heated, passionate kiss but he doesn't get there right away. You deepen it yourself, licking his bottom lip before sinking your teeth into it. He shudders and leans into you, his hands hovering tentatively over your waist.

He's nervous and unsure but he can't deny he enjoys the way you feel on him. He likes the way you smell and how gentle your eyes are on him - he's not used to that.

"Touch me." You plead, pulling him impossibly closer as you writhe into him. He's still so rigid and stiff in your hold.

"We're outside." He mutters, looking at you with that beautiful, plain face of his.

You huff, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt before spinning around to swing the door open. You drag him inside with you, pushing him against the door once it's closed. You practically pounce on him. He's still hesitant. You're throwing yourself at him and he just - stands there, letting it happen.

It pisses you off.

You let out an exasperated sigh, slamming your hands into his chest with a frustrated grunt. "What the hell is your problem, Pope?" You raise your voice, finally feeling worked up enough to say something.

"I-I don't have a problem." He stutters, grabbing your wrists to hold them between you two. "Please, don't do that again." He's quieter but you feel the request in his grip.

"Why don't you want to fuck me?" You ask, still animated but you change your tone when you see him flinch. You cover your mouth with your fingers for a second before trying a softer approach. "I-If sex isn't - you know - your thing, that's fine. Just tell me, please. So, I don't have to worry or wonder."

Pope steps closer to you now, a single hand reaching to encapsulate yours.

"It's not that I don't want to … I don't always know the best time for things." He's quiet, curt and honest.

"You've just been waiting for the right time?" You ask, incredulously. "It's not the right time when I change in front of you before we go swimming?"

"I assume you actually want to swim." He shrugs innocently, which is not a fitting expression for a man so gruff and criminal.

"Or the time I tried to go down on you at Daren's after hours?"

"It's dirty there." He cringes.

His answers make you giggle, your heart warming in your chest at how genuine he is. You rub your thumb over his palm affectionately. "I'm sorry I flipped out on you."

"It's okay." He nods firmly, squeezing your hand back.

"So, - Sex is your thing?" You ask sheepishly. "You don't just think I'm unattractive or something?"

Pope nods down to his pants where his length strains against the dark denim. "You are very attractive." He assures you.

You stifle a giggle at his gesture, taking both of his hands in yours and brushing your nose against his. "Does now feel like a good time?" You whisper, looking down to his lips with want. Pope nods his head 'yes' slowly, looking at your lips too.

You nod back as if to make sure, watching his puppy dog eyes as well as his lips. He nods again as your faces inch closer, noses brushing, eye lashes fluttering and hearts pounding. Both of you are still a tad stiff as your lips meet, it's slow to start but you feel each other out. You guide his hands to your sides before caressing his face to keep him close.

You hum happily as your lips meld together and you find a good rhythm. His hand don't move from their tight grip on your sides as you slowly step back. You make it all the way to the couch, trying to pull him on top of you but he doesn't go. Instead, you both sit down facing each other, your lips staying connected the whole time.

You try not to rush it but if you let Pope lead you worry you'll never get there. You dance your fingers down his neck, inside the tight collar of his shirt. You tempt him with your tongue again and this time he lets you in. You take this as your sign to go further, working open the buttons on his shirt.

A little moan escapes you when his tongue returns the gesture, warmth flooding your belly. He gets more stern with his kiss, encouraging you to shove his shirt off his shoulders so he's bare for you. Your hands drag down his chest, his large pecks filling your grasp happily.

His fingers slowly slide down your sides and then back up, the fabric bunching up as his palms engulf your skin. The both of you let out a whiny sound because of the impact, your body sliding closer to chase more. He's slow and methodical, kissing you deeply, enough to make you warm and needy.

You run your hand down his muscular belly, passing his belt to take a hold of the large bulge in his pants. Pope gasps and jolts, pressing his forehead to yours as he slides you closer with his hands on you.

"Can I?" He asks, distracting you from where your hand is to pull your blouse over your head and off.

"You don't have to ask, Andy." You whisper, lifting your arms up for him. He blushes, looking away from your face as he folds and sets your blouse aside. You bite your lip as you watch him, feeling so endeared.

