ivy

“Oh fuck—” You threw your head back, your fingers clutching Ryland’s hair while his tongue did wonders to your cunt. Swiping his tongue up, savoring your taste as he groaned— face buried in, the vibrations giving you chills.

It was a mistake. Really you should've pushed him away, told him that this shouldn't happen. It did anyway.

You've been friends with Grace since the two of you were sucking on rocks on the playground. Putting sand in your mouths and giving your respective parents heart attacks over just how determined you were to get yourselves killed before kindergarten.

Making friends as a kid is easy.

No introductions needed, nor wondering whether the other person even likes you. You didn't even need to make elaborate plans on how to approach said person or what to say once you get to talk to them. It was a hassle.

Thankfully as a kid all you had to do was approach someone who looked mildly interesting and declare your friendship.

Which was exactly what you did.

Grace had been sitting by himself in the sandbox, completely absorbed in dragging a stick through the sand. You wandered over, crouched beside him, and watched the squiggly lines he was making. You weren't exactly sure just what he was trying to draw.

“What are you making?”

Grace, who finally acknowledged your presence, turned to look at you. “A fox.”

“That's a fox?” Give it up to kids who never bothered to sugarcoat their words. Even so, you continued to watch Grace draw his seemingly out of shape fox.

He didn't mind your words and focused on his drawing, he even scooted towards the right to make space for you as you watched him.

That settled it. With not even a second of consideration, you announced, “We're friends now.”

He stopped briefly before moving on to draw the fox's whiskers. “Okay.”

You didn't mind his lack of enthusiasm, that confirmation was more than good enough for you.

From that day onwards, Ryland Grace was your friend. And as it turns out, he didn't have much say in the matter.

You followed him everywhere. Sat with him on the swing, dragged him into games he didn't understand, you even stole pieces of his snacks and insisted that because you were friends, that means his food is technically your food too.

Grace complained occasionally, though it lacked actual bite. Still you ignored him, happily munching on the handful of skittles you got from him.

By the time your parents had realized what was actually happening, the two of you grew inseparable.

Elementary turned into middle school, eventually high school. And somehow, through every awkward haircut experiments, embarrassing phase, terrible fashion choice, and questionable life decisions, Grace stayed.

And without even meaning to, you had learned each other's habits.

You knew when Grace was annoyed simply because his breathing changed. You knew when he was lying because he suddenly became far too interested in whatever was happening in the other side of the room. Grace knew when you were upset even when you insisted that you weren't. He knew which snacks you hated and which ones you'd die for, quite evidently so whenever he comes over during your period carrying a paper bag full of snacks that you like.

Both of you changed a lot growing up, the friendship remained the same.

By the time college came around, nobody questioned why the two of you were always together, you'd simply become a package deal. Pea in a pod, buy one take one, whatever, it's just that whenever someone is looking for you, they always receive the answer, “oh yeah they're with Grace.”

You studied together, complained about assignments together, survived exams together, and occasionally questioned if the course you had taken was the right choice. Thankfully Grace was there to stop you from shifting courses during your 2nd year. Would've been a disaster if you had ditched your current course and started from the bottom all over again.

There were nights when the two of you would sit somewhere on campus, (being extremely lucky that both of you shared long vacant hours together.) and shared whatever food you'd managed to afford while talking about absolutely anything that comes to mind.

Sometimes you wonder about what life would look like if you hadn't approached the kid who seemed to be more interested in the sand than playing with others. The answer was difficult to imagine.

It was nice, despite all the stress college had thrown your way, Grace managed to make it tolerable. Which is why you'd do absolutely anything to keep this friendship thriving, he'd have to cut off all your limbs before you admit it though.

And that is exactly why you're currently in a dilemma, Rylands tongue on your cunt feels so good but at the same time– this is so wrong. You couldn't even enjoy it thoroughly because the only thing you can think about is your friendship.

About how long you've known him, about the fact that Grace was Grace, your best friend since childhood, and somehow the two of you ended up in a situation that neither of you had discussed.

“Oh god—” you gripped his hair tightly, with no regard to whether it hurts him or not.

This was going to be a mistake, you already knew that. Whatever happens tonight, things aren't going to go back to normal. You can already guess what would happen first thing in the morning, awkward conversations, getting ready while trying to avoid each other's gaze— it's going to be a whole mess. It's a mystery why you hadn't stopped while you still could. It's Grace, he would've stopped the moment you displayed discomfort in a millisecond, that's the kind of man he is. And that's exactly the problem.

You cried out when the ministrations of his tongue stopped, Grace hovered just inches from your cunt, you could feel his breath grazing you. it ached, waiting for him to start moving again.

Grace turned to look at you, his hands held your thighs tightly. “You can hold onto me,” he said softly. “Just don't pull.”

You immediately loosened your grip, briefly patting his head afterwards. “Sorry..”

“Good girl.”

His approval and god— that nickname sent an embarrassing warmth through your face. You hated just how much it affected you.

You looked away, trying to focus on literally anything else other than your beating heart that's abnormally fast.

“Hey look at me.”

You turned to look at him, of course you did. Grace's expression was gentle.

“Don't be so tense,” he murmured. “I'll tell you what to do.” You nodded in response.

There was a pause, for a second you thought if he was going to stop— he didn't let you think for long though with the way he dived back in your pussy. His mouth kissing it before licking you whole, he's addicted. He knew he should stop if he wanted your friendship to stay the same, but alas, he's already too far gone. And besides, you're enjoying every second he spends on your cunt. If you like it this much, he shouldn't deprive you of what you want can he?

He moved his head upwards, Grace didn't waste any time the moment his mouth found your clit. He sucked the bundle of nerves and briefly rolled his tongue around it, the way he tortured your clit— leaving your hole empty and aching made you whine.

It felt good— fuck so good, you arched your back every time Grace decided to not play fair and kept sucking it. Leaving your cunt wanting more, it keeps getting wetter by the second but it seems like he'd rather tease you— or maybe he's waiting for you to finally break and beg.

With how desperate you are, maybe you will. Beg repeatedly for him to finally take his cock out and fuck you with it, he's been eating you out for the past hour— not that it doesn't feel good but damn, you want to be full already.

“Grace..” you whined, tears already forming in your eyes. Threatening to fall.

He glanced up at you, pulling away from your clit. (even if he was a bit hesitant to do so.) The faintest smile already playing at the corner of his mouth, he knows you're breaking. “What?”

“Please..”

His eyebrows lifted at your answer, you didn't have the strength to retort back at how obvious it is that he's enjoying this. “That's a little vague.”

You swallowed, cheeks warming as you gathered the confidence to say what you want explicitly. “Please, Grace.. I want you to...” you trailed off, the confidence leaving you halfway.

He smiled. “To what?”

You looked away. “You know…”

“I do.” Grace stood up from his position, his knees ached a bit from kneeling for a long time. “But you need to say it.”

You hesitated before looking back at him. “Please fuck me already..”

Grace's expression softened, his hand pulling your legs apart while he got in between them, making himself comfortable. “There you go.”

You exhaled shakily, relieved that he finally accepted your answer and that, finally, you were going to lose your virginity.

Not that you believe in all that purity nonsense. Your virginity isn't some kind of precious thing you needed to guard and preserve for the sake of some arbitrary standard. You simply wanted your first to be with someone who felt worth it— someone you trust and care about. And Grace…well he was your best friend, he checks all the requirements you have.

But that's exactly the problem, the fact that the two of you will eventually have to confront each other and talk about this later gnawed the back of your mind. Tomorrow, you'd still have to look at him somehow and pretend nothing had changed. You knew that. You knew this was wrong in all the ways that mattered.

Yet every time the thought resurfaced, the warmth of Grace's touch, his soft voice quietly guiding you through every step, drowned it out again. You couldn't bring yourself to be mad, because if it had to be anyone, you were glad it was him.

Grace stared at you while you were lost in thought, seemingly pleased at how easy you followed his lead. “See? You listen so well.”

You bobbed your head, if it can even be considered a nod.

“Good girl.” there it is again, that awful nickname that gets you all riled up. It's not fair, the way your cunt throbbed at the mere praise that left Grace's lips.

At your reaction Grace couldn't help but feel amused, he hadn't expected you to be this receptive.

Feeling impatient, your hands started wandering downwards, ready to take care of the emptiness yourself. Grace caught your wrists and guided it above your head before you could even reach your abdomen. “Keep them there.”

You nodded. His eyes narrowed slightly.

“I didn't ask for a nod.”

“Yes Grace..”

“Good.” he kept one hand around your wrists, making sure it'd stay put. His gaze fixed on your face. “Look at me.” you did.

“Don't look away.”

You squirmed by just how intense Grace was looking at you.

“Now tell me what you want.”

You hesitated, Grace waited, unfortunately for you he was a very patient man. He didn't rush nor fill the silence, he simply hovered over you, unmoving until you gave him an answer.

“Please…”

His eyebrows lifted. “Please what?”

“Kiss me?”

A satisfied smile appeared on his face. “That's better.” Grace says before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours, you kissed back hungrily. You were already making a mistake anyway, it already happened, there's no harm in letting your real feelings slip out just this once. It doesn't hurt to pretend.

His tongue swiped against your bottom lip, he didn't have to ask twice as you opened your mouth letting his tongue explore every crevice he wanted. Saliva dripped down from the sides of your mouth. A small bitter spark of jealousy bubbled in your chest, Grace was far too good at this.

The thought came unbidden: how many people had he done this with? How many others had he learned this from? How many people had been on the receiving end of that confidence, that patience, the effortless ability to make you feel exactly the way you did now? The thought was maddening. You knew you had no right to be jealous, you and Grace weren't together. He could have had a dozen partners before you— and you knew he had, all of them hated you for being his friend. Although it hurt, you always distanced yourself from Grace whenever he got a girlfriend, it was futile though with the way they never lasted.

It shouldn't have mattered if he got a girlfriend here and there.

But it did. More than you'd care to admit, and still you'd rather die than acknowledge why you felt this way.

Grace pulled away, giving you a chance to catch your breath. “You feel fine?”

You hummed, your head lolling to the side.

He followed your trail of sight and maintained eye contact. “Use your words.”

“Yes Grace.”

“Good.”

Just like earlier— all his previous praises, sent a shiver through your spine. He noticed, of course he did.

“Don't get shy now,” He murmured “You've been doing so well.”

Grace chuckled at your reaction, it's been too long now, his cock getting painfully hard. You did already tell him to fuck you earlier so how could he deprive you of getting dicked down any longer?

