I am obsessed

Starting at a new school in a small town part way through the year is not easy, but the pretty, perky blonde assigned to be your buddy helps you feel a little less out of place. Letha Godfrey isn’t exactly popular, but she’s well-liked in that endearing way reserved for people who are truly just nice. And she’s a fountain of local knowledge, talking your ear off about everybody you pass in the halls, getting you up to speed on classroom politics and who’s-dating-who. It’s useful, and you catalogue everything away under ‘shit you don’t care about but have to remember so you don’t get your face kicked in for flirting with someone’s boyfriend’. Because that had happened before, at a New York school you’d been stuck at for one semester, and it sucked.

“Seriously, they seem all stoic and standoffish but I promise when you get to know them, they’re cool.”

“Yeah.” You hum, eyes scanning the cafeteria. Your gaze lands on a boy who you’d have skipped over if not for the fucking intense way he was looking at you. And had been since the moment you stepped foot in the room. His eyes, electric green and too big for his face, hadn’t blinked since you’d started looking at him, you were pretty sure. “Letha, who is that?”

Letha stops talking to follow your sightline, and sighs. “That’s Roman.”

“He’s staring.”

“He’s my cousin. I usually sit with him at lunch, he’s probably looking at me.”

You shrug, even though you can feel his stare boring into your skin and you know damn well he was looking at you. Still is, by the way your skin prickles with heat. You collect your food behind Letha and follow her over to her cousin, taking a seat as far away from him as possible on a small table.

“Hey, Rome.” She says, sliding her tray down next to his. “This is-“

“No introductions necessary, cuz. You’re the talk of the town.”

Roman’s mouth, his full, pretty mouth curls up into a lazy smirk and you feel blood heat your cheeks. “Slow news day, then.”

His smirk widens as he tilts his head to the side. “Well you’re in good hands with Letha. She knows everybody.”

“I’m definitely getting that impression.” You offer him a small, shy smile and his smirk softens into something more genuine and a million times more attractive. The heat in your cheeks flares again, and you force yourself to look away before your face actually combusts.

“She’s from New York.” Letha says between bites of her burger.

Roman whistles low through his teeth. “City girl. What’re you doing in Hemlock Grove?”

You chew your own burger carefully, giving yourself time to formulate actual words. “We travel a lot for my dad’s work.”

“And your dad’s line of work is…” Roman teases, leaning across the table.

“Defense. He works for the military.”

“I think that means it’s classified.” Letha says with a wink, and you nod.

“I mean, not like classified, but like he doesn’t talk about specifics and I don’t ask. I’m not like, into it.”

“A pacifist?” Roman asks, raising an eyebrow.

God, it’s hard to form even thoughts under the weight of his attention. There’s something almost ethereally pretty about him, almost unnaturally so. You hadn’t really noticed it from across the room, but up close it’s all you can see. He looks like Letha. He’s hotter than Letha. “Something like that.” You mumble eventually, and Roman bites his bottom lip as he watches you blush and squirm and pretend you’re not at all bothered by him.

“No.”

Roman frowns, hooking his fingers into the strap of Letha’s backpack and dragging her back from the door. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is no.” Letha hums. “Actually it’s fuck no.”

Roman scoffs, shaking his head. “Enlighten me.”

Letha rolls her eyes as she turns to face her cousin. “You want to ask the new girl out. And you think because I’m her buddy or whatever I’ll get you in. But I won’t do it.”

Roman hums. “Okay. Why not?”

Letha sighs, giving her cousin her best long suffering look. “You know why, Roman. I love you, god knows I do. But you’re… you know.”

Roman forces his mouth to smirk even though his stomach is churning with a dangerous mixture of hurt and anger. “No, I don’t. Spell it out for me, Leth.”

“You’re a manwhore, Roman. And if I help you get close to her you’ll fuck her and then turn into an emotionally unavailable asshole and she’ll be so pissed off she’ll stop hanging out with me too. And I’m sick of losing friends that way.”

Roman’s about to defend himself, about to demand that Letha give him examples of this behaviour, but then he remembers Ashley and Lucy and Sarah and Beth and maybe she has a point. A stupid one, but he can’t really argue against the evidence. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right girl.”

Letha purses her lips. “And you think this one might be the right girl? From one conversation?”

Roman shrugs. “She’s got the nicest tits I’ve ever seen in real life.”

Letha makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and flicks her hair over her shoulder as she stomps off towards the parking lot, and Roman rolls his eyes at her back before following her out to his car.

The music is almost too loud for conversation, but Roman tries anyway. You’re leaning over the pool table, giving him an unfairly good view of your tits spilling out the front of your shirt as you bend in half, and Roman is genuinely powerless to stop himself crossing the bar to come and talk to you. You look up as he approaches, eyes sliding to your friend before returning to him with a guarded expression.

“Small world.” Roman says, giving you his very best and most charming smile.

“Small town.” You retort, narrowing your eyes in concentration as you tap your cue against the white ball, sending it scattering over the table.

“Of all the small bars in all the small towns, you walk into mine,” he says, and you raise an eyebrow.

“I’d heard your family owned half the town. Didn’t know that included the drinking establishments.”

Roman shakes his head, leaning on the edge of the pool table in a way he hopes looks casual. “Nah, not like officially. But I’m in here a lot. There isn’t much to do around here but drink and fuck.”

You don’t respond, your attention returning to the game as your friend hands you a beer. Roman feels the dismissal, and it churns in his guts like poison. He doesn’t know what to do with it, and he’s missing the blush on your cheeks from the cafeteria.

“You wanna grab a drink with me? I’m buying.”

You smile. “In the middle of a game here.”

“After.” Roman swallows hard, feeling the absurd prickle of tears in the corners of his eyes. Are you… rejecting him? Has anyone ever?

“I’m with my friend, Roman. Sorry.”

Roman shrugs, pushing off the table and forcing himself to scan the bar for an easy target. “Maybe some other time.”

“Maybe,” you reply, but your focus is already back on the fucking pool table and Roman has to work very hard to put one foot in front of the other and make his way over to a girl he vaguely recognises.

“Hey, Roman.” She smirks, and Roman doesn’t respond with words. He pushes her against the wall and parts her lips against his own, wondering if you’re watching.

*

Letha nods sagely as you relay the events from the bar. “Like I said,” she sighs. “He’s a manwhore.”

“Yeah but it was like… I don’t know. Forced? Like performative.”

Letha hums. “Maybe. I don’t know. Roman can be really sweet when he wants to be, but he’s just like this.”

“Well, I appreciated the heads up.”

Letha smiles softly. “I’ve lost friends who have fucked around with him. Just wanted to give you the facts so you could make your own choice.”

“Yeah. I don’t do manwhores.”

The manwhore in question rocks up at that moment, tossing his wrapped sandwich onto the table as he slouches into a seat next to you. It’s the wrong end of the table, and Letha presses her lips together in apprehension as she waits for the inevitable show to begin.

“Good to see you last night.” Roman says. “Sorry I couldn’t stop for a drink, had… business to attend to.”

The business is currently staring daggers at you from across the room, and your force a tight smile onto your face. “You certainly seemed busy.” You’re not going to let him get under your skin. You just can’t get involved with someone like him, even if he’s the prettiest guy you’ve ever seen. Even if you think it would probably be a lot of fun.

“What are you doing tonight? Spot opened up in my calendar.” Roman flashes you a grin, and you focus on your plate. Letha’s chair creaks, and you turn to watch her push to a stand.

“Got to run to the office. Paperwork.” She mumbles, a blush staining her coward, lying face. You glare at her as she shuffles away, leaving you to deal with this alone.

“I’m busy tonight.”

“Tomorrow.” Roman’s eyes are enormous and hyper-focused on you, and your heart thumps irregularly in your chest.

“I don’t think so.”

“Letha told you to say no, didn’t she?”

You twist your mouth to the side, forcing yourself to look at him. “She told me you… get around.”

“What a fuckin bitch.” Roman says, a blush staining over his cheekbones. Because he’s embarrassed, sure, but he’s hurt too. “Slut shaming is so 2010.”

“Well, whatever. I’m just not interested in that. I mean, I’m sure you’re great. But I’m more like, a relationship girl I guess. Not interested in joining a rotation.”

Roman wants to argue with you, wants to maybe convince you that you should go out with him. But his pride is fucking wounded. Really, really fucked wounded. By Letha and her big mouth, and you with your self-righteous bullshit.

So he shrugs. “In that case, offer rescinded. I’m not into that feelings bullshit anyway.”

To his horror, you smile. “Glad we’re on the same page then. Friends?”

And Roman’s stomach is on fire as he nods, sharply. “Friends.”

It costs a hundred and fifty dollars to find out everything Roman needs to know to build his schedule around yours. A hundred bucks to bribe the receptionist into giving him your transcript, and fifty to pay a junior to follow you home and hide in the bushes across from your house to find out what time your bedroom light goes out. And from there, he fills in the blanks. What time you wake up and open your curtains, always in your pjs with messy hair and your nipples poking against the fabric of your shirt.

What time you leave home, which bus you get on. He compels a kid from AV to hack into your Spotify account and download your playlists, so he can listen to what you listen to when he does what you do. Follows you to the library after school on Monday, the gym on Tuesday. Straight home on Wednesday to take an extra long shower, and Roman doesn’t even try to stop himself jerking off in the car as he watches thin plumes of steam curl out of your bathroom window. You take a laptop to the coffee shop in town on Thursdays and write until they close, mainlining americanos like you’re dependent on the caffeine to live, and by the third week he’s sitting on the opposite side of the room, drinking the same drink and wondering what it would taste like if you pushed your tongue into his mouth.

Roman has it bad for you. He hasn’t been able to fuck anyone else in almost a month, and that’s unheard of. Roman Godfrey closing up shop is a crisis amongst the teenage girl population, who have grown pretty used to Roman’s willing presence as a tongue and a cock for pretty much anyone, anytime. And he’s tried, but it just doesn’t work anymore. His cock can’t get hard if he isn’t thinking about you.

And yeah, maybe he could stop following you around town and obsessing about your schedule and jerking off to your Instagram pictures, but he just doesn’t want to. And it’s ruining his goddamn life, actually.

So when he sees an ad in the paper for a bonified, authentic WITCH, he decides it’s maybe worth throwing a couple hundred bucks at a love potion. Why the shit not, right?

“It doesn’t work like that.” The woman shakes her head, offering him a sympathetic smile. “There’s no magic to force someone to love you. Have you tried talking to her?”

Roman scoffs. “Yeah. Didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I have… if it’s an issue of money. I’ll pay whatever.”

She shakes her head again. “What you ask for does not exist.”

“I just need her to… see me.” Roman says quietly, swallowing around a sudden thickness in his throat. “Just need a chance to show her what I can offer.”

The woman frowns, assessing him. She can see a darkness surrounding the man, a sickly black aura that makes her afraid, but his money is green and her electric is days from being shut off. And she has an elderly mother in the second bedroom. So she makes a decision that could get her cut off from the coven, but it’s a desperate choice for a desperate situation and maybe this boy will do exactly as he says. Who is she to know, really?

“I have… something. Something that might help you to be seen.”

Roman nods, already pulling a money clip from his jacket and flicking through bills. “Give it to me.”

*

You writhe in your sheets, sweat slicking your hair to your neck and itching on your bare legs as they tangle in the damp fabric. You can’t see him, but you can feel the pressure of his presence on the edge of your unconscious mind, teasing and tugging at the resistance of your mind as you run through the forest. You know the place, it’s the forest on the edge of the farm in rural England where you’d lived for a year as a child. You’d found it spooky then. Twisted by your subconscious it’s a nightmare, gnarled trees twisting towards you like limbs as you tear through the bleached bone branches and stumble over fallen debris. He’s so close, behind you but also inside you somehow, thrumming into your veins like a sickness. Your foot catches on an unearthed root and you fall, the breath thumping out of you on a scream as you bolt upright in bed. Your hands shake badly as you reach for the lamp beside your bed, squinting against the sudden brightness after so much dark. There’s a faint creak from the other side of the room, and your head snaps to the window. It’s shut, and locked, but that sound…

It’s all in your head. You’re under a lot of stress, and you’ve been watching too many horror movies. That’s all there is to it. Your imagination has melded several things together and created a monster, but it’s not real. There are things you can change, and things you can’t. You can stick to Disney after sundown. You can ask your teachers for a little extra help in the classes you’re struggling with. You can take a different route home, or switch to the Starbucks on Main. You can maybe get out of your gym membership and start running closer to home. You can’t force Roman Godfrey to stop stalking you. You’re pretty sure he wouldn’t admit he was doing it, anyway. But he’s tall, and his eyes are like fucking beacons flashing at you across any crowded space, and he’s the only person in this town who drives a vintage, cherry red jaguar. You know the sound of its engine rumbling past your street. You know the low growl as it idles outside your house. You know the click of silence as he turns the engine off and sits across the street for hours.