When he's finished you lean back in for his mouth, guiding his hands to touch your breasts as you fumble with his belt and zipper. Pope is as stiff as ever, watching your nimble hands with tight lips and flushed cheeks. You pull his belt out of the loops, his jeans open wide as you start to tug them off his hips.

"I got it - Take your bra off." Pope interjects curtly, his chest heaving while he stands. You nod enthusiastically, smiling with your teeth because you love that he's speaking up. You reach around and unclasp your bra, throwing it at his head once its off.

You bite your lip and cover your chest, watching Pope pull your bra off his face, a tiny smirk gracing his face, you make sure to memorize it. He stands in just his boxers before you, the shadow on his leg looking much more intimidating with one less layer over it. You gulp.

Pope walks towards you, grabbing your arms to uncover you and make you stand with him. He leans in to kiss you, his need seeping into your mouth as you raise up on your toes to get closer. You shuffle your arms out of his hold, returning the kiss with all you have as you force his palms over your bare breasts.

Your heart pounds with excitement from his body heat, his touch. He slowly palms your breasts, groaning into your mouth at the feeling. Your entire body feels red hot, goosebumps all over your skin as he drags his rough hands over your taught nipples.

"Please." You whisper, practically panting after pulling back from the kiss to beg.

"What, doll?" Pope asks earnestly, his eyes heavy on your face, searching for your words before you even say them.

"Take me, Andy. Make me yours." You're quiet and sultry, pressing your tits into his hands and ghosting your lips over his.

"A-Are you sure?" He hesitates, unsure of his self control once he starts with you.

You've become incredibly impatient and needy, solidified by the whine that leaves your mouth. "Andreeewww." You coo, snatching his wrist and pushing his hand under your skirt, the fabric rides up over his arm as you press his flat fingers to your bare cunt.

He gasps on contact, your hot, slick cunt taking is breath away. He lays his forehead to yours, his eyes pinched shut as you hold his hand to you. "Fuck!" He hisses, his voice so rough, not like anything you've heard from him before. "Where are your panties?" Pope grunts out, pressing his fingers harder against you, enough that you feel you can let go of his hand and touch his face.

"I didn't wear any - been waiting for you to take me all night long, Andy." You speak to him softly, your voice raspy from the deep breaths you keep having to take. You caress Pope's cheeks, rubbing your nose back and forth on his as you try to resist the urge to buck your hips. He whines again, the sound giving you full body chills and this time you can't stop the way your hips rut towards him. The movement spreads your arousal over his fingers and he snaps from the sweet sensation.

He slams his mouth to yours, a free hand clamping down on your neck to make sure you can't pull away from his kiss. In the same moment he slides his middle finger into your eager, wet entrance. You're so slick he sinks all the way to his last knuckle in one movement. You cry out into his mouth, trying to pull back to breathe but Pope forces his mouth back on yours, swallowing every sound.

His finger dances around inside you, like he's exploring. He touches you at every depth and angle he can find, paying attention to how you react and making note of what's good and what's great. You cling to him for dear life, your hips feeling weak from the pressure built up there.

"Good? It's good?" He pants, pulling back just enough to see your eyes as he starts fucking a second finger inside you. All the sudden his hunger and want are on the outside of him, instead of hidden somewhere you couldn't reach. He's feral looking, like he's on the brink of snapping again and lord knows what'll happen then.

"Yeah, yeah." You nod frantically, pawing at his hips for balance.

"Yeah?" He asks, smiling at you like he's proud of himself. You love it. So, you nod again with enthusiasm, leaning in for more kisses as you turn him and shove him back onto the couch.

You're in his lap in an instant, guiding his hand back under your skirt to resume his work. As you straddle his lap you comb your fingers through his hair, kissing his forehead and cheeks while riding his fingers. His free hand gropes your ass and forces you to bounce at a quick, messy pace on him.

You grab a small handful of hair from the back of Pope's head, guiding his face down to your free hanging breasts. At first he just lays his face against one, rubbing his mouth and nose across you as he transitions to the other side. He practically mauls your tits while forcing you down on his fingers and you've never been wetter, never been more turned on.