He slowly pressed his cock in, God you felt so warm. It's like your cunt was especially made for him with how good it's taking him in. You moaned at the intrusion, it felt..weird at first. Grace was huge, bigger than you'd imagine.

There were nights where you'd fantasize about him ramming your insides. It wasn't something you're proud of, not at all but how could you not? You've had boyfriends before, it never lasted long since every single one of them seemed to view Grace as a threat. Every single time without a beat, after a few weeks in they'd ask you to cut off Grace if you truly loved them. How ridiculous is that? Obviously you chose Grace over their insecure asses.

It wasn't a surprise that Grace was the one intruding your wet dreams whenever the rare instance it happened to you, came along.

Still, imagination doesn't and probably never will beat the real thing. Fuck, you could feel him everywhere, not only was he blessed with the length, his cock has an impressive girth to it as well.

“Grace..”

“Yes I know, you're taking me so well.” He cooed, rubbing his thumb on your waist as he settled in, his pelvis meeting your ass.

After deeming you ready, he finally began to move, slowly, painfully slow.

He's infuriating.

“Grace please..” you choked out a sob.

“What's wrong? You wanted me to fuck you, I'm doing just that.” Grace tilted his head, his pace unchanging as he thrusted in again then ever so slowly pulls his cock out just to do the same thing all over again.

“You're being so slow..!”

Grace stopped his movement which earned another sob from you, your hands moved from above your head to his arms, squeezing it tightly.

“What did I say?” Grace moved slightly towards the side and held your legs together, then unexpectedly—

Smack

You yelped, your ass stinging as the palm of his hand collided with your ass. “I–wha..?”

Smack

“I asked you a question.”

“Grace I–”

Smack

“Don't speak if you're not going to answer my question.”

You whined at every impact, you should've hated it but fuck..Grace really is something, making you discover a kink that you hadn't even considered being interested in.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out, Grace clicked his tongue.

Smack

“Nggh..!!”

“You were doing so well.” You can't explain it, well, maybe the fact that you can't think clearly right now added to it— anyhow, Grace being so calm somehow made him more terrifying. “You decided you didn't want to listen anymore? Is that it?”

You shook your head quickly, not trusting your mouth to utter the words you really wanted to say.

“Then put your hands back and be patient.”

You didn't hesitate to put your hands back above your head— sure the spanking was fucking hot but hearing Grace's praise over weighs it all.

Grace watched you settle again, his expression easily slightly. “That's better.”

“Grace..can you please go faster?”

“That's my girl, that wasn't so hard was it?”

You moaned, not caring about how loud you're being while Grace finally slid back in, his huge cock stretching your cunt open.

“mmffgh…s’big.” you mumbled incoherently, Grace picked up the pace as per your request. He cursed under his breath at the sound of the headboard colliding with the wall, fuck.. He forgot to put a pillow before ramming your insides.

To be fair, it's not like either of you planned on fucking each other.

The sound of his cock fucking your cunt was filthy, the smell of sex enveloping your room.

Grace leaned in without warning, closing the small distance between you as his lips met yours. You melted into the kiss almost immediately, you badly wanted to wrap your arms around his neck but you knew better. Unless you wanted red ass cheeks (you kind of did, screw him for introducing you to spanking.)

A strangled moan escaped you, his cock hitting all the places you never managed to reach by yourself. At this point going back to dildos might be challenging when you already got a taste of Grace's dick.

Grace smiled against your lips at the reaction you have, lingering for a moment before pulling back just enough to look at you.

“Pretty.”

Your body was swaying across the bed moving along with the rhythm of his hard thrusts. Every motion leaving you increasingly breathless, the feeling of his huge cock buried deep inside you was becoming something you could hardly imagine going without. And yet his soft voice was what affected you the most, it's like the praises came effortlessly to him.

“nghh.. Ahh..!” Your back arched the moment his hands found its way towards your clit, the bundle of nerves that was already overstimulated by the way Grace was eating it out earlier, was getting even more sensitive by the minute.

“Grace..! Ahh.. Too much..! Too much.. Please please..” You can't process the words that are currently leaving your mouth, your mind going on autopilot as Grace abused your clit all while ramming in and out of your hole.

You were completely lost in the moment, barely able to keep your thoughts together when Grace cut through the haze.

“Look at me.”

You managed to meet his eyes, drool dripping down the side of your mouth. His expression softened when he saw how overwhelmed you are— though, despite being overstimulated, you didn't miss the heat behind his eyes.

“Tell me when you're close.”

You nodded instinctively, anything he says— you agree.

“Use your words.”

He watched as you tried your hardest to form a coherent sentence. Waiting patiently for your reply.

“I will…”

“Open your mouth later when I tell you to.”

You nodded again, breathless yet still trying your best to obey, you want to be good for him. “Yes Grace.”

A satisfied smile crossed his face. “That's my good girl.”

A moan escaped your lips at his words, you hate just how much that simple phrase gets you so hot.

Grace held your hips steady, his thrusts, hard and fast, were losing its rhythm. “Fuck..being so good for me, feel so—” he groaned when he felt you tightened around his cock.

“GraceGraceGrace mmclose…!”

“Good, that's good, you listen so well.” he uttered out, his hips slapping against your ass, he's now moving erratically chasing his high. His free hand never leaving your clit as he sped up, helping you reach your climax.

“Oh fuck—” Grace pulled out while continuing to rub your clit harshly, your climax hitting you like a pile of bricks. Your back arched as the bedsheets under you get even more stained, your fluids getting everywhere.

His hand made its way towards his cock, pumping it fast, staring at your disheveled state. “Open your mouth for me.”

It was embarrassing just how fast you followed his order. Grace smiled in satisfaction as he crawled closer to your face. “fuck— I'm coming—” His cum squirted out, landing mostly on your tongue, while the rest was scattered on your face.

You stayed like that, not daring to move or do anything until Grace has given you an order.

He chuckled. “You really are a natural at this.”

Grace smiled at the way you whined, mouth still open with his cum. “Swallow.”

He didn't have to ask twice, you quickly closed your mouth and swallowed the thick cum, it was salty and musky, you weren't exactly sure if it was pleasant or not— well to be fair you haven't been too curious before to find out what cum tastes like.

Heavy breaths covered the room, the two of you catching your breath. Eventually, you heard a loud thump as Grace collapsed besides you on the bed.

Staring blankly at the ceiling, exhausted.

For a while neither of you said anything, the room had gone strangely quiet. It wasn't uncomfortable though— well, not yet.

There was still a lingering warmth between you two, the kind that made it tempting for you to just close your eyes and let yourself sink into the mattress. Your breathing finally began to settle, though every now and then you still find yourself taking a deeper breath than necessary, your body knowing that you hadn't exactly caught up with everything that just happened.

Grace laid besides you, his arm under your head as you laid on his chest. You could hear the faint rhythm of his breathing, his heartbeat that didn't seem to slow down.

You didn't look at him. You were afraid that if you did, reality would settle in too quickly, so you opted in staring at the ceiling instead.

You deluded yourself into thinking that this is just another normal sleepover, nothing happened at all for the sake of your sanity.

You've slept with Grace before— well not like this.

You'd spent countless nights together during college, whether it was because one of you had fallen asleep while studying or because you'd stayed up talking until an ungodly hour.

Which is why you're trying your hardest to convince yourself that this isn't supposed to be different.

Except it did.

Very different.

Grace shifted besides you. “You okay?”

You turned your head towards him, hair slightly disheveled— slightly was a bit of an understatement. “Yeah.”

“Sure?”

“mm”

He watched you for another moment, it was painful at how obvious his expression was, you could practically see the question behind his eyes.

‘Are you regretting this?’

You wondered if he could see the same in yours, still, neither of you asked.

Grace eventually relaxed back against the pillow. “Okay.” he mumbled out, grabbing the tissue on the nightstand and wiping your face clean with it.

Just for tonight, it was easy to ignore the obvious, that you didn't just lose your virginity to your best friend.

You're tired. He's tired.

Whatever happened tonight could be dealt with tomorrow, not tonight.

Because tonight, you wanted to lay besides your friend and bury your face at the crook of his neck like you always did, whenever a thunder scared you or when a nightmare followed. You didn't want to face the consequences just yet.

Grace leaned down to press a soft kiss on the top of your head, he felt you bury yourself deeper. He can't really blame you, but he knows tomorrow things would become extremely difficult. Which is why he gave himself the chance to be selfish, because he knows that this might be the last time he can properly convey his real feelings towards you.

You closed your eyes, letting the exhaustion take over.

He did too.

You woke slowly, sunlight slipping through the curtains and falling across your face. For a few blissful seconds you had no idea where you were. You stared sleepily at the ceiling, your mind still fogged with the remnants of sleep.

Then you became too aware of the warmth besides you. Slowly, you turned your head to locate the source. At that you found Grace's figure, naked, with his arm draped over you.

His breathing was slow and even, his face relaxed in a way that you're accustomed to whenever you were the first one to wake at your sleepovers. And everytime he never fails to make you lose your breath at just how gorgeous he is, it's actually kind of criminal. What man needs eyelashes that long??

Then suddenly everything came rushing back.

Oh fuck

The memory hit you all at once, your stomach dropped.

You slept with Grace.

You slept with Ryland Grace.

You slept with your best friend that you'd known for years.

The person you'd spent practically your entire life being able to trust without questioning what the relationship between the two of you meant. And now you were supposed to get up, get dressed, and walk out like nothing happened? Continue being the same two people you've always been? Is that even possible?

Your chest tightened, your hands making its way to your face, burying yourself as far as you could.

What the hell did we just do?

You glanced at Grace again, he stirred. How eyebrows furrowed slightly before his eyes opened. His eyes looked at his surroundings, panic was nowhere to be found in his face— not until he saw you, fully naked beside him.

His eyes widened, the previous night finally came splashing him in the face. “Morning…” his voice rough with sleep, still the shock was evident in his voice.

“Morning.” You replied.

A beat passed, Grace glanced away, you did the same.

It was comical at how hard both of you were trying not to acknowledge the enormous elephant that's circling happily around the two of you.

The room felt smaller, the air felt heavier. Not being able to bear the tension any longer you stood up. “I should get dressed.”

Grace cleared his throat. “Yeah I probably should too.”

Neither of you mentioned what happened. Both of you dressed in silence, the awkwardness was painful.

You didn't look at him for too long.

He didn't look at you for too long.

When you finally left, you told yourself that things would go back to normal once you got some distance.

If only you knew just how wrong you were.

The awkwardness followed you everywhere. You tried to make things normal you really did.