But you can’t tell him you know any of this. Because you have no proof, and because you’re not sure what will happen if you do. Roman sits with you and Letha at lunch. He laughs and he cracks jokes and he treats you as a friend, exactly as agreed. How could you accuse him of anything more than that when he hadn’t done anything, exactly? So you sigh, and you flop down onto your back and you stare at your bedroom ceiling until sleep finally retakes you.

It takes a week for the dream to change. Or more, for it to progress. The heavy in and out of his breathing filling your head as he follows you through the trees. His green eyes shining in the low moonlight, fixed on you as his mouth curls into a smirk. Every night he gets a little closer, until his phantom hand wraps around your wrist and drags you off the path, into his chest. And your mouth opens to scream, but the hot press of his lips silences you as his tongue glides into your mouth, tasting like nicotine and peppermint gum. Roman smokes, and Roman chews peppermint gum to cover it up. And it’s Roman in the dreams, even if you never see his face.

It’s harder to look at him in the cafeteria, chewing on a slice of pizza and making dumb faces at Letha across the table. Much harder to look him in the eye, when last night you dreamt of cumming against his pretty mouth whilst he held you down in the leaves and devoured you.

“She’s completely fuckin spaced.”

You jump at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder, and Roman withdraws slowly, a smirk on his face. “Welcome back to earth.”

“Sorry.” You mumble, running your hand back through your hair. A few strands come loose in your fingers, and you swallow around a lump of anxiety. Your hair had been falling out, little by little. Just stress. Just nightmares.

“You look tired.” Letha says quietly. “Everything okay?”

You force a smile and a shrug. “Just not sleeping great.”

You can feel Roman’s eyes on you, the weight of his stare like a millstone around your neck as you push pasta around with your fork. “Maybe you should talk to somebody.”

His voice is soft, but it still makes you jerk upright. “I’m fine.”

His smile is disarming, even as something else flashes in his eyes. “Only a suggestion.”

*

You look fragile. That’s what Roman thinks as he stands at the foot of your bed, watching you whimper and moan and toss and turn. Your hair is thinner than it was when you first met, and there are permanent dark circles under your eyes. And Roman’s kinda insulted, because he’s been giving you everything, every night. He’s been making your eyes roll back and listening to you cry as you cum on his tongue, and he knows you’ve been waking up with your panties soaked through. He’s been able to smell it on you every day at school, and it’s been so fucking hard to stop himself from bending you over the lunch table and rewarding himself for all his goddamn patience.

But today you’d looked through him as you dismissed him, and Roman Godfrey’s patience had run out. He braces his hands on the metal frame of your bed and leans in, inhaling the sleepy, warm scent of your skin and sweat and your laundry detergent. You’re worked up, he can see the dark damp patch on the front of your panties. He’d been jerking his cock with his eyes closed for hours, pushing your face into the packed earth and spreading your ass cheeks to spit into your hole and fuck you with his tongue until you’d cum at least twice. Roman doesn’t know why it’s always that fucking forest, but it doesn’t matter. You wait for him now. You don’t run. And you have to know it’s him. You have to. But you’d still looked at him like he was nothing at all to you, and that’s just not something he can deal with anymore.

He clears his throat, and you hum in your sleep as you stir awake. Your eyes open, and flutter closed. And then they open again, flying wide as you bolt upright.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You hiss, drawing the sheets up around your neck like Roman hasn’t seen it all before.

“Pleasant dreams?” Roman asks, letting his eyes wander lazily over your body.

You flush, and Roman smells the sharpness of your arousal pooling fresh in your underwear. Yeah, you fucking know it’s him.

“Did my parents let you in?”

Roman rolls his eyes. “Parents don’t tend to let me in. Window.”

Your eyes flick to your closed window, and back to him. “If you go now, I won’t say anything to anybody.”

Roman’s mouth pulls into a lopsided smirk. “Baby, you won’t remember any of this tomorrow.” He climbs easily over your bedframe, long limbs folding under himself as he crawls up your body like an enormous black spider, and your mouth opens to scream. Roman’s tongue slips against your teeth, swallowing the sound as he licks into your mouth. His body presses against you, hard cock nestling against your oversensitive core, and you whimper against his lips.

He pulls away from the kiss to catch your eyes, and you can’t look away from the haunting, glowing beauty of them as he murmurs words of reassurance.

“You’re going to enjoy this. You want me, you want me to fuck you. You’re going to cum.”

The words settle into your skin, slowing your heartrate and slicking throbbing arousal in your clit. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him against you, suddenly desperate to feel his mouth on yours, and Roman moans against your lips as his hips grind into yours. The friction sends bolts of pleasure zinging through your core, and you hook a leg around the back of Roman’s thigh, desperate for more. “Please,” you whisper into his mouth, and Roman hums as hooks his thumbs into your panties and drags them down your legs.

The feeling of his tongue on your cunt is too familiar, but your brain can’t quite focus on that with the blinding waves of pleasure rolling through you. Roman flicks his tongue against your clit in rapid little licks, his fingers circling your hole before pushing into you and curling back, and you sob as your hips lift to grind against his face. You’re pinned to the mattress by the weight of his body, forced to hold still as he sucks your clit into his mouth and grazes against the hood with his teeth. His fingers are a blur as he fucks them in and out of you, brushing against your most sensitive inner walls with each stroke and winding the chord of pleasure in your stomach tighter and tighter and tighter.

“I’m gunna cum,” you whine, and Roman moans into your folds, nuzzling the sharp point of his nose against you as he laps hungrily at your soaked pussy, coaxing every drop of your release out of you as you jerk underneath him.

Roman doesn’t ask permission or look for reassurance before he pushes your knees up and fucks into you. You’re wet enough to take him in one thrust, though your muscles tighten and flutter around him and you whimper like maybe it hurts a little bit. And Roman might have cared about that, before all of this. Before the endless nights of walking in your dreams, the endless hours of watching and learning and blurring reality and fantasy. You’re not a person to him anymore, not really. Though he can’t deny that the feeling of you, of being inside you is more real than he’d ever imagined. His cock throbs and aches with an insatiable need to break you open, and he doesn’t try to stop himself.

You’re folded almost in half as Roman leans all his weight into his hands pressing your knees against the mattress, his hips snapping against yours violently as his cock fucks you open. He can feel the spongy flesh of your cervix bumping against the underside of the head of his cock, and your eyes water with every thrust as you chew on your bottom lip hard enough to split the delicate skin.

Roman growls as your blood smears into your drool and smudges against your chin, and he dips his head to suck your lip into his own mouth, clamping his teeth down on the puffy flesh until your blood explodes on his tongue and he cums, burying his seed deep against your cervix and grinding his cock into you until he physically can’t anymore. He pulls out of your cunt before he releases your lip, licking at the swollen bud gently before taking your face in his hands and forcing your eyes open.

“I was never here. This never happened. Go to sleep.”

And even now, even as your eyes close and Roman’s thoroughly fucked out, he can’t let you rest. Can’t let you have a night of dreamless slumber. His eyes sting with dry exhaustion as he slumps into the driver’s seat of his jag and takes a shot from the rapidly depleting bottle of dreamers potion, before closing his eyes and slipping into your mind to fuck you again.

*

“Jesus Christ,” Letha gasps as you sit down at the lunch table the next day. You avoid her eyes as you lick self-consciously over your lip. It’s doubled in size and purple under the thin membrane of your skin, swollen with blood like you’ve been punched. You feel like you’ve been hit by a train, every muscle and bone in your body aches.

“I know.” You mumble, the words muffled by the lack of co-ordination your mouth is currently experiencing.

“What did you do, make out with a mountain lion?”

You shoot Letha a glare as Roman sits down opposite you, his eyes fixed on his cousin. “I don’t know. Woke up like this.”

“Maybe you bit your lip in your sleep.” Roman offers. He doesn’t look at all shocked by your condition, and you feel the absurd urge to be grateful for his indifference.

“Probably.”

“Maybe you were having a very good dream.” Letha suggests with a smirk.

You shake your head, but your clit throbs with the phantom of half-remembered arousal, and you don’t have to look at Roman to know he’s watching you.

*

Your wrists are tied to your headboard, and Roman’s balls deep in your pussy with his hand clamped over your mouth when he realizes he might have tied the knots a little too tight. You’re going to bruise, you bruise so fucking easily as it is. But it’s too late to do anything about it now, and the way you wince as you tug at your restraints is making his cock throb so he ignores it and uses his free hand to lift your leg over his shoulder so he can fuck you harder and go so much deeper.

Your eyes roll back in your head at the new angle, the head of Roman’s cock dragging against your sensitive spot with every gruelling thrust. Your parents are down the hall, and you know that if you screamed, they would come running. But you also know that Roman will make them go away, and you can’t risk it. The only thing you can do is survive him, let your body surrender to the punishing brutality of his cock and his hands and his tongue.

“Look at me,” he grits out, and you do, willingly. Because this is the best part, when he tells you to cum and then makes you forget. You need this part. “You’re gunna cum on my cock. You’re gunna cum harder than you ever have before.”

And you do. Holy shit, you do. Your cunt spasms, your clit jolting with electric pulses as your entire body goes rigid and then melts into the mattress. Roman fucks you through it, gritting his teeth against the overwhelming, almost painful sensation of your walls squeezing his cock.

Your catch his eyes, blinking through wet lashes as you look at him. And Roman almost can’t cum, looking at you. At how pretty and soft you are. That makes this real, and he can’t live with himself and know you’re real. So he wraps a hand around your throat and turns your head, sucking a sensitive chunk of your flesh into his mouth and grinding his teeth against it until blood blossoms under your skin and you shudder with sobs beneath him.

*

“Seriously.” Letha’s voice is low, her face pinched with concern as she looks at you. “If someone is… hurting you… you can tell me. I can help.”

You shrug. Because what can you say, really? You think you’re being haunted? There’s a phantom in your dreams, and you’re waking up with cum between your thighs and bite marks on your neck and you have no fucking idea how any of it is possible? She’d look at you like you’re crazy. She’d stop being your friend. And then you’d have no one.

“She looks fine to me.” Roman drawls as he drops into the seat opposite. You swallow hard. No, you wouldn’t have nobody. You’d have Roman, and Roman would have you. All to himself. That would be worse.

“I’m fine.” You agree, nodding tightly at Letha. “Just tired.”

Letha’s eyes narrow and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. You don’t look fine. You look like you’re on the verge of actually dying, but you’ve only been here a little while and Letha doesn’t know how to step in without overstepping.

She waits for you to pick up your tray, your food untouched, and glide from the room like a ghost before she turns to her cousin and asks him for his help.

And that’s how Roman Godfrey ends up idling his car beside you as you wait for the bus. He leans out the window and clicks his fingers in your direction, which would piss you off if you had the energy to feel anything other than low-level terror at all times.

“Get in, I’ll drive you.”

“I’m fine.”

Roman rolls his eyes, tapping the horn loud enough to make people look. “Get in.”

He doesn’t push you, and you say nothing as he drives seamlessly to your house even though he shouldn’t know where you live. There’s no point pretending, is there?

“I think I’m going crazy.” You whisper into the silence when Roman cuts the engine on the street across from your house.

He turns in his seat, tilting his head to the side. “Why?”

“I… I don’t know. I’ve been getting these nightmares. Like really vivid nightmares.”

Roman hums. “Maybe you should lay off coffee before bed.”

“I don’t… it’s not that.”

“Everybody gets nightmares sometimes.”

“I’m waking up… different.”

His eyes snap to your face, alert and watchful. “Different how?”

You push a shaking breath through your lips. “I have… bruises that I can’t explain. Here.” You tug the sleeve of your shirt up enough to show him the livid marks against your wrist. “And… uh…” You brush your hair to the side and show him the bruises sucked into your skin by a phantom, and Roman’s eyes darken, his pupils expanding at the memory of giving them to you.”