Eventually, you coax Pope into latching his mouth around one of your nipples. He sucks gently, making you arch deeper into his touch. He laps you up with a wet tongue, you can see his spit glistening in the dim light. You start to lose your sanity when he blow on your sensitive bud, the sharp cooling sensation making you jump in his hold.

"A-Andrew, touch my clit too - you'll make me come." You tell him, sounding desperate but his eyes light up. He uses his free hand to rip your skirt up over your head, you help him to speed it up. Once you're fully naked he guides your other tit to his mouth as he starts circling your bundle of nerves.

It takes a couple of swirls for him to find the spot but once he does he touches you expertly. It took all of five minutes for him to discover your sweet spots, it's like he had a cheat sheet somewhere in his brain for your body.

"Please, come for me, doll. I wanna watch so bad." Pope whispers, begging you like it's a secret. All of the stimulation from him has your climax building deep in your core. Your hips buck into Pope's fingers and it doesn't faze him at all, he continues to pound into you unwavering. He kisses you so deeply you realize instantly that it's never been like that before. "Are you close?" He asks when you tense up in his hold.

"H-Harder, Andy, please." You beg, guiding his mouth back to one of your tits. He listens to your request, keeping a steady pattern on your clit while pounding his fingers into you with more force. His big doe eyes stare at your face so intently, waiting for you to crest.

You can barely get the words out when you try to tell him you're coming, he catches on regardless. Pope kisses you through it, not changing a thing about his movements until you're squirming and shoving his hands away. He doesn't give in at first, making you squeal before you truly get free.

He grabs you by the waist, spinning your bodies until you're laying on your back, long ways on the couch and he's hovering between your legs. He slowly grinds himself against you, hesitating to go further.

"Your boxers are still on." You whisper, tugging at the elastic.

"I know." Pope grunts, grinding himself harder when you wrap your legs around him. "Do you have a condom?"

"Don't need one." You rush out, yanking hard on his boxers to expose him. Immediately you wrap a firm hand around him, pumping slow but tight. Pope huffs out a few heavy breaths, his elbows and knees quivering from your touch.

"Y-You sure?" He stutters.

"Pope, I swear if you don't just fuck me - I'm gonna go crazy." You're stern but you might as well be begging. You just want to have sex with your boyfriend after a romantic date, is that so crazy?

He stares at your face for a few seconds, you can see the hunger returning to his exterior. In a singular moment - he snaps. He grabs your knees and pushes them up to get a better angle, spitting directly on your pussy before swirling his tip around in it to tease you.

The warm sensation make you whimper, your hands in fists by your head as your arch for him. Curse words fall from your lips, mixing with other whiny sounds. They turn loud and guttural when he slams into you, taking up a quick, harsh pace as soon as he feels you.

Pope can't help himself, you suck him in so tight - it makes him lose control. He leans down, pressing your shins to his chest, folding you up to reach your lips while still pounding into you. The angle is painful at first, not used to anyone reaching that deep inside of you. But you adjust quickly, soaking up the way his mouth feels on yours.

"Jesus christ, doll. Your cunt is- it's… fuck, perfect." Pope grunts out, his voice gravelly and rough as he slams himself into you over and over. He's knocked the wind out of you with the force, you gasp for air, looking up at his with glossy eyes and parted lips. "Look at you, begged for my cock just to go dumb as soon as you get it." He teases, nudging your nose and giving your thighs a good squeeze.

You gulp, trying to wet your throat and tongue. "M'fine!" You gasp out, digging your nails into his biceps for leverage. You're determined to stay aware and keep your eyes open, focused on his.

Pope chuckles a little, kissing your red hot cheeks before straightening his spine. He looks down at you with a menacing gaze, fingers burning into the skin of your thighs as he uses his leverage to rock your body into him.

"So, so pretty like this." He mumbles, "Gonna have you like this every night," His voice gives you chills, you blush all the way down your chest, smilling up at him as your brain slowly starts to fog over. You fight it off, blinking and biting your lip until it stings.

"You coulda had me like this all along, Andy - didn't have to wait so long." You whine, reaching up to caress his chest and stomach, your words being forced out of you because of his pace. He hasn't let up and ounce and you're starting to wander if you can keep taking it.