Grace tried even harder.

He sent you stupid messages just like he always did, those dumb memes he'd stumble across while scrolling mindlessly on his phone.

He brought you your usual coffee, the same you always buy whenever he tells you he'd be the one paying. Determined to drain his wallet dry, you always go for the most expensive one on the menu, Grace complained but never did he once decline.

He ranted to you about his lazy professors, talking about how crazy it is for them to have three hours on their schedule but only show up 10 minutes right before their subject ends.

He made some ridiculous joke one afternoon, and you laughed before immediately remembering why the sound suddenly felt strange.

Grace noticed, because of course he did. His smile faltered. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” no.

“You sure?”

“I'm fine.” You cleared your throat.

He nodded. “Okay.” he wasn't convinced, but what can he do?

Things that had been once effortless now required thought. Whenever Grace sat besides you, without missing a beat, your mind never fails to remind you just how close he was.

When your hands accidentally brush against each other you immediately pull away.

When he looked at you for far too long, you suddenly found something very interesting on your phone. You hated it.

You missed how things used to be, how easy it was to tease Grace like your life depended on it, how easy it was to be close to him without being molecularly aware at how close the two of you are.

And judging by the way Grace kept trying to recreate every little routine you'd shared, he missed it too.

He was trying.

You were trying.

But how were you supposed to pretend nothing happened when everything felt different? The way every conversation seemed to carry an invisible second meaning, every silence lasted too long, every accidental touch reminded you of something you were both refusing to acknowledge.

Eventually Grace reached his limit.

“Can we talk?” the question came so quietly that you almost didn't hear it.

You looked up from your phone, Grace was standing a few feet away, his hands tucked into the pockets of that yellow jacket he periodically wore. He wasn't looking at you. And it stung even if you knew you were doing the exact same thing.

“About what?” you know what he means, you think that maybe ignoring it for a little bit more will help. (it doesn't)

His jaw tightened. “You know.”

You stared at him. “No I don't.”

Grace finally met your eyes. The nervousness was practically radiating off of him. It felt weird, Grace had never been this nervous towards you— well, before all of that happened.

“I've been meaning to talk to you for a while.” He managed to utter out.

“About what happened?”

He hesitated. “Yeah.”

Your fingers tightened on your phone. “Grace we don't have to—”

“Yes we do.”

The answer came too quickly, Grace stumbled back when he realized just how sharp he sounded and immediately softened his voice.

“Sorry I just..” he exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don't know just how much longer I can keep pretending everything is normal when it's not.”

You looked away. “It is normal.”

“No it isn't.” His voice went quiet. “You barely look at me anymore.”

“That isn't true.”

“Yes it is.”

You opened your mouth but he continued before you could defend yourself.

“And everytime I try to talk to you, you always find a reason to leave. You never do that! In all the years we've spent together the last thing you'd do was to leave, I'm not telling you that it's wrong to want time for yourself, I'm just saying that it's not something you do.”

You swallowed, you didn't have an answer to that. “....I've.. Been busy..”

“I know.”

The way he said it made your chest tighten.

“You've been busy for days.” Grace looked down at the floor. “I don't want to lose you.”

“You're my best friend.” He continued. “I don't want one stupid night to ruin everything we've had.”

“Grace..”

“I know we both agreed to talk about it tomorrow even if we never properly said it, I know you thought about it.” he laughed, it's the kind where it's evident that he doesn't know what to do anymore. “Then tomorrow became the next day, then the next, and the next.”

You couldn't argue with that.

“I don't regret it.” he declared.

You froze, Grace being Grace immediately noticed, his eyes searched your face. “I don't know if you do.” he admitted. “And maybe that's why I've been so afraid to ask.”

You looked down. “I don't know what I'm supposed to say.”

“Neither do I.” Grace shifted his weight, clearly struggling to find the right words. “That's why I wanted to ask.”

You gained the courage to glance up at him. “about what?”

“What if we didn't have to make it weird?”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What if we just… kept doing what we did?”

“Grace—”

“Not— I'm not saying we have to date.”

“I know.”

“We're friends, we've always been friends.” he swallowed. “So we keep it that way.”

You stared at him while he took a breath.

“friends with benefits.”

The words hung between you two. For a moment you genuinely couldn't believe he uttered those words. Grace mistook your silence as uncertainty rather than shock.

“I mean we'd set boundaries,” he continued quickly. “we'd talk about it, keep things simple. No expectations whatsoever, and no feelings. We wouldn't have to pretend it never happened, but we wouldn't have to turn it into something else either.”

You couldn't find a response. Grace's confidence slowly began to disappear beneath your silence.

“I thought..” he stopped.

“What?”

“I thought it'd make things easier.”

You were speechless, that's for sure, your thoughts were racing way too quickly.

Grace watched you carefully as he scrambled to find the right words to not mess things up further than he already did. “You don't have to answer right now.”

You stood, his expression immediately changed.

“I have to go.”

“What?”

“I just remembered I have something to do.”

“You don't have anything to do.”

“I do.”

“You really don't.”

You grabbed your things. “Look I just need some time—”

Grace took a small step towards you. “Wait.”

You stopped, you don't know why you did despite wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.

Neither of you spoke, you could see his bottom lip trembling.

“Did I make things worse?”

You couldn't bring yourself to answer, for Grace that was more than clear enough.

Grace watched your retreating figure as he stood there helplessly. He didn't have it in him to move. Then he dragged his hands down his face.

“Fuck.”

He wanted to fix things. He wanted to make sure he didn't lose you. And somehow he'd just suggested turning one night that had already complicated everything into an arrangement that made your relationship infinitely worse.

Grace sank into the nearest chair and stared blankly at the floor.

He knew he fucked up. And he doesn't know what he can do to fix things, after today he doesn't know if he can trust himself to utter another word towards you.

“Hey” Grace followed the small footsteps of an ant crawling across the concrete railings. He doesn't know why his feet decided to bring him here out of all places, but since he's here anyways, might as well enjoy the view and relax for a moment.

He needs it really, especially after a terrible breakup with his girlfriend just moments prior, he can't blame her for saying what she said and deciding to end things.

“You're selfish! You care about no one but yourself!”

With no heads up though? That's just cruel, well- since when did people ever give a heads up before breaking up. “Hey I'm breaking up with you tomorrow night, 7 pm sharp, see you!”

Nevertheless he's also at fault here, at least that's what he thinks. With his head all up in clouds just as she said, he might’ve not given her enough attention. He knows the feeling of being abandoned all too well, he never expected himself to do it to other people though, his girlfriend much less. Even if it was unintentional, it doesn't remove the guilt that's currently pulling him down.

she must've felt unloved and not seen. But what's done is done, he can't really bring back time and magically make things better can he? At least she's with Mark, it hurts but it's better knowing she has someone she can go to after all this.

Unlike him, maybe that's why he ended up here by the bridge, looking out at the sunset with his newly found friend crawling ever so slowly on the concrete.

“Make sure to find the right girl and treat her right, you know you'll fall and die after sex right?” nothing came back.

The tiny insect stood motionless on the pavement while he waited as if a thoughtful reply was still making its way through a committee.

Seconds drifted by.

He blinked.

The ant did not.

Grace blinked again staring at the ant with the growing realization that the conversation might be a little one sided.

“Well!” Grace huffed while his hands collided with the railings pushing himself upright. “That was a nice conversation Mister, really eye opening unfortunately though! I really need to go home since it's dark and I'm hungry.”

Grace tilted his head and lowered it in the process towards the ant mimicking a bow “Goodbye sir” he turned around and worked his feet towards his apartment, making sure to stop by a grocery store on the way if he did not want to die of starvation.

.✦ ݁˖

Nobody really prepares you for the real world, more so when your parents are absolute good-for-nothings that never bothered to teach how to cook, clean, or basic hygiene.

Grace had to find out the hard way when his mouth started hurting one day during 4th grade. When he looked in the mirror, his teeth were decaying and his gums had these bumps that hurt like crap, he thought people avoided him because he was weird, turns out it was probably because of his bad breath– key word probably, he'd never know for sure, but he chose to believe that the reason is solely because he's weird. It's better to hear that you got ignored for being different than by having a bad breath, Grace stands by that, he does not want to be known as a stinky bad breath kid.

That also means that Grace, someone with a doctorate in molecular biology, teaches middle schoolers and undergraduates, is very much wack at cooking.

Which is why he's standing by the stove, contemplating what can only generously be described as chicken, poor thing died for nothing.

“....takeout it is then!”

Grace decided that the only way to give the burnt chicken justice is by buying an actual edible chicken cooked by someone else so it does not have to go through the tragedy that the poor things go through when he touches a pan.

After placing the order, Grace carefully put the unmistakably burnt chicken into the trash, what a waste, that could've been a tasty orange chicken.

“Didn't even get a chance the second time.” he let out a quiet chuckle, it was small– forced. He couldn't tell if he was trying to make light of it for his own sake, maybe this is just how he coped, with jokes that aren't funny just to fill the silence.

Just as the laugh came, it disappeared just as quickly, the reality of his situation weighing heavily on his back once again after a day of trying to forget everything.

The silence covered the apartment, to the point that he swore his ears started ringing by how quiet it was.

The apartment felt larger too, now that its frequent visitors most likely will not be coming back anytime soon. There was no voice of the girl in his life asking what he had burnt this time, no voice from his twin brother joking about his dreadful cooking, nothing.

The faint hum of the refrigerator is starting to get on his nerves, his smile faded.

It was deafening.

Sadness is a weird thing, when you think you finally got over something, suddenly it comes crashing down tenfold than it was earlier.

Grace did not cry when he got fired.

Grace did not cry when his parents died.

Grace did not cry when his twin brother cut contact with him and chose to leave him all alone with no one to go to.

Grace did not cry when his only girlfriend broke up with him and left him for another guy.

So he will not cry.

Still it doesn't remove the tightness in his chest, the heavy feeling at the back of his throat, that churning and turning of his stomach that he can't control, the wetness of his eyes increasing at every lousy attempt of swallowing, (and failing.)

It's not easy, but he will go through it because what choice does he have? Nothing. He can't do anything but to accept it and move on.

The silence stretched on, Grace sat with it for another minute before releasing a tired breath while his eyes were squeezed shut. He had so many what ifs, and questions that he desperately needed an answer to, the breakup was his last straw, now he's not just thinking about things he possibly had done wrong during his relationship but also his mistakes from way back, all the things he wanted to fix that he wasn't able to.

It came crawling back, Grace doesn't know just how much more he can take for the night.