“No chance you’re like… sleepwalking?” You shoot him a withering look, and he nods. “Okay, no. That’s weird. Definitely weird.”

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

There’s a pause, and you can’t breathe into the silence as Roman considers this.

“No. I think there’s an explanation, we just haven’t found it yet. I… I could help you figure it out, if you want.”

You swallow around a lump and resist the urge to throw yourself across the small space to hug him. It’s Roman, and there’s no way he cares about you, not really, but he believes you and the relief of that, of not carrying this awful dread all by yourself anymore, is dizzying.

“You believe me.”

Roman smiles softly. “You’re not making those bruises up. These ones,” he reaches across the central console to ghost his fingers against the side of your neck and goosebumps break out over your flesh. “These look like hickeys, y’know?”

*

Letha doesn’t understand why you’re putting on makeup and a dress just to go to Roman’s house. And you have no way to explain it to her that won’t have her cussing you out and hitting you with a reality check that you do not want, so you shrug. “I’m tired of looking like shit all the time.”

She doesn’t argue, because honestly you do look like shit more often than not these days. Concealer under your eyes is a huge improvement, and a little bit of blush sets the colour of your skin off with a healthy-ish glow. You look at least twenty percent less like a corpse, and that’s not nothing.

She’s offered to drive you to Roman’s, and you can’t think of a way to say no that doesn’t seem suspicious seeing as he’s her cousin and she goes to his house all the time, probably. But you don’t want her to come inside with you, and by the look on Roman’s face when he sees her step out of the driver’s side, he doesn’t either.

“Private study group, Leth. Sorry.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah right. Since when do you do anything scholarly outside of school?”

Roman shrugs.

“It’s for me, really. He’s helping me with a project.”

Roman smirks at his cousin as Letha blinks at you. “You want his help? Because I’m free tonight and I’m really g-“

“I have a unique perspective.” Roman cuts in, a devilish glint in his eye that sends butterflies skittering nervously in your stomach.

But Roman isn’t dangerous or anything. His dad was way into occult stuff before he killed himself, and Roman thinks he can perform some kind of ritual to repel whatever is haunting you. It’s stupid, but it’s worth a shot. And he’s willing to help, so you smile at Letha and send her on her way, and you follow Roman Godfrey into his house.

“You can sleep in here.” You freeze at the threshold of the bedroom, eyes going wide, and Roman quirks a brow at you. “What, you thought I’d be able to catch your little sleep demon without you going to sleep?”

You frown. “I can take a guest room. Or the couch downstairs.”

Roman hums. “Mom would shit a bowling ball if she knew you were even here. I’m not allowed sleepovers with girls. Anymore.” He adds, thinking about the time his mother walked in on what could only be described as an orgy, and had banned him from having overnight guests indefinitely.

“It’s not that kind of sleepover though,” you argue weakly, your voice quiet. The truth is that you’re too tired to really fight him on this, and his enormous bed looks inviting.

Roman crosses the room and cups your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. “You’re safe with me. I promise. Nothing is going to get to you tonight. You can sleep, and I’ll watch over you.”

And even though you shouldn’t, even though he’s given you no real reason to trust him, you nod obediently and climb into his bed, settling against his clean sheets. The last thing you see before you close your eyes is Roman easing into an armchair beside you, his eyes fixed on your face.

*

When you wake up, you wonder for a moment if you’ve been in a coma. Your limbs feel heavy. Not achey like normal, not bruised. But heavy like they’ve been deadweight for a long time. Your mouth is dry, and your head buzzes with a sleep-fog that isn’t unpleasant. The sun streams through a thin gap in Roman’s blinds, cutting brightly across his face where he’s curled up in the chair, cheek pillowed on his hand against the headrest. You feel a little guilty, looking at him scrunched into the seat. He must have had an uncomfortable night. But you’re… not tired. You’re not afraid. You’d slept through the night, soundly, without a nightmare or a presence or anything.

You shuffle to the edge of the bed and put a hand on Roman’s shoulder, shaking him gently. “Roman?” You murmur softly, and his green eyes open slowly, his face breaking into a sleepy smile when he sees you.

“You slept?”

“I did,” you whisper. “Like… really good.”

Roman exhales, the tension leaving his spine as he uncurls from his chair and puts his hand on your knee. “Shit, that’s good news. You snore, you know.”

You gasp, slapping a hand to your chest. “I do not snore.”

“No, you do.” Roman makes an awful, gagging grunting sound, and you wrinkle your nose and lean forward to smack your hand over his mouth.

Roman’s eyes narrow and his tongue darts out to lick your palm, making you squeal with disgust and something not disgust as you snatch your hand back and wipe your wet palm on his thigh.

He leans in, the smile dropping gently from his face as his breath fans over your mouth. And you close the gap. There’s no real doubt about it, no question of who kisses who. You lean into him, pressing your lips to his and parting them to trace the seam of his mouth with the tip of your tongue. Roman moans softly, his hand lifting to cup your jaw, and there’s something jarringly, comfortingly familiar about his hands on your face. Like he’s supposed to be there. You melt against him, letting him pull you into his lap and straddling his thighs. You can feel his cock stirring to life against your core, your clit throbbing with arousal in response, and you shift your hips just a little bit to grind yourself against him.

Roman’s hands drop to your hips, dragging you forward and back as his tongue licks against your own, and you feel the tickling of fear pricking along your spine and setting adrenaline flowing through your veins.

“Wait,” you mumble against his mouth, and Roman pulls back. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust, but his thumbs rub soft circles against your hips and his expression is soft and concerned.

“You okay?”

“Yes. I, um. This is just all a bit fast.”

He swallows. “Yeah, I know. I don’t mean to… I just… I really like you. I’ve liked you for a really long time.”

Your heart squeezes painfully at his confession. “I think I knew that.”

Roman sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and you watch the thick flesh turn crimson under the pressure as he releases it. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same.”

You shake your head. “I… I think I do. Maybe.”

“Maybe is good. I can work with maybe.” Roman bites the corner of his lip. “We can take it slow.”

You nod, dipping your head to brush your lips over the line of his jaw. “I need slow. I can’t… promise you anything. Like, sexually. I don’t know when I’ll be ready.”

Roman shushes you, running the pad of his thumb over your lips. “I can wait. Shit, I want to wait. You’re worth it. This is worth it.”

He doesn’t tell you that he’s already had you in every way imaginable and that he’ll continue to do so until you’re ready to give yourself to him willingly. But his cock is already getting hard thinking about how he’s going to fuck your face tonight, how you’re going to cry and drool and moan for him before he makes you forget and you wake up all soft and sad and crawling into his arms for reassurance. It’s the best of both fucking worlds, actually.

•••

To every rule, there is an exception.

You do not hook up with strangers, as a general rule.

On the rare occasions when you have slept with someone the same night on which you met, you always went through the trouble of asking them the right questions, trying to essentially vet them yourself, somehow, before getting yourself into any potentially perilous situations.

You wouldn’t be caught dead casually leaving the bar with someone and heading back to their place, nor to yours, if you hadn’t at least learned their full legal name first.

Some may call you paranoid, but you think yourself sensible.

The night you met Keith Toshko was an exception to that rule. And only because of the unthinkable, absurd circumstances.

The chain of events which caused your meeting seemed impossibly unlikely, but once you’d come face to face with the man himself, just about the most effortlessly hot son of a bitch you’d ever seen, and you knew that this was the situation, you weren’t about to complain or wish for any of it to change.

It was a rainy enough night, and you’d made a pretty mad dash from your car to the little rental home you had booked weeks earlier, and as you fumbled to get the key out of the lockbox, you were too caught up with the task at hand to notice that a light was already flicking on within the house, a sure sign that the should-be-empty space was, mysteriously, already occupied.

When your hands grabbed at empty air, and you came to realize there was no key to be found inside the box, you angrily punched the wooden surface out of frustration, as if sheer force of will could miraculously get it to open up.

Unbeknownst to you, the stranger already inside the house startled even further upon hearing the slam of your fist against the door. The scuffling of movement as you grasped at nothing within the locked box, the slam of your car door, the headlights that had briefly shone through the windows and down the hallway as you pulled up… that combination of disturbances had been off-putting enough.

But now that the current inhabitant of the rental home knew someone was there, someone who urgently wanted in… what choice did he have?

“Shit,” you were cursing like a sailor under your breath, “damnit, damnit, damnit, god fucking—”

The door suddenly did swing right open.

“Hello?” A somewhat scratchy male voice interrupted your stream of mindless swearing.

“Oh,” your eyes widened upon seeing the stranger before you, “uh, hi? I’m sorry, but…” you trailed off, too busy looking the unfamiliar man up and down— he looked tired, that was for sure, and his hair was a little unruly from sleep, no doubt, but even in this state you were caught off guard by those curious green eyes, and the perfectly outlined shape of his face in the low amber glow from the light inside.

The less than flattering yellow porchlight was no doubt the only thing illuminating you, but fuck. In the half-light shining out from within the house, this complete stranger looked just about angelic.

“But… what?” He prompted you to finish, squinting his eyes and looking more unsure than you felt.

“Shit, I just wasn’t expecting anybody else to— what are you doing here?” You asked instead.

Suddenly you sounded too demanding, you realized— you were by no means trying to antagonize this handsome stranger in front of you. However gorgeous he was, he could still be a threat, for all you knew.

“Am I at the right place? Uh, 476 Barbary?” You tried again.

The stranger blinked.

“Uh, yeah, I think so.”

He still sounded so weary.

“You… think so?” You raised your eyebrows quizzically, but you couldn’t keep the slant of a smile from tugging at your mouth. This sleepy stranger was amusing.

“I don’t know, I just woke up,” he explained, “I was asleep less than five minutes ago.”

Evidently, you thought to yourself, but you tried to contain the sass.

“Well I’m sorry to have bothered you, but, I think you might be in the wrong place? Unless you own this place, and you live here…?” You tentatively started.

It hadn’t occurred to you that there could be a host staying there, as the website never mentioned anything about the owner of the house sticking around; there was no indication at all that they would be there at the same time as any renters were staying there.

“What? No, I don’t own this place,” he replied, “I’m just renting it.”

“Wait, wait,” you looked away from the man himself, peering down at your phone to double check the date before your eyes flicked back up to him. “I’m renting it. This is supposed to be my Airbnb, for tonight.”

“You… yours?” The man blinked again, narrowing his eyes at you and looking altogether more alert now.

It probably should have been a cause for concern, but fuck, now things were getting interesting, because he was looking you up and down instead as he assessed the situation. Apparently it was his turn to inspect you, just as you’d done to him, and it sent a not unpleasant thrill running down your back beneath your skin.

“I booked this place on HomeAway,” he insisted.

“Well, maybe you had the wrong date? Look, I have an email I can show you, see?” You instantaneously pulled it up on your phone, shoving it into his fumbling hands.

The unsuspecting stranger took it, squinting again to scrutinize it.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath.

“Yeah,” you laughed sardonically, “fuck.”

“Do you have anywhere else to go for the night?” The stranger asked, and maybe it was wishful thinking on your part, but that seemed like a look of concern on his face.

“No…?” You hesitantly admitted.

Fuck. You didn’t want to burden him, but… it was the middle of the night and it was raining cats and dogs outside, and maybe you were delirious, but it appeared you had the hottest man you’d ever seen staring back at you, and you couldn’t just let him slip through your fingers a minute after meeting him. Right?

Plus, it wasn’t a lie that you didn’t have a back-up plan for sleeping arrangements tonight. This had been the place, and it never occurred to you that the rental people in charge could’ve fucked up this astronomically, so…

“Can I see your confirmation email?” You pried, before crossing over the threshold.

“Well my phone’s inside, but…,” the unfamiliar man eyed you again, a look of pity crossing his face (and maybe clouding his judgment) as he observed you there on the porch, wondering if he was seeing a challenging glint in your eye as you peered up at him, or if it was just imaginary.

He sighed.

“Fuck, where are my manners,” he scolded himself, “why don’t you come inside?”

You smiled, genuinely pleased this time.

“I’d really appreciate that,” you said, adjusting the singular overnight bag you had over your shoulder and stepping into the house when he moved aside for you.

All things considered, you thought, this is infinitely better than staying in an empty place alone on a stormy night.

Now, you figured, you had someone to keep you company. Someone quite attractive.