He growls, forcing your knees down and pulling out of you in a fast motion. His large hands clamp down on your sides, flipping you over onto your stomach before settling his knees on either side of yours.

You let out a few whimpery sounds as he man handles you, forcing a deep arch in your lower spine before sinking back into you. He's even deeper than before and it makes you scream. You hear Pope chuckle again, clearly satisfied with himself. His chest comes down over your back, his arm slipping under your chin until he's got you in a headlock.

"You were worth the wait, doll." He grunts, kissing your temple at the same time he tightens his bicep around your throat. "Now be quiet and take me, gonna make you mine, huh?" He taunts and you nod with enthusiasm, whispering 'yes' a few times over. "Yeah? Want me to fill you up?"

"Yes, yes, yes Andy, please,"

"The first time you ever get my cock and you already want it?" He continues his taunting, his voice makes you mind spin as he destroys your pussy. You can barely get air in your lung with his taught muscle pressed to your neck, you start to feel a little tingly.

"Please," You hiss, gasping for air.

Pope feels your pussy get slicker the more you struggle to breathe and he can't help that it riles him up. He tightens his arm more, pressing his cheek to the side of your head as he continues his violent, messy thrusts.

"Make me feel so special, doll. I'll give you what you want - gonna fuck this little cunt 'til I come, yeah? - You'll get all of me." He's definitely feral now, his voice raspy and deeper than you've ever heard it.

You're tingly all over, your brain fuzzy as you take what you boyfriend gives you. It's blissful, his painful thrusts throb through your limps until it feels like pleasure. You're so wet you feel the mess on your ass and thighs.

Pope doesn't mind, in fact it spurs him on.

"Cross your goddamn legs." He demands, growling in your ear. He lets up his hold around your neck enough for you to hear him and listen. You slide one of your knees under the other, feeling yourself tighten around him. The sound he makes gives you chills, you shiver as it reverberates through your skin. "That's it - fuck!" Pope grunts.

It only takes a few more thrusts before he's filling you full, he moans through it, close to your ear, nibbling at your sensitive skin. He groans and says sweet things but you can't hear him, you're still so fuzzy from all the brutal sensations you've just received.

Pope collapses on top of you, elbows by your temples as you let your head sink back into the pillows. He doesn't pull out right away, letting his cock get flaccid and slip out on it own as he cages you beneath his spent body.

You don't mind, his warmth and weight soothe you as you come back down to earth. You kiss the skin of his arms you can reach, his skin burning hot against you. You both struggle to catch your breath but he cocoons you underneath him until you do.

"Baby doll, - fuck, I-" He huffs, his voice barely there. He slides off your back and to the side, encouraging you to turn so you two are facing each other. His hefty arm drapes over you, keeping you cuddled close to his chest as he looks down at you. "Are you okay?" He asks, his deep eyes searching yours.

You nod your head vigorously, "M'never going two months without you again." You sigh, kissing his chin as you watch him smirk. It's small and subtle but adorable, you lean up to peck his lips. "Stay the night please, Pope." You mutter, tracing your fingers over his back to see him shiver when you hit his spine just right.

"I'm not going anywhere, doll." He promises, cuddling you close.

You're both quiet for a few moments, hugging each other tight. You nuzzle close and he welcomes you, his body still stiff while somehow drawing you in. Maybe it's because you're still hazy, or because you're cock-drunk but you can't help the way your heart pounds, even after catching your breath.

"Andy, I- I think,"

"What doll?" He softly encourages.

"I think I love you." You whisper, burying your face into his warm, bare chest. You nuzzle even closer when you realize how comfy his pecks are.

"You're just saying that because you're foggy from the sex." Pope chuckles, shaking his head above yours. It seems as if he thinks you're joking and you guess you can't blame him. He's not used this sort of thing - that's what makes it all so special.

"I love you too." He whispers a few moments later, kissing the top of your head, huffing a little when your messy hair tickles his nose.

Your mind comes back to you all the way and you realize just how lucky you are. Your boyfriend may not be the perfect guy but he's perfect for you. You never want to leave his arms - you never want to get off his cock either.

You have a feeling after tonight though, you won't have to worry about that anymore.