His shoulders slumped as the tension bled out of him, whatever answers he was hoping to find aren't going to appear no matter how long he tears himself down.

Grace stood up straight, lifted his chin and left the kitchen to walk towards his room, the knot in his chest still refusing to leave. Busying himself in his work or just doing anything will be better than him being all alone with his thoughts that will for sure make him spiral once again.

His fingers glided through the keyboard flawlessly as he typed in his password, out of habit he opened Microsoft Word, the half finished report flashed his screen.

Grace read the same sentence three times and retained none of it.

With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes and leaned back on his chair.

The apartment was still too quiet.

Every attempt at getting any work done seems to lead to Grace doing something completely unrelated, being easily influenced by his own mind, the report on his screen didn't seem to be getting finished any time soon.

"Enough." Grace muttered under his breath.

He pushed the report aside and directed his mouse to open a new tab, at first it was the usual stuff, random videos on YouTube, news articles and checked his social media, despite all of that he wouldn't be able to tell you the contents of all the things he'd watched and seen in the past hour because his mind wasn't even paying attention, just doing something to fill the space in his thoughts.

But the distraction never lasted, The moment one page loaded, his mind started wandering somewhere who knows what again.

Grace drummed his fingers against the desk.

He didn't want to think anymore, he didn't want to sit alone with his pretentiously loud thoughts for another hour.

So when the thought crossed his mind, he didn't spend much time arguing with it.

Anything to feel something else for a while.

The cursor hovered over the search bar.

‘pornhub’

He doesn't feel shame because why would he? Everybody does it, additionally it's been a long time since he had a release. Because of his hectic schedule of teaching middle schoolers then going to college to teach undergraduates, then the gradings, and lesson plans if he hadn't prepared one already, it was a lot. His girlfriend– well ex girlfriend was usually the one who initiates sex and because of the misunderstandings that led her to break up with him eventually, she stopped asking, and Grace feels like such a dick why he never once asked why, or even check up on her if she's okay or if she wants something or–

Stop, it's done, more thinking won't bring back the past.

Grace navigated the videos that popped up, it all looks so fake that he can't even get his dick to harden, is it bad that he's actually a bit disgusted by all those fake cum coming out of that girl's pussy? But hey he's not yucking someone else's yum.

Eventually he settled on a random video that he found after his endless clicking, it has a more natural vibe, (he prefers it that way.)

Grace unzipped his pants and pushed it down just a bit, enough to let his dick spring out.

A soft groan rumbled his throat as his hand warmed up his dick, tension from his muscles melted away, his eyes closed shut.

He didn't even bother looking at the random woman masturbating on his screen, he focused on the sounds that's coming out of her mouth, his hand pumping his dick at her every moan.

His thumb circled around his tip and pressed hard, Grace played around at the slit that's leaking with pre cum and smeared it all over. The dry friction of him jerking off got on his nerves quickly, at times where he's in a hurry and just needs a quick release, he just goes straight at it, no lube just jerking off raw.

But he's not in a hurry is he? He has all the time in the world so might as well make the most of it. He reached for his drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube and poured a generous amount on his palm, rubbing it together for a few seconds before reaching down and giving his dick its well deserved attention.

Small moans managed to escape from his throat as his hand was pumping his own cock, Grace knew he was close when he felt his dick twitch. His hand squeezed tightly before speeding up chasing his release.

“fuck…yeah..just like that..” Grace muttered under his own breath, deep and gentle, the same tone he used when complimenting his girlfriend for taking his dick to her mouth– which to his dismay only happened once in their years of relationship, why? Because she labeled herself as a pillow princess that expected all her needs to be taken care of and no consideration for Grace's own pleasure. Back then he didn't have any issues with it since he'd much rather pleasure her instead but now that he thinks about it. Yeah..having someones mouth on your dick– kneeling before you is incredibly hot and turns him on more than he expected.

“I'm coming!.. I'm comminggg!” the voice from his laptop echoed through the room, the obnoxious fake moan was heard loud and clear– still at the same time he grunted while a thick white fluid squirted out of his dick.

His hand didn't stop.

It kept pumping up and down while his breath started to shake, sweat was trickling down his forehead, his chest rising and going down quicker than normal.

The overstimulation kicked in no doubt but that didn't stop Grace, the feeling was addictive, every single fiber in his body was telling him to remove his hand or to simply stop but he didn't, his dick was already starting to limp and yet he didn't shred it any mercy.

“fuck..” his voice cracked when a moan slipped out of his mouth, his body was twitching and getting that sudden pops when your body is overstimulated.

His hand went faster, and faster, harder, quicker and–

Ding Dong!

Grace jumped in his seat, his hand pulled away from his dick out of habit as he tried and collect himself together after that intense session.

“uhh..” yeah that was the doorbell, Grace's body immediately entered what could only be described as processing mode.

He blinked once.

Twice.

Then he continued staring at his laptop screen like it had personally offended his family, God forbid a guy watch porn and masturbate.

The person outside must be getting impatient when a ring of a doorbell comes one after another, the sound overlapping, this guy is abusing the hell out of his doorbell.

It's 11 pm.

Who the hell needs him at this hour?

With great reluctance and a huge amount of annoyance, Grace pulled his pants back up, tucking away his cock for a while, he made sure to wash his hands because whoever the person outside of his house, does not deserve (probably) to get touched by cum covered hands.

Ding ding ding ding ding

The person growing more impatient than ever, Grace finally made his way to the front door, his hand twisted the doorknob to see the glorious face of the person begging for his companionship at this hour.

“Delivery for Ryland, chicken wings, it's not paid.” the teenage guy blurted out with a monotone voice, seemingly done with the whole situation. It is late, must be annoying in his end especially since they're probably closing soon– if they aren't already. Grace knows all too well since he himself had worked in fast food during his teenage years.

“oh! Uh..right sorry– give me a minute, I completely forgot.” Grace said frantically, his hand was raised signaling the guy to wait for a moment while he hurried inside to fetch money from his wallet.

He made sure to tip the guy generously for the inconvenience, (even though it's his job, and he's simply doing what he needs to do but it's the thought that counts.)

Grace huffed while the table let out a loud ‘thunk’ when he basically threw it on there.

He dragged his hands slowly down his face, fingers pressing into his eyes, before tracing down to his jaw, as though he could rub away his frustration.

Just great, not that it's the guys fault, but now he's dealing with his cum stained underwear, hopefully the guy didn't notice the wet patch on his pants– he might as well kill himself at this point.

Grace turned his head to stare at the takeout bag that he's no longer interested in eating. The app had literally given him a countdown, updates, there were notifications as well, a map, and an estimated time of arrival, somehow, he'd ignored all of it.

He headed back to his room after putting the takeout in the fridge. He intends to eat it in the morning, since his appetite currently is basically non existent.

After closing the door behind him, the chair squeaked as Grace sat down, he checked the time earlier, it was 11:07 pm. His body is tired and aching, yelling at him to rest, enough masturbation from the night.

He turned his attention to his laptop to close it but the contents on his screen stopped him briefly.

He was sure he was on pornhub, watching some girl masturbating with that awful acting, now he's on a website. He must've clicked on an ad somewhere accidentally when he got up earlier.

‘NotaCamsite.com’ pulled a few chuckles out of him, it's a bad name, terrible even, but he can't deny– it is a bit funny.

Abandoning the plan of getting some sleep early– at least for Grace 11 pm can still be considered as early, his messed up schedule fucked his perception on time.

Scrolling for a bit, he concluded that it's basically your usual cam site, he never actually visited one before but he doesn't live under a rock to not know what and how cam sites work.

Cam models promoting their streams, and the site asking him to buy tokens and quote on quote. ‘Running low on tokens? Recharge now! So you can show your favorite models some love.’

His eyes trailed down towards the small text under the big ‘PURCHASE NOW!’

‘Sign up and get a free 500 tokens to make a model happy!’

Fuck it right? Grace thought.

It's free and it doesn't ask for any banking information when he tries to sign up, the tokens will hypothetically just appear on his account if he did hypothetically sign up and hypothetically watch a few streams and hypothetically give it to a cam model.

Yes yes right hypothetically.

No way he'll actually do it.

No….

Grace clicked his tongue while staring at his laptop screen.

…..

Ah his hand slipped.

Well he can't let that 500 tokens go to waste now can he.

Sleep now saying it's goodbye after Grace began scrolling through the streams available.

Apparently 500 tokens costs $50 so basically 10 tokens for a dollar, not too shabby, he swears he'll finally have his sweet date with his bed once he gives away his precious free 500 tokens.

Upon endless scrolling, Grace often lingers from certain streams that caught his attention, all of it was enough to get his dick to rise up again.

Months of no sexual activity really does affect a person.

He palmed his erection and squeezed it tightly, not enough to hurt. Pre cum was already leaking from his tip, the clear fluid glistening.

He smeared the pre cum all over his tip, a ritual at this point every time he masturbates, he let go for a moment to grab the lube sitting on his table. Grace poured a generous amount all over his hand once again.

After putting it back, he gently ran his hand into his dick, the cold base making him hiss. He looked back at the screen, his free hand scrolling once again, looking at all the cam models presenting their pussy for the camera and doing wonders with it.

His eyebrows raised for a moment when he saw a woman taking a foot tall tentacle deep into her vagina- impressive really but it isn't what he's looking for.

His hand kept pumping his dick while woman after woman came on screen– quite literally.

He kept scrolling and–

Grace didn't mean to stop, his fingers just froze, his body moving before his mind could even think.

Mid scroll, as if the moment had snagged him by the wrist, a quiet hitch broke his breathing.

He wouldn't call it love at first sight, no he doesn't believe in those kind of things, what he can say though is the woman looks absolutely breathtaking.

He never means to judge somebody just by their appearance–

The woman he's looking at through his laptop screen is simply just that beautiful. Your legs were spread open with a fuck machine pounding your pussy, you were screaming– in a good way, at least Grace hopes so, you look like you're enjoying it so that's good.

Just as the silicone dick was thrusting into you at a monstrous speed, the hand on his dick sped up just the same.

“ah..fuck..so pretty....”

His eyes never once looked at anywhere else other than you, unfortunately for him, the silicone dick seems to be slowing down, real slow.

His hand never stopped pumping his dick but the lack of movement on your end was a bit disappointing, when he realized that you're not gonna start moving anytime soon, he threw his head back and worked on his dick, his thumb playing with his tip, gliding it around and eventually pressing down hard on his slit.

Just as he was about to be lost in the pleasure a voice snapped him out of it.