You made yourself feel right at home, shrugging off your rain jacket and hanging it up by the door. You set your bag down on the smooth wooden floors, not immediately wanting to breach the topic of where you might sleep. For all you knew, this was about to turn into one of those cliche only-one-bed situations, but your stranger seemed skittish enough as it was, and you weren’t trying to scare him away completely.

Before anything else, before making any actual moves, you needed a way to test the waters— make sure he was into it, just in case you were about to make this poor sleep deprived gentleman aggressively uncomfortable otherwise.

“So,” you sighed, slinging the bag over your shoulder again, and carrying it with you to the table, “you said you booked this place on HomeAway? Not Airbnb?”

The kind stranger was seated at the nearest table and looking intently at his phone, apparently digging up the confirmation email for you.

“Yeah,” he assured. “Let me just— here. Here it is,” he said, finally sounding a bit more awake as he passed his phone over to you and watched you expectantly as you slid into the chair opposite him.

Your eyes scanned over the screen, making sure everything looked legit.

Jesus, that was another thing to keep in mind before you started flirting with this complete stranger— to make sure he wasn’t some fucking lunatic serial killer or an utter idiot who can’t read a calendar or got the address wrong.

But no, the details of the email looked professional and proper as ever, and you had no doubt that he was supposed to be here too, apparently. You noticed one other little detail, too.

“Keith…?” You looked up to meet his eyes, smiling a bit at the name you’d read in the email.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he was apologizing all over again, “it’s Keith. Yeah.”

“Well, Mr. Keith Toshko, I suppose you already know my name from looking at my confirmation email,” you briskly carried on, “and now that we’re introduced, I guess I should apologize if my barging in here means we got off on the wrong foot.”

“What? No, no,” Keith shook his head, looking a bit less flustered and more serious, now, “you didn’t barge in, I invited you. And I would’ve been an asshole not to, on a night like tonight,” he nervously laughed a little.

You grinned back at him.

“Hey, it would’ve been fine. I’ve been told I’m overly cautious, so.” You shrugged. “I completely get it.”

“Being cautious doesn’t have to mean letting an innocent stranger stand in the rain all night,” Keith jested. “If the roles were reversed, I’m sure you’d have done the same thing.”

You paused, looking him up and down for at least the second time that evening.

If you were being honest, normally you wouldn’t have. Hell, if the roles were reversed and you’d already been in here before a mysterious man showed up at your doorstep, you’d have slammed the door in his face. But when Keith looked like, well, Keith, you couldn’t imagine slamming a door in his beautiful face.

Speaking of, he looked even more adorable now with that polite little smile on his lips.

“Maybe I would,” you sweetly smiled back, watching as his own expression changed to match yours— the way his eyes seemed to soften, and his pretty mouth curved further up. And yes, pretty was the word coming to mind. The man had better lips than yours, than anyone’s lips you’d seen, as far as you could recall.

“So, Keith,” you pushed the conversation forward, “what brought you here tonight, to rent this specific place?”

You weren’t overly fond of small talk, but this was still a royally fucked situation at the end of the day, and you probably had to get some of the boring stuff out of the way before you could focus in on what you really wanted out of this.

“Well, I’m— I’m in a band,” he blurted, sounding like he was sputtering for a better answer before giving up.

“You’re in a band?” You shifted your chair a little closer, grinning with interest.

“I mean, I’m not in a band, in a band,” Keith struggled to explain, “just, kind of in a band. And they wanted me to scout a location around here, basically, so,” he shrugged, glancing around the understated yet charming scenery of the Airbnb again. “Here I am.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s cool, that’s so cool,” you leaned in, “much better than the reason I’m here!”

“Please,” Keith chuckled a bit, “unless it’s, like, a funeral, I’m sure you have an interesting reason, too.” He smiled. “Oh god, it’s not actually a funeral, is it?” He suddenly raised his eyebrows in alarm when you didn’t immediately respond, cursing his own brain for thinking that was somehow a good slant of humor.

But to his relief, you were lightly laughing along with him.

“No, not a funeral, but I’m visiting family,” you explained. “Not anyone I’m particularly close with, though. It’s… complicated, a pretty long story.”

Keith sat up in his chair.

“Tell me,” he was grinning again.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Keith was shuffling to his feet now.

“I— weren’t you asleep like five minutes ago?” You tried.

“Well, I’m wide awake now,” he began, “so—”

“Shit, I’m so sorry about that,” you offered him a frown, and you were feeling genuine guilt, but you’d be lying if you weren’t intentionally teasing a little bit, with that exaggerated demeanor.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith waved it off, circling around to the little kitchen, “but they left a bottle of wine here, some sort of welcome gesture, I guess,” he explained, picking up the object in question.

And sure enough, when you turned in your chair you could see the bottle that had been sitting on the kitchen counter, topped with a shiny red bow and everything.

“A preemptive apology, for guests who get double booked,” you joked, and Keith huffed with laughter as he tried to pop it open, making sure you were watching him as he did so, just for your own comfort.

The kindness wasn’t lost on you, even when you had already mentally resolved that you would be ending this night closer to Keith Toshko in one way or another.

“Well whatever reason they left it,” he faintly laughed, “it was nice of them.”

Agreeably, you nodded.

“Still doesn’t make up for the dumbasses double-booking us, though,” he hastily added, and you laughed an airy laugh along with him.

Yet privately, you thought this blessing in disguise wasn’t a problem to be fixed or something to be made up for at all. This turn of events was quite fortuitous, really— you couldn’t believe your luck.

“We can try calling them in the morning,” you suggested, “when we’re sure they’re awake.”

“Yeah,” Keith nodded his head, carrying the now open bottle of wine over to the table, “yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

“I can play it up, if you want,” you teased, “go full Karen on them, over the phone.”

Keith laughed again, and this time it wasn’t stifled by sleep or nerves or hesitance or anything else. Fuck. What a beautiful sound that made for.

Instead of replying or asking whether or not you were joking, he quickly confirmed,

“You aren’t going to be on the road again tonight, are you?”

“In this?” You raised your eyebrows. “Oh, god no. Definitely won’t be driving in this, if you don’t mind having company for the night,” you quickly added the last bit, just to be courteous.

Keith brushed it off again, setting down a pair of glasses he’d grabbed from the cabinets and momentarily putting the both of them on his side of the table.

He was obviously pouring one for himself and one for you, but—

“Two glasses right off the bat,” you nodded approvingly, “mm, good choice. After tonight, I’ll take two myself, thank you,” you went on, even as Keith slid the second glass over to your end of the surface.

But he was chuckling again at your sarcasm, not just tolerating it like some people did, but apparently actively enjoying it. That was… making you feel an entirely different feeling, something a little deeper than the surface level attraction that had been occupying your brain for the last however-long you’d spent with Keith, but you didn’t have time to unpack that now. You could examine it later, in the morning light, you decided.

“Seriously,” you continued, “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Yeah,” Keith had hummed, “this is a fucking… weird situation,” he agreed.

You took your first sip from the glass he’d intended for you, then, hoping it might give you some eventual liquid courage— Keith might have just been way better at playing it cool, either that or he wasn’t picking up on the looks you were giving him, so you’d have to be more forward to see whether or not he was alright with your flirtation. You didn’t want to be too presumptuous, of course.

It occurred to you that he could also be worried about freaking you out, and that might have been why he was so awkward.

“So,” he piped up again, “you were… telling a long story?” He prompted.

You opened your mouth, though no words immediately came out.

I’m totally rushing this, you suddenly realized, I need to get the fuck out of my own head and just enjoy this.

As long as Keith himself was more at ease now, relaxed where he’d settled back into his chair, perhaps you could match his leisurely pace.

After all, you figured, trying to actually get to know people seems like a green flag. And maybe this is his subtle means of flirting.

And so you did. You allowed yourself to let your guard down, talking to Keith about your family, your friends, and all the drama that came with them— and of course, when it was his turn to do the same, you were all too happy to listen.

This wasn’t really the flirty, hot and heavy badinage you’d been imagining, but to be fair, this wasn’t a 1930’s screwball, and this was quite possibly more intimate of a situation now that you were really being honest with each other.

“Hey,” you said after a while, “not that I don’t mind the sound of the rain, but it’s a little quiet in here,” Keith’s eyes followed your movements as you retrieved your phone from your pocket, “do you mind if I put some music on?”

He smiled, brightly as ever.

“Go ahead,” Keith agreeably replied, “whatever you want.”

And you were sure he must’ve had no idea how much that last bit— “whatever you want”— withered away at whatever was left of your self-control.

You opted for something chill, something that wouldn’t be too distracting, just background noise. There was an Italian restaurant playlist of music fit for a lounge which you’d enjoyed before, so you figured that was a good place to start.

And suddenly we’re on a date, you almost burst out laughing in the middle of the conversation when it occurred to you that you practically were— Keith was pouring a second glass of wine for you both, the low selection of lights you’d turned on made for some nice mood lighting, you were sharing a comfortably quaint table without much distance between the two of you, and there was mildly romantic music playing off of your phone, now, where you’d placed it on the side of the little table, midway between him and yourself.

This should’ve been weird, this should’ve been more uncomfortable, but this spontaneous evening was not feeling at all forced or strained. It was easy to make conversation with this particular stranger.

Still, maybe it was just you, but was the atmospheric scene, with its low light from the overhead lamp and the low rhythms of every song, like… sexy? Making an already unexpectedly pleasant experience sexier?

Some were instrumentals while others contained actual lyrics, and some were more mellow than others, but it was all rather calm and smooth. Besides, when Keith’s wide, attentive eyes on you got to be too much, you could distract yourself by flipping over your phone and checking just what was playing.

Jesus, was this even real? Were you dreaming this? This was a ridiculously good turn of events for what could’ve been a stressful and maybe even unsafe night in a rough neighborhood with a complete stranger.

Which, a small part of you tried to remind yourself, Keith Toshko still was. But he didn’t exactly feel like a stranger when you’d been hearing about his band and his family and even the exes he occasionally mentioned for the last hour or so now.

Before you let the time flow on and the minutes blur together anymore, you reached a hand across the table, tentatively placing it over the arm Keith was resting atop the surface.

He tensed up a little, glancing down at the point of contact, but when he heard your voice he looked up at your face instead, not wanting to miss whatever it was you were trying to tell him.

“Keith,” you were saying, “I don’t know about you, but I’m not getting tired yet,” your fingers tapped along his arm as you continued, “but it’s still getting late. If we’re not going to go to sleep yet, I think we should switch over to water before we finish the whole bottle, yeah?” You gestured towards the open wine that was still on the table.

“Oh,” he breathlessly huffed, faintly laughing again, though his voice was a little strained as he cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s probably a solid plan,” he hummed, trying not to fixate on you pulling your hand away from him, slowly so that your fingers brushed against his bare skin for a moment.

When he didn’t outwardly acknowledge your attempted flirting, however, you were beginning to doubt whether he had noticed it at all.

Keith pulled himself back up to a standing position once you had returned to your side of the table.

“I think there’s also tea, though, if you want some,” he offered, returning to the other end of the little kitchen, and oh, he was sweet. But sweet, in this context, also apparently meant slow, and that was not what you were looking for tonight.

“I’ll stick with water,” you called.

Fuck it, you had to up the ante.

“Speaking of going to sleep, though,” you purred, “I can’t remember, is there a guest bedroom here?”

You were being coy, of course. You’d thoroughly looked at the place online, going through each and every photo of the interior, and you knew that there was only one real room.

“Uhm,” Keith swallowed, “I don’t think so,” he hummed, fumbling as he tried to make himself tea without the mug slipping from his hands. “But, I can take the couch, I really don’t mind,” he quickly continued, immediately bending to accommodate you.

“Oh, that wouldn’t feel right,” you replied, “not when you were already sleeping in it earlier, right?”

“I’ve slept on worse,” he half-laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“No, that’s not fair, I can’t kick you out of the only room.”

Keith looked away from the kettle, nervously licking his lips as he watched you set your elbow on the table and rest the side of your face against your hand.

“Maybe we could share it,” you teased, more boldly grinning at him, now, and playfully cocking your head to the side for good measure.

Keith hoarsely laughed again.

“Hah,” he hummed. He couldn’t, for the life of him, tell if you were joking or not.

You tried to mask your disappointment even as your lips pursed together and you dropped the act.

Maybe he really was stupid.

“You sure you don’t want any tea?” He tried to change the subject before putting the rest of it back in the open cupboard.