“everyone..” a tired voice was heard “is that all you wanted to see, are you sure? Keep the donations coming and the fuck machine will continue destroying my pussy, won't you like that?” he watched as you turned to the camera, a mask adorned your face with intricate designs only covering your eyes.

Grace's eyes flickered open when he heard your voice, it sounded nice too…in the back of his mind, that voice sounds vaguely familiar but he chose to ignore it for now.

More importantly, you're threatening to end the stream if no more donations came in, he's not even close to cumming yet, this won't do.

A quiet hum vibrated on his throat when he remembered the free 500 tokens sitting in his account right now– Grace hadn't noticed earlier but there were texts on the top left of the screen.

100 tokens = 1 minute

500 tokens = 7 minutes

1k tokens = 15 minutes

And so on, there were a lot more options, such as 15k tokens to choose what kind of toy you'll use, 10k to focus on a specific fetish–

Grace shook his head snapping himself back to reality– the point is, he has 500 free ones and he can– no, he will use it for an extra 7 minutes, until he came at least.

He wasted no time and dragged his mouse to click on the donate button, he typed in 500 and quickly pressed send, he's pent up and his dick is standing tall and hard, his tip leaking angrily, hungry for any kind of stimulation, and Grace stopping waiting for the Camgirl to get pounded did not help at all.

Eventually his donation was delivered and shown on the screen.

‘rylace139 has donated 500 tokens’

His user was horrid, very clear that he didn't spend any time thinking about it, before he could even talk shit about his user on his mind, your voice grabbed his attention.

“ah! Looks like one of you guys wanted to see this pussy for longer.”

Yeah, he does.

“500 tokens? That's very generous of you Ry.”

Keep calling him that.

“Ry you're real naughty tonight huh, you don't want me to rest? You want me to get ruined instead?”

Well no– he wants you to rest but fuck, he's had a long day and he wants nothing more than to see what your beautiful face would look like once you cum hard.

“Well since you asked nicely…I'll make sure to put on a good show for you, watch me okay?”

You say with that flirty voice, Grace's strokes sped up matching the frequency of your fuck machine, God he doesn't know why he's so turned on, it feels so wrong but he can't stop.

He's so sure that whatever tone you're using is only for show, but fuck you know how to use the hell out of it, because he just felt himself twitch when you said your last message before getting fucked again.

It puts him on edge, with the way his dick kept twitching and the amount of pre cum leaking, he knew he's close, he hopes you are too.

“please..” he whined before pressing hard on his dick as the cum shoots out, it covered his hand and made a mess on his stomach too.

Just a moment later, you're screaming again as your climax hit you hard– your legs were shaking as the fuck machine showed no mercy and kept pounding in and out of your cunt.

Grace watched while his dick was limping from the aftermath, he could feel himself getting turned on again but after all of his orgasms, he's not sure if his cock down there can take more.

You still had a few minutes left and Grace sat through the entirety of it, the way you pleaded for the machine to go faster and harder, although surely it won't respond– gIves it a nice touch though, makes it feel real.

He was leaning back in his chair as he watched you get unraveled, eventually the timer did reach its end and the machine slowed down to a stop.

You were panting, face down ass up, with your pussy dripping with juices. “I think..”

You look beautiful, Grace thought.

“That's enough for tonight.” you sat up and looked at the camera, the ruined bed sheets in view with all the wet patches in it makes it all the more erotic.

“bye my lovelies, thank you all for your donations, make sure to come back tomorrow and spend more money on me okay? Love you all~”

And then screen froze, Grace stared at it for a good minute or two before dragging his mouse to click on your account, you really are beautiful– well you aren't exactly showing your face, with that mask always present to cover your eyes, still he knows you're beautiful, he just knows.

The gnawing feeling of familiarity is eating Grace away but he just can't put his finger on it, you probably just sound like somebody he had met before, he left it at that before closing his laptop shut and finally thought about cleaning himself up.

The weird feeling of sticky underwear pressed against him is not very ideal, the cum on his stomach that's very much drying quickly doesn't feel too good either.

Shower it is.

.✦ ݁˖

After ending the stream you sat on your bed and simply laid still while staring in the distance, sex work has never been easy, it's tiring, but for the most part atleast you don't hate it too much, it's daunting work but it pays the bills.

Even if you had to put up that kind of act that your viewers liked, desperate slut wants to get ravished or something. You let out a shaky breath before standing to clean yourself up, the sharp pain on your abdomen hits you instantly, it's not too painful thankfully, just very uncomfortable.

Cleaning yourself up and the bed was exhausting, it's a task that normally wouldn't take too much energy out of you but after hours of streaming, you want nothing more than to lay down and melt.

You were actually glad that the donations had slowed down and eventually stopped, you were ready to finally pack things up but you just had to say that– out of habit really. You sighed frustrated while looking back at what you'd done.

You forgot just how much the viewers liked it when you talked like that– you mentally punched yourself when you had heard the notification that someone had donated 500 tokens, seven more minutes, well you had no one to blame but yourself, it felt good though so that was helpful. A soft sigh came out from your lips as you laid there dazed.

All in all tonight had been good, it's not life changing, sure, but you earned enough to cover a few months of rent. Not too bad.

A few regulars came to watch you, nothing significant happened but now with the money you earned you can justify spending hours online looking through different kinds of things that you want to buy– maybe you'd go out as well, you won't have to just window shop because now you have the money.

You grabbed your phone to look at your account, the other things were irrelevant, you just wanted to know the total of all the donations sent to you– you already know it's high, the donations decorated your screen whenever people send you one, and some high numbers popped up today.

Still you were curious though

Scrolling down all the donations that you received, you recognize all the users, they're regulars that often donate enough so they can command you to do stuff, a few users you're familiar with that donated small amounts but no biggie, you remember them giving you thousands, you pin the thought of teasing them next stream.

Your scrolling halted when you saw a user you don't recognize

“Oh, new guy.”

You weren't small but not big enough that new people often came to donate that much for their first time. You had a dedicated fan base that you were thankful for, making it easier to communicate with the viewers.

You clicked on the users account.

Created today, no profile picture, no bio, just a username. ‘rylace139’

You don't remember him commenting during your stream earlier, only the fact that he was the last one that donated to your stream, a quiet viewer.

You seem to have piqued his interest, you smile to yourself, making sure that you'll make that person talk if he comes and watch your stream again– you hope so, you just love playing with your fans, makes the job more interesting.

It was late at night and your eyelids are starting to grow heavy, it's time to sleep you figured.

You plugged in your phone and turned off the lamp, and settled inside your blanket making it into your self owned cocoon.

.✦ ݁˖

Grace woke up a mess, he had forgotten to take off his glasses and now it's sitting on his chin lopsided, he remembered last night, he went to shower but decided to get just a little bit of work done before going to bed.

30 minutes turned into an hour, he got into his bed at 2 in the morning, thankfully his schedule for today is late in the afternoon, he checked the time and it's only 11 am.

Good. If he hurries to make food he can still consider it breakfast.

Probably.

Mostly.

Oh who cares, he's a grown man he's gonna eat whenever and wherever he wants, he can call his breakfast dinner for all he cares, he's the one in charge of this apartment.

With a big yawn, Grace stood up and headed towards the kitchen, didn't bother to fix his glasses, it's still dangling on his face, how it's not falling? He's not sure himself.

He shuffled around the kitchen and was about to make something simple, like a grilled cheese, however, the paper bag sitting nicely inside his fridge that hasn't even been opened caught his eye.

Right, he ordered takeout last night and didn't even eat it. The consequences of his terrible decisions now coming back to bite his ass, his stomach is growling and aching painfully from hunger. From lunch time yesterday to now, he hadn't eaten a single thing.

He grabbed it out of the fridge. Grace had come to a conclusion that transferring the cold, hard, and stale chicken onto a plate and heating it up is too much work. Which is why he opted to eat it straight out of its packaging.

He picked a chicken wing up and ate it cold without a second thought, leaning against the counter top as he scrolled through his phone with his free hand, looking through the things he needed to do for the day.

It wasn't exactly a balanced breakfast, (yes, he insists it's still breakfast despite the time being 11:12 am.) but food is food and he isn't about to waste perfectly edible chicken over arbitrary meal rules.

Upon scrolling through his phone– 5th wing down, he learned that there's a few new faculty members and they're hosting some kind of welcoming party. Now it makes sense why his schedule for today is so late. A lot happened yesterday that Grace hadn't even thought to question why his time for today starts at 1 pm.

After finishing the whole box of wings, he started to get ready, following his routine to a tea. A quick shower, brushed his teeth, fresh shirt, neatly pressed slacks, a tie that took two tries to get right, and finally his glasses, now sitting where it's actually supposed to be.

One final glance at the clock, he thought he might be late. He wasn't, thankfully.

Years of sprinting across university campuses had taught him exactly how long he could procrastinate before it genuinely became a problem.

Summer break had bought everyone a few weeks of silence before the next academic year comes and discombobulate their respective sleep schedules once again. Well, a few weeks is a stretch. It's only the students that's really getting a break here, the teachers still have to prepare everything, pretty evident on Grace's very much tired figure that's currently locking his bicycle on one of the railings.

He never intended to come here today in the first place. On an ordinary occasion, yes, he would welcome the new faces but he's tired. A different kind of tired, not like the ones where he stayed up all night grading papers or preparing for a particularly eventful day, no. The kind of tired where the only thing he wants to do is lay down and rot.

Unfortunately for him, after the welcoming party there's a faculty meeting. Something he really doesn't want to miss, which is why he's headed towards the administrative building. Begrudgingly so, he can't wait for the day to be over.

The moment Grace stepped into the lobby, he was greeted by colorful streamers, a long table line of food, and a banner stretched across the wall.

‘WELCOME TO OUR NEW FACULTY MEMBERS’

“Huh..”

“Look at you, coming here to greet our new family.”

“Co-workers.”

“Eh, same thing.”

Grace turned towards the familiar voice, finding one of his fellow science teachers already balancing a paper plate filled with meat and carbs. “I was told there'd be a faculty meeting.”

“There is, eventually.” He gestured towards the decorations. “Principal thought it'd be nice to welcome the new hires first.”

“How fun.” Grace let out a breath.

“You don't look like you're having fun.”

“I skipped a perfectly good nap for this.”

He snorted. “You'll survive.”

Grace watched him walk off to get even more ribs onto his plate..that was still very much full of food.

A few people greeted him upon his arrival, someone had even silently handed him a coffee, perhaps sensing his exhaustion– if it's not obvious by the way he moves. The coffee there sucks but he appreciates it nonetheless.

The air was filled with teachers socializing and catching up with everything they've done during the break, a few also approached him and engaged in small talk. Grace isn't that cruel to shrug them off just because he's a bit under the weather, he tried to befriend everybody when he first started teaching here, not really a smart move for him to suddenly act like a snob.

A soft clink against a glass caught everyone's attention. The Principal stepped to the front of the room, smiling warmly.

“Good afternoon everyone, Thank you all for coming before the school year officially begins. As always, I'd like to welcome the newest members of our faculty. I hope everyone makes them feel at home.” A small round of applause echoed across the room. “Why don't we start with introductions?”

One by one, the new teachers stepped forward, giving brief summaries about themselves. Grace paid attention to every single one while sipping his coffee, he didn't want to give off the wrong vibes towards the new hires.

His ears twitched when he heard a familiar voice, there at the front he saw you, adjusting a folder tucked between your arm before offering the room an easy smile.

“Good afternoon everyone, I'll be joining the science department this year.” You say followed by your name. “Before this, I worked as an office assistant at Westbridge University while finishing my degree. I mostly handled graduate student records, thesis paperwork, and scheduling, and whatever administrative emergencies happened to come through the office.”

His brows knitted together.

“I've been looking forward to teaching here, and I hope we all get along.” Polite applause followed as you stepped back into the crowd.

Grace joined and clapped but his mind was elsewhere, it was rummaging through his old memories trying to find where he had seen and heard you.

Westbridge University..

Office assistant..

Then it clicked, it's you.

He knew that face, not intimately but well enough. Back when he was working his ass off for his PhD, there had been one student assistant sitting behind the front desk whenever he dragged himself into the office.

The one who never forgot to remind him to eat lunch.

The one who noticed whenever the dark circles under his eyes became a little deeper.

The one who'd sigh whenever he'd submit his paperwork minutes before the deadline.

“Sir Grace, you arranged this out of order.”

“You can't survive on coffee alone.”

“Did you even sleep today?”

Nothing drastic happened, you were simply someone he befriended back then that he slowly lost contact with, it's a pleasant surprise that he was able to see you again. He hopes you aren't too mad.

As you sat down, Grace was still replaying your introduction in his head when he heard you answer a question.

“I've always wanted to teach.”

Huh.. It's oddly familiar, he just can't seem to put his finger on it.

For the briefest second, his mind wandered back to the previous night– to the anonymous masked Camgirl he jerked his cock off to when he stumbled upon her stream.

The resemblance was eerily close, not that he has evidence, he doesn't know what the Camgirl looks like. It's very common for people to have similar voices as well.

His thoughts screeched to a halt almost as quickly as they'd begun when it started going somewhere inappropriate.

Not to mention it's incredibly rude– and more than a little insane, to look at a Co worker (that you were also acquainted with back in the past) and think,

‘you sound like the Camgirl I watched last night’

He quietly pushed the thought aside as he sipped his coffee.

A coincidence.

Ryland had thought of what it’d feel like to close that distance, to feel your lips on his. Deep and ravenous, and holy fuck, he wants to kiss you. He thinks you’d be a good kisser, too, holding him by his shirt, and standing on your tip-toes because he’s taller than you. The thought makes his head hurt, and sends ripples of heat down to where—well, he definitely has a problem now.

He’s going to hell. Ryland Grace is sure that he is going to hell.

Sure, he can keep hiding behind concern, behind habit, behind responsibility, but Someone from Above would know he is nothing but a liar, spewing big fat lies, under the most heinous excuses.

He buries his face in his hands, finally letting lets himself admit that he is in too deep. For a while, he just sits there, staring at nothing. Then he turns toward the window, looking up at the sky like there’s an answer somewhere above him.

There isn’t.

There’s just this ache sitting in his chest, something too deep to explain and too constant to ignore, not to mention his fucking hard on right now as he keeps sipping his drink.

He takes a breath, mulling every wrong thing over, and why they feel so wrong. And it’s because you’re his coworker, and you’re way younger than he is. He should be more professional, more like a role model to you. Not someone who remembers the sound of your laugh when the room goes quiet, or someone who looks at your lips and thinks about kissing you and fucking you, and doing everything to you.

Fuck. Ryland Grace is so fucked.

He’s fucked now as he unzips his denim jeans, pulling it down just enough to let his cock spring out. God, it’s dirty to think about you in the way he is right now, bent over in that room against the table you’d both just used. He wants to unbutton your blouse one button by button, wants to pierce down at your tits through your cleavage.

Ryland strokes himself, all fucked out and tipsy with his head rolled back imagining what pretty sounds you’d make if he fucked you against it. Would you finally call him by his first name or keep calling him ‘Mr. Grace’?

He whimpers, fingers and hands and palms and every bit of his anatomy working to reach his climax, still thinking about how perfect your cunt must feel, how sweet you must taste. He tries not to, has been trying so hard the past few months.

But trying can only substitute for the feeling for so long, and this is the only way to relieve himself.

With heavier breathing, he tightens his grip around himself, picking the pace, and imagines instead your hand instead of his. And there is so much heat. Heat as he fucks himself with his own hand, heat as he curses under his breath, heat as his hips stutter forward and he finally cums with a gasp of your name.

Ryland Grace could not be any more fucked. Because aside from wanting mornings with you (bedheads, steaming mugs of coffee, sleepy smiles), and afternoons of endless conversations, he’s turned greedy, wants more from you. He wants your nights now, too. He wants to know how you feel if he was inside of you, his cock, his fingers, his mouth. He wants to know how you’d sound moaning his name, how you’d whimper, how you’d make pretty little noises. He wants to know how you taste, lips, cunt, neck, skin.

He wants nothing more than to take care of you after, to kiss all over your body—ankles, thighs, stomach, breasts, chest, neck, chin, ear, cheeks, everywhere. He desires to hold you in his arms after, to take care of you, provide for you. He’s selfish and greedy, and wants the entirety of you despite the big fat off-limits in bold peering at him every time he thinks of you.

Ryland Grace is fucked.

And he’s entirely more fucked a week later when he finds himself in a crowded hallway between classes, fucked when he sees you despite his best efforts at distance. Because where greed had been, guilt now currently sits.

For a moment, he lets his mind wander towards the images he’d conjured up of you a week before, lets himself picture pushing your panties aside, the roll of your eyes, the parting of your pink lips, the heat of your tongue—

Ryland feels like he’s going to cry. It’s almost as if every self-control he’d spent years practicing has decided to leave him, to abandon and jump ship and leave him to fend for himself alone with a lust he’s never quite felt before. A sort of sinful desire that he shouldn’t even have in the first place because, again, you are everything sweet, yet everything forbidden.

He’s so wrapped up in his mental scoldings that he doesn’t realize you’re not exactly alone.

You’re talking with the History teacher just outside your classroom, just a few years ahead of your age, and Ryland cannot do anything to prevent the burnt feeling on his sternum. His eyes dart back and forth between you and the boy, and Ryland really doesn’t like how close you two are.

At that moment, he learns the meaning of the word jealousy. Or, he relearns it. Because it’s something he thought he’d felt before in his life, but now the past only seems like a weak and straggling imitation of what real jealousy is like. Which is exactly what he’s feeling right now.

And before he can decide whether to turn around and take another route to maintain professionalism and to shake off the taste of burnt sugar and the overwhelming wrath of jealousy and the pictures of you in his head, you’ve already spotted him, and you’ve spawned beside him faster than his feet could move.

“Hi. You’re also heading to the lounge?”

A torturous sliver of hope in the sickeningly sweet honey that drips down from your tongue as you ask him.

Ryland can only nod in response, and there is a small smile on his face when you had abandoned the man to go to him. You’d willingly brought yourself beside him.

He is soooo going to hell. All feelings foreign have apparently decided to make themselves known at this very moment, the jealousy, the heat, the overwhelming tide of adoration, the fondness, how horny—

The bell rings, and suddenly, there are students everywhere, and voices are overlapping, and lockers are slamming, and there is quite literally movement everywhere all at once. And you’re stepping into the flow of students with him, and there is no space between the moving bodies and the narrow hallway.

And God, he really shouldn’t have done it, but it’s almost instinct the way he reaches out. The way he has a hand at your back to guide you through the rush. He feels dirty doing this, touching with the same hand he’d used to pleasure himself at the thought of you. And you don’t even know, completely unaware that he’d imagined the very same palm in helpful guidance as if it were yours wrapped around him.

Ryland is going to jump off a window. He’s going to lunge forward, head for the nearest exit, because his heart is thumping so hard in his chest, and he thinks he’ll remember the feel of your back against his hand for years to come. Has he touched you before this? Does the light feather-touches count? Does the brush of your fingers equate to this? He doesn’t think so. He’d remember if he’d touched you for this long without repercussions, with an actual reason to.

This is all in good nature, even as guilt overwhelms him. It’s to keep you from getting pushed into the lockers, or against the tide of students, and it was really only for a few seconds, but the moment his palm makes contact, everything in his brain goes unhelpfully quiet.

He guides you forward without thinking, threading through the crowd, and then it’s finally over. Thank Fuck, and he drops his hand like he’s been burned. Like the contact had given him third-degree burns. Like he’s trying to correct yet another mistake.

He’s feeling too much. Jealousy, relief, the touch of his hand on your back, and apparently horny which is definitely not an appropriate thing to feel at a fucking school. He can’t keep up with the rushing emotions, with the way his heart is exploding, with the way his brain is melting, with the way his lungs are filling up. He’s losing control.

Ryland is losing the composure he’d taken years to build. You are the prime example of how losing control feels like, unraveling him and unspooling every bit of sanity he has left, making him feel like a teenager in his grown fucking age.

He should feel embarrassed.

“Thanks.” You say, adjusting your bag strap. “That was kind of scary.”

“Of course.” He cuts his response shorter, trying real hard to keep his voice steady, and then he starts walking before he does something stupid like staying longer than necessary. Like thinking, and imagining, and feeling jealous again without warrant.

Ryland Grace had no right to be jealous. He had no right to think about guys younger than him. Guys who would hold your hand, who might kiss you and keep kissing you. He had no right for the gut-deep jealousy sitting and constricting his diaphragm. You were not his.

The thing he needed from the Faculty Lounge is forgotten, and he’s almost immediately making his way back to his classroom lest he wants to suffer more consequences. Lest he wants to drown in his thoughts any further.

But later, in the evening when it’s only the two of you in the empty hallways, there is nowhere else to hide or run off to when you come to his classroom to ask him for his help. To drop by when he’s free from whatever the hell he’s doing.