“I’m fine,” you said, distinctly flat and lacking enthusiasm compared to your last remark. And you weren’t trying to be rude, this was just getting exhausting— if Keith wasn’t liking you the way you were liking him, that was perfectly ok, but could he at least say it out loud? So you didn’t make a fool of yourself?

You were contemplating giving up before Keith was chuckling to himself as he shut the cupboard door.

“Sorry, is it getting hot in here? Or is it just me?” He asked. “I mean, I’m standing right next to the stove,” he was suddenly rambling, “so it might just be me, and I might be too close to it, but y’know, the water’s still heating up, so—”

There was your in.

“No, it’s not just you,” you replied, shrugging off the outer layer you’d still had on over your shirt. Luckily it was warm enough in the Airbnb that you wouldn’t be covered in goosebumps which would give away the fairly blatant lie, and you didn’t mind the temperature change at all.

And really, it was nothing revealing, it was just the physical action of taking off any part of your clothing that you were hoping would catch Keith’s attention and inspire him to do the same with the dark jacket he’d put on.

Sure enough, he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, but he made a point of not staring, still lingering by the kettle on the stove.

He didn’t properly look over at you until you were directly addressing him again.

“It definitely is hot,” you spoke up again, draping the light jacket over the back of your chair, “you might want to shed a layer, too,” you huffed with laughter, changing course a bit and deciding you’d drive him crazy by being casual again before you went back to openly teasing him.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “yeah, maybe that’s a good idea…,” he muttered, trying to shrug his own unbuttoned jacket off, only he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was doing, and now he was awkwardly trying to shake it off where it got twisted and stuck on one arm.

“Let me help you with that,” you were suddenly standing up, hurrying over to Keith where he still stood in front of the stove.

And before he could protest, you were already right there behind him as he momentarily kept struggling.

He was taller than you, but you had no trouble reaching up to pry the bunched up fabric off of his shoulders, and Keith had gone very tense and stilled upon feeling your hands drag down his back (rather unnecessarily) before you pulled his jacket off.

“There we go,” you brightly mused, and you had a hunch that your theory of playing it cool was right— that being so casually close to him like this, as if it were an accident, was the kind of thing that Keith enjoyed more than over-the-top flirtation, or, god forbid, the pick-up lines you’d been running through in your head before you’d come up with a better course of action. “Trust me, you’ll feel much better now,” you were reassuring him as you went to hang up his jacket yourself.

Keith was a little too flustered to respond for a second, but he quickly got his bearings again and started profusely thanking you.

“Thanks,” he said, “you really didn’t have to, I would’ve gotten out myself, but, you know, thank you for—” he sharply inhaled when you brushed past him on the way to the table again, not because you had to, but because you’d gone out of your way to do so and still make it feel like it was all accidental— “helping,” he croaked, rasping on the last word.

“Pfft,” you shrugged, “no problem.”

You stretched out in your seat, reaching your arms above your head for a moment.

“I think I’ve been in this chair for too long,” you commented, “I’ll be on the couch.”

Languidly, you positioned yourself over it, not trying to take up all the room, but trying to get comfortable. Your legs were crossed even as they were more stretched out, now, you weren’t going to be that tacky and spread them far enough apart so that he wouldn’t be inclined to sit next to you at all.

Keith could easily look over his shoulder from where he still stood in the kitchen and see you, sprawled across it and looking down at your phone as you turned the lounge music up a click.

He appeared to remain focused on his tea.

“Hey,” he spoke up, “how early do you have to be up in the morning?”

You straightened up from your spot on the sofa, now.

“I didn’t really plan to drive into the city at a specific time, so, whenever I want? I guess?” You raised your eyebrows. “Why do you ask?” You let your voice take on a slightly different tone for that last part— still nonchalant, but not trying to disguise your curiosity.

“Well, I was gonna offer you coffee, but I guess it’s not the best idea to have it this late at night.”

You sighed, because once again, there was something not going in the direction you’d thought it would. Maybe this was a deflection tactic, if Keith was still so apprehensive, so indecisive?

“You don’t need to play the host,” you commented.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been on your feet, offering me things all night,” you pointed out. “Just because you were here first doesn’t mean I’m, like, your houseguest,” you chuckled a little bit. “Besides, you don’t need to be so apologetic— it’s not your fault we’re double-booked.”

Slowly, Keith was nodding.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “okay, yeah. Not that being double-booked is… the worst thing,” he tentatively added, his mouth slanting into a smile.

“Oh, I’m not complaining either!” You quickly specified. “This has been… really nice. I mean, you’ve been really nice,” you went on, and fuck, was it your turn to be the one rambling, now?

You paused.

You recalled the way he’d reacted when you’d taken off his jacket and hung it up for him, though, and you refocused.

“But you’re allowed to relax, too,” your voice was a little more playful this time, “I don’t know if this is, like, misplaced chivalry, but I can assure you I don’t need to be taken care of.”

Keith sputtered, perhaps trying to backtrack and defend himself for any perceived offense you might’ve taken whilst he’d been trying to be a gentleman— but you kept going.

“You don’t have to do all the work all the time. You’re allowed to be taken care of,” you lazily smiled at him again, as if your heart wasn’t racing as you might have been about to find out once and for all what exactly Keith Toshko thought of you, and whether this attraction you were feeling was a mutual thing or not.

“Of course,” Keith cleared his throat, looking away from you and turning back to the stove.

He turned off the heat before the kettle could start its unpleasant whistle, and he was largely silent for a while as he focused on pouring himself his tea.

Finally he came over to your end of the space again, a mug in one hand and a cup of water for you in the other, but before he set either of them down on another little end table, he stopped.

“I’m sorry, just, when you say that… what did you mean by that?” He tried. “I don’t wanna assume, but, you don’t have to, like, give me anything in return for letting you stay here. I mean, letting, I’m not letting you, we both booked this place, we’re both supposed to be here— you really don’t have to be trying to make it up to me.”

Keith was clearly nervous, and overcompensating for fear that he’d spectacularly failed at making you feel comfortable, even in this exceedingly fucked situation, and making sure you didn’t run off and drive into any actual danger.

And maybe it would’ve been endearing at the very start of the evening, but now, you were at your wit’s end.

“No, that’s not what I—” you openly sighed this time.

Keith put down his tea and the water.

You let Keith take a seat next to you on the sofa before immediately responding with anything else.

“That’s not what I was trying to do,” you gently finished, glancing in his direction.

Keith’s brows were furrowed.

“Then, uhm, if you don’t mind me asking, what were you trying to do?” He pressed, seeming genuinely unsure as he looked back at you.

“Keith,” you took a deep breath. “I like you. I really like you. But…,” you trailed off, looking for the right words.

You didn’t wanna push it? You didn’t want to make him feel like he couldn’t say no, didn’t want to make him uncomfortable?

“But?” He prompted, much as he had earlier that night when you’d met at the door, and you’d been struggling for speech all the same.

This seemed like an interesting pattern— when you were unsure, you got more quiet, gathering your thoughts. When Keith was unsure, he just started talking, rambling.

His eyes had been wide and hopeful for a second, but he quickly reeled himself in.

“Hey,” he started, “it’s ok, I get it. This is a really weird fucking set of circumstances, here. I’m sorry if I was being pushy, or something, I just really—”

“If you were being pushy? No, no,” you quickly interrupted, “not at all! Jesus, Keith, I’ve been checking you out all night and trying to tell if there was any chance you felt the same in the slightest!”

Keith blinked back at you, dumb with disbelief for a moment.

“Oh,” he noted.

“Oh,” you teased him.

You stared at each other for another all too silent moment that had you privately thanking god for the fact that you’d thrown on music so it wasn’t so agonizingly quiet, and for a second there, you wondered if Keith was about to get even more flighty, if he was about to spurn you, or what.

Somehow, the thought of him gently rejecting you was worse, as a tender hand on your shoulder and an apologetic explanation would be more humiliating than if he just scoffed and walked out of the room, and as his eyes softened and he folded his hands in his lap, you were briefly worried that that was exactly what was about to happen.

“I… I didn’t wanna jump to any conclusions,” he started, and for whatever reason, that just made you laugh.

Keith looked away from his folded hands and up towards you, a little startled.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you chuckled under your breath, “I’ve just been so in my head about this all night, you know?”

He slowly nodded his head again.

“So you… is that why you wanted to stay?” He inquired.

Shrugging, you turned so that you could properly face him.

“One of the reasons,” you slid even closer to his end of the couch, “is that so wrong?” You drew out the last word, lightly teasing once more as you brushed his knee with your own.

Keith sharply inhaled.

“Of course not,” he breathed, “I just— I wasn’t expecting—“

He cut off with a gasp again when you adjusted your position, crawling closer to him on the sofa.

“You weren’t expecting a random person to show up at your door?” You teased. “That checks out. You don’t seem like the type to order an escort,” you joked.

Laughter seemed to lighten the mood, even as Keith remained jittery and flustered.

He was smiling all the same, though, straightening his back and taking his hands off of his lap to place them by his sides, like he needed balance on the perfectly stable surface of the couch.

Taking that as an opportunity, you brushed your fingers against his where Keith’s hand flinched marginally closer to yours.

“You know I’d hate to surprise you, if that’s not your thing,” you were continuing, “but when you opened up that door, I wasn’t expecting there to be someone this fucking hot looking back at me, so consider me equally surprised, too.”

Keith disarmed a little at that, he was so caught off guard, and you couldn’t miss the way his face was flushed now.

He thoughtlessly parted his legs a bit when you scooted closer, placing both your hands atop his knees.

You could toy with him all night. But you’d rather get on with this.

“I…,” he panted, trying and failing to catch his breath. “I barely remember your name,” Keith commented.

“You don’t need to know my name,” you teased, even if, in the back of your mind, you’d already decided that he would remember your name come morning. By the end of the night, Keith Toshko would remember your name for the rest of his fucking life, if you had anything to say about it.

You grabbed the fabric of his shirt in your hand, giving it a tug. You didn’t force him up, however— instead, you made sure that Keith was the one who had to lean up to close the distance.

And when he finally took the hint and straightened up again from where he’d slouched a bit against the sofa, you were delighted to press your lips to his once you were sure, once the both of you were sure, that this underlying allure you’d been feeling all night hadn’t been in your head. That it had been real, and it was reciprocated in kind.

Now that you were (fucking finally) right up against him, you were grinning into the kiss, as you just couldn’t help yourself. At any rate, it was better than laughing again, because at least smiling wasn’t something else for Keith to accidentally misinterpret.

“I was so worried,” he said between breaths, “that I— that you— ” Keith shuddered a bit when you pressed up against him in order to lean in closer.

“What?” You slid your hand up and over his cheek. “What were you worried about?”

“That you would be… I don’t know,” he murmured, “scared of me?” He tried.

Something in your expression must’ve unconsciously changed, because now Keith was nervously running his mouth again.

“Jesus Christ, why did I say that, that’s the kind of thing that would make someone one hundred times more afraid of you, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

You cut him off, still cupping his face in your hands as you smothered his words with a kiss.

And despite the high, muffled sound of surprise he’d hummed, that did seem to reassure him.

Once you’d begun kissing him again, it was like neither of you knew how to stop, for a minute there. Until you were practically sitting on top of him, grinding your hips down, and Keith was gasping for air.

You pulled away, peering down to regard him.

“Too much too soon?” You asked.

“No,” he cried, voice just about breaking, “keep going.”

So you did. Positioning one hand on his chest and gripping at his shoulder with the other, you rocked your hips up against him, until you were both grinding up against each other blindly, and Keith’s hands were sliding up to your hair like grasping it was the only thing keeping him grounded, whilst your hands slipped into his own hair all the same.

As it would turn out, Keith wasn’t exactly shy, he just wanted you to take the lead.

“How can I prove it?” He suddenly asked, still breathless between kisses and just about dizzy from the friction of your body against his.

“What?”

“That you can trust me—?”

“Keith, I never said—”

But your attempted reassurances apparently weren’t quite enough for him anymore, as he was all of a sudden insistent to prove himself.

You were a little hurt that he still couldn’t see how trustworthy you’d already found him and how clear you’d made yourself about it, hurt to think that he had assumed you were even remotely scared of him.

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Keith tried again.

And those words were much more like music to your ears.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you huffed with laughter again, “remember?”

“But I want to.”