You’re asking him. He has half a mind to tell that history teacher that here you were, asking Ryland, not him.

And God, he can’t stop himself. He’s exhausted all his restraint earlier, and now he’s found himself halfway into your classroom before he can regain any form of composure.

“I just need it on that top corner.” You’re saying, standing on a chair with a piece of paper decoration in your hands, and he’s immediately by your side in case you might fall over.

“Careful.”

“I’m not that high up, Mr. Grace.”

He looks at you, and you look back, and God, he really needs to focus. “Still, it’s dangerous standing on a chair like this. Did you know, statistically speaking—“

“I am only two steps away from the floor. Please spare me the lecture.”

“You could still hurt yourself. High chairs actually account for an average of roughly 40,000 department-treated injuries every year in the United States. Which, if you didn’t know, is here. We are in the United States, and you are standing on a high chair.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head playfully as you balance yourself to try and stick the decoration to the wall.

Ryland steps even closer when you wobble a little. “I said be careful.”

“I am being careful.”

He reaches up slightly, not touching you, just hovering near your elbow like that alone will somehow help. It doesn’t, really, but it’s extra reassurance for him. He’s vying for the benefit of the doubt just this once.

He rids his perverted thoughts, because they don’t really want to make an appearance. There is genuine concern in place of his perversion from earlier in the day.

Tonight, he simply wants to make sure you don’t fall off this fucking chair while you tip-toe and move about without a care in the world. He has half a mind to hold you in place, but he doesn’t think himself capable of doing that.

And you’re leaning forward, and tipping the chair, and moving so carelessly, and he’s moving even closer than he should, and his heart is banging its fists against his ribs, and— and the poster is finally where you need it to be.

Ryland lets out a sigh in relief that you’ve come out of the task unhurt. Or well, something between relief and frustration. Or both, he’s not really sure anymore.

“See?” You say, stepping down carefully from the chair after the minutes of carelessness you’d just displayed. “No injuries.”

Ryland exhales, once more. “Yeah, yeah.”

You laugh, brushing past him to check the decoration from a distance.

And Ryland stays where he was, trying not to think of how close you’d been. Trying not to think of the warmth that had emanated from you. Trying not to think that it’s the closest you two have ever been. Trying not to think of a future he keeps imagining. Trying not to think of tugging you towards him, wrapping his arms around you, laughing about something after a long day of work. Trying not to think of how easy it would’ve been to grab ahold of you and bend you over—

He clears his throat. Fuck, he really thought he had this one.

“Anything else you need help with?” He lifts his face from where he had buried it in shame, looking at you with a sort of hopefulness that there is nothing more, and that you will set him free for the night.

You glance around the room like you’re actually considering it for a second, before, “I think that’s it for today. Unless you suddenly feel like alphabetizing my entire storage cabinet.”

Ryland lets out a short laugh, an amused but barely concealed fond smile. “That sounds like a punishment, not a task.”

“Depends on how much you enjoy organization.”

“I enjoy it just fine.”

You raise an eyebrow, looking at him with mirrored amusement but before he can hold eye contact, he’s already looking away.

He’s shifting his weight, adjusting the strap of his bag like he’s suddenly thought of something, and he’s checking the time on the clock, even though he already knows what it says.

He’s just trying to find an excuse. Like he always does.

“Right.” He says finally. “I should probably get going.”

You nod, that same wave of disappointment washing over you. There is always some place to be with Ryland. “Yeah. Me too.”

Ryland takes the first step back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Grace.”

And he’s already forcing himself to leave before he does something as unnecessary as looking back. As unnecessary as letting out the whispered goodnight ghosting his lips. As unnecessary as the urge to press his lips to your forehead, and take your hand in his, and bring you home for a quiet night of grading papers together and laughing at the Bright and Creative minds that children have when making up answers.

That night, Ryland has the same recurring dream of a life with you. He dreams of the softness of your touch, of the plumpness of the lips he stares at when you’re alone, at how warm your hand must be against his. He dreams of the smoothness of your skin, of your thighs, and how sweet your lips must be like. How sweet you must taste.

He wakes up hot and guilty, as he resolves himself again with the thought of you.

Some days are harder than others.

For Ryland, the massive, ginormous lump of guilt in his throat for feeling something he hasn’t felt in almost a decade. And, for you, succumbing to the exhaustion behind your eyes and the frustration of trying so hard to prove yourself.

It gets tiring. And mistakes, while normal, can be more reason to doubt yourself.

It’s how you find yourself sitting on the bench outside the school building, where most students sit and wait for the bus or their parents. Theirs in hand-holding of warmth and love and familiarity at the carve of their parents’ hands, and yours with cold, dead hands with your knees pulled to your chest and a tear-stricken face in companion.

It’s late enough that you don’t worry about anyone seeing you like this. Cue the quiver of knees pressed on your chest, tear stains that look like trembling contrite. Like you’re sorry to yourself for existing, unable to forgive yourself all the same.

It’s melancholic, lonely, for almost an entire hour until you hear a set of footprints. Forward and forward and forward, faint, but unmistakably human.

You don’t look up, though. You drown it out in favor of washing out your frustration over yourself. It’ll probably recede, probably keep walking towards the parking lot or wherever the direction was to their home. You certainly don’t expect anyone to sit next to you.

Even more so, for that someone, the particular he, to look at you with an expression you don’t quite recognize. You might have to blame the blur of tears in your eyes.

“Mr. Grace?” You sniffle, laughing a little at how pathetic you must sound like. How you might look like. “I’m not really— in the right… I can’t - I don’t want to talk.”

He only nods, simply sits there and says, like it’s the most obvious thing, “that’s okay.”

Ryland doesn’t push or ask you to explain. He just sits there, staring across. He’d hate to be looked at while crying, so he mirrors what he thinks might bring you comfort. Trained eyes towards the dimming lights of the parking lot, the littering stars, the rough pavement.

You don’t know how long the both of you stay quiet, half an hour or an hour. You can never quite figure out how time works when you’re with him.

Though, through that time, your voice starts to find its pacing. It starts begging to speak, asking you if it was okay to let the thoughts that had been running tirelessly to finally be set free of its place in the hamster-wheel of your mind,

“Just a bad day.” You admit quietly, after a silent debate with yourself.

“I figured.” He finally looks at you, after staring at anything but, and the obvious concern almost makes you vomit. You’re not quite sure why. “You okay? Wanna talk now?”

“Yeah.” It’s a laugh that sounds tired, but a laugh nevertheless. “I just had everything planned for today, and it didn’t… it just didn’t work.”

“Mhm.”

“I just think— I just feel like I’m always running, always trying to catch up to everyone else here who knows exactly what they’re doing. I mean, all of you are just… you’re experienced and I’m… I’m someone who’s just pretending to be. I don’t belong here.”

You look down at your hands, fingers twisting together, playing around itself on your lap to try and satiate the busyness, the scuffle inside your head. “I think that’s why I wanted to come here in the first place.”

Ryland tilts his head slightly. “Here?”

You nod, a small, humorless laugh leaving you again. “San Francisco. I mean… moving here.”

His expression softens when he realizes this is something you haven’t really talked about before, something you’d briefly mentioned in the rain a few months ago when he hadn’t known you like he did now.

“I spent so many years in New York.” You say, volume low. “Studying there, building my whole life, getting used to the fast pace and the competitiveness. And I think I convinced myself that if I just went somewhere completely different, I’d finally feel like I knew what I was doing.”

You shrug, eyes still fixed on the hands on your lap. “Like a fresh start would make me feel more prepared. More like an actual teacher instead of someone trying to convince everyone I belong.”

Ryland stays quiet, letting you finish. Even though he’s fighting every urge to reach out and take your shaking hands in his, to tell you the opposite of your entire spiel, and that you do belong here.

“But then I got here and realized…” You swallow. “A different place doesn’t magically make you stop doubting yourself. The feeling follows you.”

“Hey… I don’t think you’re being fair on yourself.” His voice is quiet, gently coaxing you out of the little bubble of self-hatred in your head. “Do you know what I see every time I pass by your classroom?”

You look at him now, and the eye-contact pushes him to finish his thought.

“I see someone who always stays late because they care, because they want their students to really understand, because they have this great love and passion for this job. So no, you’re not just pretending. I don’t think it’s fair to say that to yourself and the person you were to get here. You have to be nicer to yourself. We’re all just trying our best, aren’t we?”

Your eyes are starting to burn again, and you can’t bring yourself to say anything again because you’re afraid it’ll come out disassembled, in choked sobs. You don’t want to trigger yourself to cry in front of him. So, you stay silent for a while to stabilize yourself.

And when you finally feel like you can talk without crying, you ask. You can’t help but ask. “Why are you always so nice to me?”

Ryland clears his throat. He looks like he’s trying real hard to think of an answer, wrestling over every option. Like he’s writing and erasing a response over and over, even though there is a very obvious answer sitting at the tip of his tongue.

“Because I know what it feels like.” He settles. It’s still a truth, though not in its entirety. There are many things he had chosen to omit from his answer.

You try to return what looks like the trial of a smile even though you’re still trying hard to blink away the tears that are still trying to form.

He still notices the effort. Of course he does. He always notices.

Ryland notices the way your fingers twist together, the way you’re trying to swallow down your disappointment, the way you’re trying to repeat his words in your head like a mantra.

And sitting beside you, watching you, triggers a sudden realization that sits heavily on his chest, that had been writing itself in his mind for a few months now. Because this isn’t just him helping the new teacher adjust, or him simply finding you attractive. He cares, too goddamn much.

More than he should.

He cares about whether you’re okay. He cares about whether you go home still thinking you’re not good enough. He cares about the way you’d tried to smile for him. He cares about being able to alleviate your pain just a little.

And it’s scaring him.

Because this is different. This is sitting beside you in the quiet and realizing that he cares for you in a way he doesn’t exactly mirror to his other coworkers. Sure, he’d have done the same. But there would be no ache in his heart at seeing you so dejected. There would be no intense feeling of wanting to make things better. There would be no urge to hold them in his arms and do anything he possibly could to make them smile.

This isn’t good.

It’s not good that his feelings are taking over. Ryland desperately needs to build a wall between his head and his heart immediately before he complicates anything. He’d already overstepped his boundaries, stepped way beyond the line of whatever label you had. He’d thought of you in ways he shouldn’t, and he feels greatly for you in ways that had been foreign to him for a long time.

There has to be something he can do to lock himself in place, to cage his feelings, to repair the boundaries he’d overstepped.