That had you pausing, as you almost didn’t know what to do with that.

“Whatever you want, you can come first,” he offered, shifting his hips a little.

And fuck. That was certainly an offer.

“Anything…?” You asked.

“Anything,” he affirmed, his voice nothing but a sigh.

You caught your breath, sliding your hips up against him again. You didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness and completely ignore how obviously hard he was in his pants, but he’d offered— it was too good a temptation to pass up.

“Jesus fuck, Keith,” you muttered as you properly grinded your hips once more, “I’m gonna sit on your face, ok?”

“Yeah,” he groaned desperately below you, “yeah.”

You were nodding, half to yourself, just trying to process what was going on as you were momentarily sliding off of him just to throw off your pants and underwear.

Keith didn’t wait to admire you, instead he was eagerly pulling you back over, and you yourself might not have even been as eager about this as he was.

He laid back on the couch, trying to angle himself just right as you crawled further up him once more.

By the time you were actually seated atop him, Keith did not disappoint. He tried to explore the rest of your body with his hands, but for the most part he’d focused on what he could do with his tongue, and good god, he excelled in that area.

He wasn’t trying to rush through this, but he lapped excitedly, enthusiastically, and that was enough to have you muttering curses over him all the while.

“Fuck,” you hummed, almost in awe at his ability to work that mouth of his.

At some point as he’d been tonguing you, you must’ve grabbed his hair, because you were pulling on it tight enough to make him whimper now as he kept it up.

You tried to hoist yourself up, to give him a break for a second.

“You okay?” You checked in.

“Yeah,” he panted, nodding a little.

“Sorry,” you muttered, loosening your grip on his dark, now tousled hair.

“Don’t be,” Keith urged, “do it, just fuck my face, just do it,” he begged.

And what were you supposed to do? Not grind down against him and fist your hand in his hair again?

His permission, his proper pleading was all you needed to hear— you sped up, not so much so that Keith couldn’t help you along with another lick of his absurdly good tongue within you, or pressure against your clit— and it certainly helped that he was audibly enjoying it all the same.

When he was whining a bit, however, and reaching for your thigh perhaps to get your attention, you stopped again, moving so that he could speak, could breathe.

“Let me finish you off,” he whispered urgently, “let me help, I can do it.”

“I…,” you looked over your shoulder, too close to the end of the couch to get a good look at the rest of Keith, but you were sure he was still hard, and however patiently he was waiting, you wondered if he should at least take off his pants, not let his cock be confined by multiple layers of fabric if you were already going to be essentially ignoring him.

“Please,” he hoarsely whispered, now squirming beneath you.

You let him get out from under you, though it took a lot of strength to not just collapse on the sofa from how lightheaded you felt after the sudden pause in stimulation.

Keith managed to slide off of the couch and onto the smooth wooden floors, getting to his knees and urging you in his direction once you’d stopped holding yourself up.

You couldn’t complain, parting your knees and letting him prop himself up between your legs.

“I insist,” he murmured.

Can’t argue with that, either.

You aggressively nodded, squeezing him between your thighs when he buried his face against you.

Keith was perfectly glad to nuzzle against you from this angle, and when he hummed with pleasure this time, the vibrations over your clit had your mind going blank, and Keith Toshko was the only fucking thing you wanted to look at, to hear, to focus on in the entire world.

As promised, he got to work quickly, and you couldn’t help it, you were rutting your hips at this repositioned angle, too.

It was almost startling how fast Keith got you to come, the force of your orgasm leaving you speechless, scratching your nails against his scalp without warning where you’d buried your hands in his hair yet again.

Luckily, Keith didn’t seem to mind, stilling obediently as you worked your way through it, and he himself was moaning louder than you when you scratched at his scalp.

There you went again with the contrast— your mouth was open, but you’d been largely silent, while Keith was making enough noise to fill the silence for the both of you.

When the sensation ebbed away and you came down from that dizzying high, you did fall back against the sofa this time, letting him go.

Keith was breathing hard, resting his head against one of your knees.

“Amazing,” he hummed, reverently. Apparently he didn’t mind his face being soaking wet by the end of it.

“You,” still trying to catch your breath, you waved a hand in his general direction. “You were amazing.”

Keith’s face was flushing again as he wiped his mouth, but his shoulders were shaking with light laughter before he leaned back against your thigh for support.

You just observed him for another moment, wondering what you had done, what good karma you must’ve earned that turned your night from an uncertain, horror movie situation to this situation.

“And now it’s your turn,” you told him.

Keith looked up at you. He regarded you with wide eyes.

You still sounded so breathless, in spite of how you were mischievously smiling down at him.

“Oh, you don’t have to—,” he caught his breath as you slid your hand over his cheek, “you can wait a second.”

“Nope,” you grinned, “don’t want to. Up,” you encouraged him, straightening up yourself, and slipping your hand down to squeeze at his shoulder.

Keith still looked so surprised, placing his hands on your legs for balance as he tried to sit up.

“You’re sure?”

“You just did me a favor,” you pointed out, “actually, several favors tonight— let me take care of you.”

Keith’s throat went dry, yet the speechlessness wasn’t at all unpleasant.

He swallowed.

“Alright,” he staggered from his knees into a standing position, “okay.”

You beckoned him over, still smiling a little sly.

“Come here,” you scooted to the right, giving him some space on the other side of the couch.

Keith, unsure of just what you were planning to do, laid down on his back again like he had earlier.

That’ll do, you decided.

You climbed over him, diving right down to his lips to kiss him, a momentary distraction as your hands strayed lower, tugging at the hem of his pants.

Keith quite literally whined into the embrace when you slipped past the layers of fabric to take him fully in hand, already wrapping your fingers around his cock and giving him a squeeze.

You pulled away once more, just to be safe.

“This okay?” You asked.

With his breath against your neck, Keith enthusiastically nodded.

“Yes,” his voice was strained, but you couldn’t have missed it when you were so physically close to him now.

Absorbing that, you started pumping him in earnest, slow enough that the both of you could enjoy this, though soon you had Keith involuntarily pressing his hips up into your hand for more.

He panted against your skin when you brushed your thumb over his tip, and you watched his eyes squeeze shut when you jerked him faster with every turn of your wrist.

“Oh,” Keith hummed under his breath, “fuck.”

You were certainly encouraged by every sound he made, grinning even as you breathed a little harder at the exertion of getting him off.

A pitiful moan in your ear was your first indication that he was close.

“Good?” You prompted.

Keith could only whimper.

“Good,” he finally managed, after stammering out a few sighs that weren’t quite words.

You worked your hand harder, stroking up and down his cock as quickly as you could until Keith himself was suddenly crying out again.

“Wait,” he panted, “hang on,” he was struggling underneath you, trying to fully kick off the pants that you had barely lowered.

“What?” You politely inquired, trying to be as courteous to Keith as he had been to you all night and stilling your strokes for a moment.

“These are the only ones I have to sleep in,” he gasped out, and you couldn’t stifle more of your laughter.

“Alright,” you nodded with understanding, helping him remove them before swiftly moving to his boxers as Keith pushed up his shirt.

He didn’t manage to take the thing off, however, because the second you’d slid down his shorts, you were back to jerking his cock in your hand, and he unconsciously arched his back up off the couch cushions, trying to get even nearer to you by some measure.

Keith was sighing with pleasure again, letting you pick up the pace and take care of him with as much haste as you wanted.

He shuddered, no doubt trying to warn you of how much closer you’d pushed him with just a few pumps.

Of course, you didn’t wait— not now.

“Go ahead,” you were whispering, without even thinking about it, “come for me.”

And with a groan, Keith had, grabbing for the fabric of the sofa and fisting some of it in his grip as he came against your hand.

You watched, wide-eyed, as he panted for air, expression contorted with bliss as he sighed, and waited until he was done before brushing a stray piece of hair out of his face.

“Perfect,” you told him, leaning to give him a peck on the cheek.

Tiredly, Keith chuckled in sheer relief.

“I’m gonna go grab some wipes,” you let go of his softening cock, pulling yourself up to stand again.

“Oh, no,” Keith tried to sit up, “I can clean myself up, you don’t—”

“Hey,” you interrupted him, “what did I just say?” You laughed.

Keith opened his mouth to respond, but, no doubt remembering your offer to attend to him instead of leaving Keith himself to take care of everything, he just snickered instead.

“You can just relax,” you’d reassured him, and you had no problem helping Keith after you’d already wiped your own hands.

The two of you were quiet afterwards, as you’d rejoined him on the sofa and Keith simply pulled you into a hug. You yourself weren’t eager to go anywhere, and so you’d settled against his side, reaching up to stroke his hair again.

And once you’d made yourself comfortable, Keith had stayed put for you, no questions asked.

•••

You lost count of the minutes that you remained curled on the couch together, as Keith finished his tea before it could get cold and every now and again you pulled away from him to sip some water.

“… So,” he piped up after a while. “The bedroom.”

You perked up.

“What about it?” You craned your neck so you could properly see him from the odd angle you were on.

“Were you kidding when you mentioned sharing it earlier? Or…?” Keith nervously trailed off. “Because I could totally go to sleep right here right now, on the couch!” He was speedily making reassurances again.

“Oh,” you commented, a little disappointed.

Was it greedy to still want more after all of that?

You had loved every bit of this night so far… but then, maybe that was the exact reason you didn’t want it to be over.

It occurred to you that you might never see this man again, and this might be your last chance.

You slowly nodded.

“We could go share the bedroom, sure,” you shifted to lie on your other side, making actual eye contact with Keith again, “I was just hoping we could do more than sleep,” you slid your hand down to his waist.

Keith inhaled.

“Ah,” he registered what was going on, much faster than he had the first several hundred times you tried to get his attention that night, “ok.”

Your hand drifted lower to caress him, sliding over the front of the boxers that he really hadn’t needed to put back on again. And Keith came to the same conclusion once you were already getting him half-hard again right there on the sofa, shockingly fast.

“Yeah,” Keith smiled dumbly with excitement, taking your hand in his own and pulling you both to your feet, “yeah, we can go do that.”

You were grinning all the same, not caring anymore if you looked stupid at this point in the evening.

It was your turn to stumble over your words as the both of you hurried into the room down the hall, Keith ahead and you trailing behind where you’d stopped to grab your overnight bag.

“Hey,” you called, “did you bring, like, anything for protection?”

When Keith slipped through the door first, he turned around halfway across the room, looking a little startled.

“For… are you asking me if I have a gun?” He asked.

“Fuck, no,” you were too distracted to even stop and laugh at his hilarious misinterpretation.

Maybe he is legitimately too tired for a second round.

You slid your hands over his hips again once you met him where he stood just beside the bed, and gently, you pushed him down onto it.

“Condoms,” you explained.

“Oh,” Keith looked up at you, brows still furrowed, “no?”

“That should be fine,” you said, pulling up your bag.

The last time you’d gone on a trip, you had brought along a variety of small items in a concealed pouch of your overnight bag, including but not limited to contraceptives in case you’d run into a hot stranger, imagine that before tonight (you’d also brought pepper spray too, to be fair). Before Keith, you couldn’t have pictured yourself doing anything quite as spontaneous as this.

You’d felt really stupid about it at the time, but now, you were grateful that you’d never unpacked them from the bag.

Keith used his elbows to prop himself up on the bed, looking in your direction with mild confusion.

“You just stay right there,” you directed, your lips turning up as you put a hand on his chest and pressed him back down.

Keith huffed, staring at the ceiling with a smile as he waited.

“Whatever you say.”

As you undressed, you tried not to think about the fact that this could be your first and last encounter with Keith Toshko.

You sincerely hoped this wasn’t a one night stand as you straddled his hips and slipped a condom over his length, observing the way Keith’s eyes fluttered shut every time you so much as touched him, and taking in every sigh and moan of satisfaction he uttered as you seated yourself atop him and moved— slowly, because you’d done this prepped with nothing but your own arousal— and you tried to memorize every noise.

Groaning, Keith let the back of his head hit a pillow.

He didn’t mind taking it slow— if anything, it was more intoxicating this way, as you seemed to tease him, savoring each and every second of this experience.

When you set your hands on his shoulders for balance, he understood what you needed, and he writhed up off the mattress as you tried to find a rhythm together.

You tightened your grip, still admiring his features in the warm, low light of the room.

Thrusting your own hips now, you angled yourselves so that every pump was perfectly aimed where his cock was pressed up inside you— the sensation had you cursing under your breath again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered, “goddamnit, Keith.”

“Am I… am I doing good?” He tried. “Or is ‘goddamnit’ like, a bad thing?”

You broke into laughter again, and that further lightened your spirits (even if you were still intent on savoring this while you could).

“Yes, you are,” you assured, “that was a good ‘goddamnit’,” you informed him.

Keith caught his breath, brightly smiling again.

“Ok, got it,” he agreed, still trying to talk to you like you were having a casual conversation in spite of how breathless he was. “So I guess I shouldn’t stay completely still?”

You looked right down at him, flashing Keith a smile.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing, pretty boy.”

That shut him up— well, he didn’t speak to you in words so much immediately after that, but Keith was groaning loud as ever as you worked your hips, fucking him speechless.

Your gaze stayed trained on him. You were still in awe that such a beautiful man was lying beneath you, an eager stranger who you’d only just met tonight.

As he managed to keep giving slight little thrusts up to compliment your own, brushing just right within you, more praise kept him vocal.

“That’s it,” you said to him, “good, good, just like that,” you continued, and Keith audibly moaned as your hips kept insistently pushing up against him as you bounced on him.

Clenching his fists around the bedsheets, Keith repeatedly gasped with each press, each thrust deeper inside the overwhelming warmth of you.

He whimpered as you edged the both of you closer and closer to orgasm, and when you grabbed frantically for his hair again and suddenly, sharply pulled, he knew you were finishing.

“Fuck,” you swore again, “Keith… holy fuck,” you squeezed around him, and the tightening sensation was what pushed Keith himself over the edge, leaving his eyes rolling shut as he gasped an open-mouthed moan.

And for a moment, there, all you could think about was how incredible it was that tonight had happened at all. That, given the less than ideal circumstances you’d been presented with (even if, under the surface, the double booking situation was quite fortunate), this was how things had turned out. You and Keith here, in the same space, and in bed together.

Considering how improbable it was that you two would have ever met at all, you could appreciate the serendipity of the scene before you.

You regarded him briefly before pulling off, but you knew you could admire him some more even if you weren’t completely entwined, and even if he himself looked half asleep already.

Winded by the end of it, Keith laid still, his eyes still closed, and you watched the rise and fall of his chest with every breath.

By the time he opened them again, he saw your face inches away from his on the pillow where you’d joined him in the bed, and you were already pulling up a sheet over the both of you.

“Thank you,” he commented. “Was that… good?”

Your mouth curled into another grin.

“Good is an understatement,” you said, “for, you know, all of tonight.”

“Yeah,” Keith was nodding his head, “you were… you were good, too.”

“Why thank you, Keith,” you teased, simply charmed by his clumsy nature as you kissed him atop the nose.

Despite his exhaustion, he was burying faint laughter into the pillow.

“Really,” you said, “I liked it. All of it,” you added, swallowing against the anxiety that showing such vulnerability brought you.

But Keith instantly replied before you had time to second guess yourself.

“Me too.”

Without another thought, you threw your arms around him, burying yourself in the crook of his neck.

“G’night, Keith,” you mumbled, pressing your lips to his skin.

“Yeah,” he echoed, “good night,” he yawned into your hair.

And he mumbled something about “the morning,” but his words were already slurred by sleep, so you didn’t ask him to repeat it.

All you did was hug him closer to you, and listen to Keith happily sigh before he drifted off beside you.

•••

In the morning, you found a note on the table.

The house was quiet, and you’d awoke in bed by yourself, which left you momentarily forgetting about Keith Toshko and the night you’d shared (and by the time you did recall him, half wondering if you’d made it all up in a dream).

But sure enough, there was the little slip of paper:

Hey— I had to run, but thanks for last night! Totally get it if you stay over with your family, but hoping I’ll see you again tonight :)

- K

You smiled.

Maybe it wasn’t just a fleeting one-night encounter.

•••

Tagging: @elyntiasblog , @thedevotchka , @gard4629447 , and also @bottle-conjuror because look bestie I did the thing LMAO

“God you’ve got such a filthy mouth” Eric exhaled “do me a favour and put it to good use” the whisper had a thrill going up your spine. 

The sound of Eric tugging down the zipper on his jeans made you drop down to your knees before Eric even had to tell you. 

*some time earlier*

The mood in the Draven household for the past few weeks had been a stressful one and it was beginning to show up in the simplest of ways. The house had become a little messy, unfolded clothes, fast food packaging bulging out of the bin and dishes taking up space in the sink and space in your mind too. 

Working from home was supposed to be easy, but the constant miscommunications and deadlines had actually left you with more stress than you’d ever encountered. Eric had begged you relentlessly to not get a job. He wanted to take care of you and he had the means to do so. 

But relying on a man was a stupid idea, he could dump you and leave you high and dry. Then what? You’d be left with nothing. So for your own sake, you got a job. You didn’t chip in on Bills, Eric wouldn’t let you do such a thing. 

You were beginning to regret your choice and Eric was getting fed up of seeing you this stressed. When he came home one evening it all came to a head. 

“Hey baby where are you?” The exhaustion in his voice couldn’t be hidden even if he tried. When he got no answer he went to your office. And much to his annoyance there you were staring at your computer. You looked up at the sound of the door opening then looked back down straight away. 

“I didn’t hear you come in, sorry” your mind was clouded with deadlines, you did not need Eric in your office right now. 

“Come and eat, I got some take out” you could see the white bag but you had no interest in eating. 

“I’ll eat later, thanks though” you heard Eric sigh as he turned away.

He sat in the living room alone, eating the food he had picked up for the both of you. When the realisation dawned on him, he didn’t have to take this. He walked back into your office again with determination. 

“You’re coming to eat, you’ve probably been in here all day” you looked up and Eric looked exhausted, sounded it too now you bothered to pay attention. But you weren’t just going to do what he told you to. 

“No, Eric I have to get this work done” you looked back down to your laptop disappointed in how much you still had left to do. Your hands came up to your temples. The work was due in less than 12 hours, every moment mattered if you wanted to keep your job. your independence. 

“You’re not doing this to me Y/N, go and eat, it’ll still be waiting after you're done.”  The laptop lid slammed shut and Eric’s hand was placed on top of it. He was sick of trying the nice way, you needed something firmer. 

“Eric I don’t have time for this, please just get the fuck out!” The silence that followed was deafening. Eric’s eyes darkened and you knew you’d fucked up.

“What did you just say to me?” he leaned over the desk “think twice before you say it again” his low and menacing voice should have been a warning. You didn't take it as one. You’d grown sick of his pushing, now it was time to push back. 

“I said, Get the fuck out.” you spoke through gritted teeth. Standing to mirror his pose. Eric walked round and grabbed your wrist. Dragging you out of the office completely. You tried to push the soles of your feet into the floor to stop him, but your stubbornness was no match for his effortless strength. 

“Eric- Eric let go of me, I’m not just a doll you can drag around, get the fuck off me!” you shouted at him, not thinking of the repercussions. He stayed silent. Simply walking you to the bedroom, his large hand wrapped around your wrist. 

When you got to the bedroom he flicked on the light, and practically threw you at the bed, where you sat, rage running through your veins. You saw Eric take a deep breath before he opened his mouth to speak. 

“I’m asking as kindly as I can here Y/N, quit the damn job” Irritation still seeped into his words even though he’d tried to calm it. 

“No Eric. I’m not quitting and you can’t make me” even while speaking to him there was a timer in your head thinking about that deadline and how much each section of work would take to write. Your eyes caught Eric’s watch and you felt the panic in your chest. 

Eric watched as your breathing changed from anger to something else. “You don’t need the job, look I’m not trying to control you, own you or bribe you.” he leaned down in front of you on his knees and reached for your hand. “I just can’t stand to see you this stressed all the time, get a different job part time at a cafe or at the library. Just don’t keep this job” his anger had dissipated into something softer. He would deal with the way you spoke to him later. 

“I’m smarter than working at a cafe or a library though, they don’t have a challenge behind them either, I don’t want to just be Eric Draven's girlfriend.” Your eyes flickered to Eric’s wrist again, 20 minutes had been wasted so far on this nonsense. 

Your words hit Eric, he knew you were smart, it was one of the many reasons he’d fallen in love with you. He saw you as a future wife, future mother, your mothers daughter and a determined individual. But you were driving yourself crazy and he couldn’t see it continue. 

“You’ll never just be my girlfriend, but if you keep going the way you are, you won't be anything to anyone, you’ll be someone who misses events, someone who's ruled by deadlines and work. Just get a less demanding job, please” 

Your eyes snapped to Eric’s watch again, this time he noticed. Another 5 minutes had passed. Your breathing changed again. 

“Look at you, you can’t even take your mind off the time and that stupid deadline” his hand left yours and moved to his wrist as he took off his watch, putting it under the bed. 

“I’m done asking Y/N, it's my job to look after you and to love you, tomorrow you are quitting that job” his hand landed at the back of your neck forcing you to look at him. “You can get another job, an easier one, you don’t need to prove how smart you are by burning yourself out.” 

That’s when the dam broke, your shoulders dropped, an exhale left you as you nodded whispering a broken “okay” as you reached for Eric. You stayed with your head on his shoulder, letting out a few tears you’d been holding onto since the deadlines started rolling in. After a few minutes you leaned back up and scanned Eric's face, the softness in his eyes, the kindness he always showed you. The apology poured out of you easily. 

“Im sorry for speaking to you the way I did before, you were only trying to take care of me” Eric smiled a little as your hand landed on his cheek softly. 

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that apology, since I have a better idea” he placed a tender kiss to the palm of your hand before leaning in to kiss you, your eyes fluttered closed as you relaxed into his touch. It had been a while since you had been in the mood to be intimate with Eric. That didn’t seem to be an issue anymore, the simple kiss gave you butterflies. 

Eric released you from the kiss and from his gentle grasp, whispering against your lips. “God you’ve got such a filthy mouth” Eric exhaled “do me a favour and put it to good use” the whisper had a thrill going up your spine. Eric stood. 

The sound of Eric tugging down the zipper on his jeans made you drop down to your knees before Eric even had to tell you. The height difference between the two of you had always been a trigger for arousal on both ends. But seeing him so clearly above you after weeks of stress made your mouth water. 

Eric had been hard since you shouted at him in the office. It was rare you stood up to him but the moment you raised your voice he was hard. His exhaustion disappeared and he could only think of putting his cock down your throat to teach you a lesson. Hopefully one you’d both enjoy learning.

You sat patiently, hands on the tops of your thighs and eyes pleading with your mouth slightly parted as Eric took off his shirt, revealing his toned physique. He had never seen a prettier sight, until your eyes widened as he pulled his cock out of his boxers, tapping it gently against your lips. His pre-cum covered your lips, you opened your mouth without hesitation.

His cock slipped easily into your mouth, Eric gasped at the sensation and you kept your eyes on him and let out a hum as the tip reached the back of your relaxed throat, you started to move, slow and steady, occasionally swirling your tongue around Eric’s sensitive tip drawing out a hiss from him. 

Your hand came up to rest on his tense thigh, gripping as you began to find a rhythm that had Eric breathing heavily above you. 

“Fuck that’s it, thought you could talk to me like that?” he breathed “maybe next time you’ll think twice” it spurred you on, you sped up your movements. You could feel the dull ache of your jaw but it wasn’t important when Eric’s tattoos were tensing, his breath faltering and his hand tightening in your hair. 

Eric came with a whimper, pushing his cock hard enough down your throat to almost make you gag, with your mouth so full some of his cum spilled from the side of your mouth but still you swallowed eagerly, willing to please. He reached down to your mouth after he pulled out, collecting the cum on his thumb and again you sucked happily. 

“You look wrecked and I haven't even touched you yet” he tucked himself away. Then got back down to eye level with you. 

This was the fun part for Eric, seeing how blissed out you were just from having his dick in your mouth, he knew if he tired to touch your pussy right now you’d be socked, ready and waiting for whatever he wanted to do with you, but this was supposed to be punishment wasn't it? 

Without warning he lifted you up from the floor, his effortless strength on display again as he placed you on the middle of the bed, all the possibilities of what he could do rushed through your mind, your favourite being the idea of Eric fucking you into the mattress. Little did you know that wasn’t going to happen. 

He began to take off your clothes, peeling off your comfortable clothing until you were left with only your bra. The relief of being free from stress meant your muscles were relaxed as you waited for Eric's next move. 