After that night, Ryland makes… adjustments. Small ones, changes he can implement immediately because they’re necessary.

He takes the longer route through the hallway if it means he doesn’t pass your classroom twice in a row. He stops lingering in your doorway, stops initiating conversation before leaving. It’s perfect in theory, but in practice, it only makes him more aware of when he does see you.

And fuck, he didn’t know it’d be so hard to restrict himself from you.

You notice too. You’d noticed when he’d lingered. And you notice, now, when routines suddenly change. Though, still imperfectly. You might have to thank faculty meetings for that—the worst kind of unavoidable.

As much effort as Ryland does to avoid you, there is nothing more he can do when the only empty chair left is beside yours.

(It had been an unspoken rule. Ryland had always sat next to you in previous faculty meetings. He curses his past self for that.)

He sits next to you, though very carefully. Like he’s afraid to break the menial improvements he’s been making. Like he’s frightened he’d undo his hard work.

“Mr. Grace.” You murmur when he settles, acknowledging him and hoping he’d look at you. The way he hasn’t in a while.

“Hi, kid.”

He doesn’t say more, the nickname burns, and the meeting finally starts.

It’s something about deadlines, about forms, about accreditations. Ryland doesn’t really hear anything properly. And he’s too much of a coward to admit it’s because your elbow is just slightly too close to his.

They’re not even touching. They’re just close, existing in the same narrow space between armrests, but he’s aware of it. He’s aware that it won’t take much to move, won’t take much for your elbows to touch in the way he’s craving.

He ignores it at first. It can’t be that hard.

But, it is. And he shifts his notebook an inch. Shifts his posture a little to move closer, and so do you. And it’s slow-burn inching before your elbows are finally brushing in the smallest contact.

Ryland stops writing. He has stopped for a while, looking down at your elbows. The contact sends electricity jolting inside of him, as if asking him how he could deprive his mind, his heart, his body of you.

The two of you sit there, unmoving, elbows still touching, and pretending not to notice something you are both very aware of.

And as if things couldn’t get worse, the touch of your elbow is suddenly ripped from him when you stand to say something during the meeting.

He doesn’t know what you’re talking about because all he’s been thinking about is his proximity to you, how he misses your skin on his, how he’d missed the smell of your perfume. Just like he had felt when he’d helped you decorate your room. When he’d thought about bending you over—

Your voice cuts through the room and distracts him from progressing his thoughts.

You’re explaining something about scheduling, and Ryland has finally reintegrated himself back into the meeting. Or, at least for a few seconds before his attention pulls down to your eyes and the way they had looked crying, and your mouth, to the way it’s moving as you speak. The way they had trembled that night. The way he’d wanted to kiss it to stop it from quivering.

Your lips are so soft, and so plump, and so inviting. And Fuck, Ryland straightens immediately, forces his gaze away from your lips, fixes it instead in the space between your eyes, or literally anywhere.

Because now he’s in his mind again, thinking about combing his hand through your hair, thinking about pressing his nose into your neck, thinking about breathing you in every single day, thinking about kissing you, thinking about what it would mean to be in a relationship with you. He can’t have you, but fuck, he wants to.

He wants you.

You keep speaking anyway, like he isn’t struggling in his head. Like he isn’t fighting to know a minute’s peace of mind or conscience that he knows he can’t have until you are his.

He is sitting on that chair, one corner of his brain occupied with the thoughts of making you feel so good, making you chant his name like a prayer, and the other thinking, I’m supposed to know better than this.

It’s why Ryland tries to slip past you after the meeting, tries his best to get away because the thoughts that had transpired in his head in real time were not safe. He wasn’t safe around you, but you’ve already called for him and in practice, he stops in his tracks.

He always does, when you call him.

“Mr. Grace.” You murmur, stopping him from leaving. He turns back to you and tries to push away whatever he’d been thinking about earlier, and there is a forced polite smile on his face like he wants to be anywhere but.

You wait until everyone else has exited the room (which feels like a lifetime to Ryland) before continuing, “I feel like I haven’t seen you much recently.”

He looks at you like your sentence pulled him out of something .

“Haven’t you?” He asks, then immediately regrets how that sounds. He can’t really think straight right now. “Sorry, I’ve just been… busy.”

You hum softly, not fully convinced, but not pressing.

There’s a pause before you tilt your head slightly. “You’re not mad, are you?”

The question is so… careful. Almost like you’re testing something.

Ryland stills, repeating your words. “Mad?”

It’s comical how one word manages to push away his guilt-ridden thoughts in favor of soothing you away from the feeling that he was angry at you. Which, he never could be. How could you think he’d possibly feel that towards you?

“Yes.” You say, a little softer now. “Like I’ve been bothering you or something. Is it because of… when I cried? Or… I don’t know. I just feel like you’ve been a bit distant lately.”

He forces a small, almost automatic shake of his head because how could you think that?

“What? No.” He says quickly, firm, hard, accusing. Then shifts his tone to something steadier, more gentle, in-love. “No, I’m not— I’m not mad, and you’re not bothering me. You never bother me.”

You seem to relax slightly at that, shoulders easing as you look back down at your fiddling hands. The same way you’d fiddled them that night you’d cried in front of him.

“Okay.” You say, like you believe him. Or, like you want to believe him.

Ryland nods, and thinks he should leave now. The opportunity has presented itself to him, but his feet don’t follow immediately.

“I’ve just had a lot of grading.” He adds after a moment, like the explanation needs reinforcing. Because he can’t stand the look in your eyes that are accusing him of anger, of running away after having seen you cry. “End of term things.”

You glance up at him again. “Right.”

“How…” He suddenly stutters from the question he’d rehearsed in his head, almost hesitant as his fingers tighten slightly around the strap of his bag. “How are you doing? I never got to ask after…”

“After I cried?” Ryland grimaces at the memory, but you just laugh a little in embarrassment. “I’m okay now.”

And he studies your face when you say it. He just wants to make sure you mean it.

“Good. Well then, I should…” He starts again, but his breath hitches when you look at him like that, like leaving would be the wrong decision. Like you wanted him to stay.

There are thoughts in your head that are too many, too crowded, fighting for space. From earlier during the faculty meeting, from now and trying to soothe you, from trying to make sure you’re okay. Everything is fighting.

“I should head out.” Ryland finally finishes his sentence, firmly, and you nod immediately.

You can already feel a thought starting to form. “Yeah. Of course. Sorry.”

“No.” He interrupts before you can further the thought in your head. And then, just a little softer, he says, “Don’t apologize.”

That earns him a small, hesitant smile from you.

He turns toward the door, with guilt-ridden steps (like he didn’t want to leave either), and he gets about a few steps towards it when he hears your voice again.

“Mr. Grace?”

He stops immediately, not because he wants to, but because he always does when you say his name like that. He turns slightly, just enough to look at you.

You hesitate. Like you want to tell him more. Like you want to tell him you miss him. And you hate that you almost do. Because missing him feels like admitting something that neither of you has ever said. That you’re refusing to say.

Instead, you settle for a “goodnight.”

You can barely walk straight. Neither can he, so it seems like a stupid idea that you're hanging onto each other for support as you stagger back to his house; especially because you stop every five steps to kiss in a way which can only be called pornographic. Your tongues slide together outside your mouths, coating his 'stache and your chin in spit. Every single one is broken with a long groan.

"Baby, the things 'm gonna do t' you when we get inside..." he slurs. You pin him up against his front door as he scrabbles for his keys in his pocket, but in this state they end up just falling on the floor. He kisses down the length of your body as he kneels to get them, lavishing particular attention over your groin, and pauses for just long enough undo the goddamn lock.

The two of you fall into his house in a flurry of hands and stripped clothes. He falls over as he tries to get his pants off, just dead-ass hits the floor with an oof, and it's so stupid that you burst into laughter.

"Whasso funny?" he grouses, fighting with his own boxers to free his cock. You kick off your jeans with ease and slide into his lap right there in the corridor. Can't even be bothered to make it to the bedroom, you have to feel him inside you now.

"You didn't wear underwear..." he manages, eyes bright. He says it as if he's witnessing a miracle.

"Stopped botherin' when I'm with you, Hol. But..." you dig around in the pocket of your discarded Levis and bring out a tiny bottle, "but I've always got lube."

He throws his head back and lets out a noise somewhere between a whine and a growl. His hands come up to grab either side of your shirt - you just realised you're still wearing it - and he tears. Buttons ping across the room, bouncing off things like pinballs and becoming lost relics in his hall.

"I liked tha' shirt--!"

"'ll get you a new one," he grumbles, tweaking your nipples with rough fingers as you start to grind down against him. He's so hard even just from the promise of you, it’s kinda flattering. His precome soaks you both filthily as you lift up to get yourself ready for him. You don’t have quite enough control over your hands to squeeze the lube gently so half the bottle pours out instead, dripping down his balls and into the carpet.

“Oops!” you laugh as you stretch yourself open on your fingers before attempting to line up his cock with your entrance. You can feel how empty you are but it’s difficult, the world is spinning and making everything hard. Hard, just like Holland is., you think. Teehee.

“Please baby c’mon, don’t leave me waiting, gotta feel you…”

His begging trails off into drunken mumbling as he gets caught up in the sight of his dick slipping around your hole. There really is too much lube, but you’re nothing if not stubborn, so you hold him a bit tighter than necessary and sit.

Holland goes inside in one stroke. His head lolls back, his eyes going white as they roll up towards his brain.

“So fuckin’ good…”

“Mm…”

You begin to bounce on him, the wet slap of lubed skin filling the empty house. Holland’s hands come to rest on your chest, then your hips, then he’s dragging you down so he can start kissing you as you take him. With a quick push you’re on your back and he’s controlling the pace, fucking your mouth with his tongue as he fucks your hole with his cock. Your sex is covered in slick, your mouth is covered in spit, it’s all just very messy. You fucking adore it.

Holland leaves your lips alone, leaving a long trail of saliva between yours and his, but simply clamps down on your neck so he can give kisses around your pulse. All the while you’re aware of him rutting into you like an animal, the tip of his cock hitting exactly where you need it to. Pleasure crescendos as your drunk brain tries to form words.

“Hol… Hol—! ‘M gonna…”

“Me too,” he chokes, and a second later he floods you with come. It pushes you over the edge and he splutters out a string of expletives as he feels your orgasm pulsing around his cock. The two of you stay there for a moment, riding out the aftershocks, his head tucked beneath your chin. He’s a bit of a dead weight on you, but you don’t mind.

Then he starts to snore.

“Holland y’ sonovabitch, you’re still ‘nside me—!”