He couldn’t believe how beautiful you were laid out in front of him, affected by the simplest touch, his hand ran over your thighs, he placed gentle kisses on your stomach stopping at your sternum. He inhaled the smell of your soft skin. 

“Touch yourself for me” the words caught you off guard. 

“What?” you asked in complete disbelief. 

“You wanna be good for me don’t you?” you nodded eagerly “so touch yourself for me” his nose nudged yours as he captured you in a heated kiss, you gasped into it. While your hand began traveling down to circle your clit. 

You let out a whine that Eric found incredibly sexy, your middle and index fingers collected some of your slick, you kept your movements slow, careful not to disappoint Eric in any way. 

“You’re not gonna cum until I say you can, you understand me?” you nodded again, speeding up slightly as your need grew. Which was made worse when Eric began kissing down your body. First your neck, that one spot under your ear that made you gasp, then your collar bone, down to the swell of your breast where your nipples were hard and waiting for attention that Eric finally gave. His hands spread under your rib cage as his tongue circled your nipple. You arched into the touch letting out breathy moans. Your hand speeding up at its own accord. 

“God I can’t get enough of you baby, put your index finger inside yourself” the authority he had over you needed to be studied but you listened anyway, your finger was nowhere near as good as Eric’s but it was this or nothing so you made do. But he noticed when your breath steadied and your moans seemed to halt. 

“What is it baby? Are your fingers not as good as mine?” he kissed your stomach while looking up at you. You nodded again. 

“I’m gonna need words baby, you used them earlier, you can use them now” he leaned up sitting on his knees between your spread legs watching you lazily pump your index finger in and out of yourself. 

“Yours are better Eric, please” you whined again. 

“Please what baby?” he smirked knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Please use your fingers on me” you choked out. 

Eric wanted to resist, he really did, but your juices were on your fingers and you asked so nicely. How was he meant to refuse? 

“Since you asked so nicely, fine, but you need to keep your fingers on your clit and never speak to me like that again, got it?” 

You nodded “I swear” at this point you would have agreed to anything to have his hands on you properly. You removed your finger and dragged it back up to your clit, continuing your previous movements. 

Much to your relief Eric’s middle finger entered you, you clenched around it thankful for the welcome intrusion. His hand was so much better than yours, especially when he curled his finger, gently prodding your most sensitive areas. A second finger promptly followed driving you closer to the edge. 

“Fuck Eric I-” 

“I know baby I can feel it, you drive me fucking insane, Fuck you can cum when you’re ready baby” he didn’t mean to give in to you so easily but you sounded so pretty beneath him you were making him hard again. 

Eric watched you cum undone, you hand gripping the sheets for dear life, your thighs trying to close out of sensitivity but you only ended up with your legs around his hips. Your jaw dropped and ragged breaths left you. His favourite thing though was the way you clenched around his fingers like you never wanted to let him go. 

Your breath began to steady and you stopped clenching enough that he could slide his fingers out of you, he very happily brought his fingers to his mouth and swallowed. 

You laid on the bed, muscled exhausted, emotionally exhausted, mentally drained but free in your own way, the bed dipped beside you as Eric laid down. 

“Are you doing ok?” his tone now back to normal, gentle, patient and kind.

“Yeah I’m ok, I just feel a little shit about talking to you like that” you took a deep breath out, attempting to steady yourself. 

“Hey, look at me. You don't need to worry about it, we're all good. You're safe with me and a little outburst means nothing” his hand caressed your cheek, his thumb gently grounding you before you could dare to spiral.

“Eric, could you maybe help me finish off the work before I quit?” asking for help was the opposite of what you got a job for but maybe it was exactly what you needed. 

“Of course I can baby, but at least 5 minutes of cuddles are mandatory after a sexual act so it can wait” you both let out a giggle, as he pulled you to his chest, safe and sound.

Eric had left New York, left mine and Malek’s suburban life. To be honest, I was relieved. I loved Eric, but he was also a constant source of grief, guilt, and worry. When he was around, I didn't think about anything other than him; he devoured my full attention.

Malek’s and my life were safe and predictable, but with age I had started to appreciate just that. I liked coming home and cooking for us both. I liked when he came home and told me gossip from his job. I even liked talking about our future, with kids and a dog. For anyone who knew what a passionate affair I had with Eric, it would be hard to understand the full picture, but for me, who had known Eric so long, it was like he represented something else. Something that didn't compete with my relationship with Malek. Malek was my husband, Eric was a serpent around my heart.

Malek and I started trying to have a baby when Eric had been away for a month. When we reached month two of trying, we were interrupted. Once again, Eric had overdosed and once again my dad had offered him a bed at his place. When Malek heard that he had offered Eric a bed, he opened up our home instead; my dad lived so crowded. Someone needed to check on Eric, keep him above the surface, and his band members lived a life too close to his. He needed stability and our safe suburban life was perfect for it. Malek and I took a break from trying for a baby then. We would have a human to take care of anyway.

I didn't know what to feel because I was always happy to have Eric close, but it was different when his disease took over and I was one of few who knew about his hallucinations and one of few who knew about his crime. Eric was a murderer and maybe even a dead one. When I saw him in my living room again, it looked like his hallucinations could be true. He looked as alive as a corpse.

I stood and stared at him while dropping my handbag on the floor. I had just come home from work, driving way too fast in tears. Worried, especially because I knew he was alone in our house. Eric had just a pair of red plaid pajama pants on but had a blanket over his naked shoulders. His face was pale like his blood didn't seem to flow to his face. I cried silently while looking at him, my shoulders bobbing in the same rhythm. I laid my hands over my face while I started to cry more and more loudly, releasing the panic I had felt when I heard he once again was close to death.

I didn't look when he came up to me, so when his bare chest was pressed against my cheek it came as a shock. He hugged me softly while his own chest vibrated with his tears. I hugged him hard around his waist.

“I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…!” he cried in panic and dragged a hand over his face to wipe away the big tears.

“Why can't you just understand you're here?! Why the fuck are you like this?!” I said angrily, and instead of hugging him I pushed him away harshly.

“You're not dead, Eric!”

Eric just stood in the middle of the living room with his hands over his face. I had made him cry even harder, but I couldn't stop myself. His thoughts were idiotic, even if he sometimes got me to think he was right. He was different after all.

“Please…” he whispered just to make me stop, but I wasn't done.

“You will kill yourself though! And I'm tired of saving you!”

Eric looked at me with red eyes but continued to cry just as violently. It was me who made him cry like that and I felt awful about it, so after just a few seconds I walked up to him again and hugged him around his naked waist. Even if I had been so mean to him, he held me back like he needed me to not drown. It wasn't far from the truth either because he had no one else to talk about his hallucinations with.

“You're not dead, Eric…”

“I know…”

“But you don't believe it.”

I could feel him swallow hard.

“I… You don't believe me anyway…” he sighed deeply and released me slowly.

“Tell me anyway. You want to tell me.” I knew he had a need to talk about his experiences, even if he continued to sigh deeply.

“Maggots are eating my organs. I know you don't believe me, but I fucking feel it!” he said, upset, and started to cry violently again. 

It was my turn to sigh. I had heard it all before. It seemed like he understood his hallucinations were just hallucinations most of the time, but when depression or paranoia took over, what he had done in his teens came over him. He would start to talk about insects wiggling inside him and how he had seen his own corpse on his mother's kitchen floor, the same place his stepdad had died. I wanted him to get help, but he thought in his paranoia they would just bury his body. When he didn't have those episodes, he still was too afraid to get help, but then he was afraid someone would understand he was a murderer. He was stuck in his limbo, between life and his believed death.

“Eric…” I whined, but it just made him back away from me.

“You don't even want to try to believe me! You know everything isn't as easy as you think!”

“But you wouldn't stand here if you were dead! It's just a fucked up thought!”

He stared at me with wet cheeks and the biggest doll eyes.

“You will never believe me…”

“No.” I sighed deeply and sat down on the couch, resigned. I could feel his eyes on me, but I just leaned back and looked up at our white ceiling.

Eric was quiet, probably understanding he wouldn't hear what he wanted to hear. I could hear him walk away, out to the hallway. For a moment I thought he would leave and finally take his life, because he believed he was dead either way, but I got such a bad conscience before I had even finished the thought. In panic I ran after him, as if just my awful thought could make him kill himself. I grabbed his waist and hugged him hard. Both of us cried even if we didn't hug for real. I was just happy he had stayed with me and let me touch him. He anchored me too.

×××

Both of us sat stretched out on our couch, in a corner each. My legs lay between Eric's long legs, but if I stretched out I could drag my toes over the bulge under plaid flannel. He had pushed my foot away with a small smirk and continued to read Trivial Pursuit questions for me. It was our thing, just reading the questions for each other. It often surprised people, especially those who knew Eric hadn't even finished high school. He had read a lot by himself though, and travelled the world with his band.

Any man would have felt jealous if he saw his wife laughing and playing around with such a handsome man as Eric, but when Malek came into the living room and saw me throw the cards at Eric, while he laughed loudly, he just smiled brightly. He was probably just as relieved and happy to see Eric feeling better. I had gotten used to his shifting moods and knew how the darkness and hallucinations could swallow him quickly, but also how they could leave him almost as fast. I couldn't say if he had stopped believing in his hallucinations or if he just stuffed them away for a darker time.

“Do you want a question?” Eric friendly asked Malek, who sat down in the brocade armchair opposite our velvet couch.

“Sure,” he said, but he looked a bit nervous. He always lost.

Eric pulled a history card and smirked behind it. It made both me and Malek smile and I dragged a hand over Eric’s calf.

“What's Napoleon’s first name?”

Eric and I looked at each other and had a hard time controlling our laughter. I gave Malek a teasing smile while his ears got redder for every second.

“Ehm, it's like Louis or something. I can't remember… I should know this.”

No one who watched us would guess that the man with the bare tattooed chest knew the most about history, but he did, and he couldn't stop himself from laughing lovingly at Malek.

“You're so cute,” he said to Malek, who now smiled shyly for another reason.

“It's Napoleon. Napoleon is his first name.”

I giggled a bit at them both. There wasn't anything mean in Eric's smile towards Malek and his red cheeks weren't from shame.

I know our relationship was weird. I have had dreams about seeing Eric and Malek make out and I woke up in panic and jealousy. Eric had always been experimental and I could see how he affected even the straightest men. Maybe Malek had already cheated on me with Eric.

We moved to the kitchen where I forced Eric to cook. I knew he always felt better by doing something with his hands. One time I had taken him to a pottery studio just so he could work with them. It had been a success and he had impressed the ceramicist with his sensual hands.

Eric didn't drink alcohol, so it was just me and Malek who drank while he sipped from a can of Coca-Cola Zero. Every time he had an intense period with drugs he stopped drinking too, like a white month. After a while the alcohol and drugs sneaked back into his life, though. 

He slowly cooked a spaghetti bolognese even if he didn't eat spaghetti, only to not mess up his body. He was much more shallow than people understood and gaining weight was not an alternative, especially because he most often performed on stage shirtless. He had put on a black T-shirt while cooking, but it had such a big hole in the armpit that his nipple was exposed when he moved. If you looked closely at it you could see small marks from the piercing he had had there in his early twenties. It never really healed though, so he took it out on stage one night and threw it out into the crowd as a joke. He told me with an embarrassed laugh that a few girls had started to fight over it and how one had stuffed it in her mouth. I was not amused by the story even if he looked precious when he told it with red cheeks.

“I'm really grateful that I can stay here… I understand what Matt means, being alone in the Icelandic forest is probably not the best for me right now…” said Eric while we sat by the dinner table as the bolognese simmered. He looked at us but also down at the table. I could see the shame on his face, but Malek probably didn't understand why he really acted like that. I swallowed hard. For a moment I believed Eric would spill our secret, but he just released heavy tears that ran down his cheeks.

“I'm sorry…” he said and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. I could feel the pain in my heart I had felt earlier come back from seeing him upset. I was just on my way to walk around the table to hug him, but Malek was quicker than me and pulled Eric up from his chair to give him a real, close hug.

“You're family. Don't say you're sorry. When life fails us our family should be there and we are yours, okay?” said Malek while the taller Eric rested his cheek against his shoulder. His eyes were closed and he breathed deeply. 

I stood up and stared at him and he must have felt it because he opened his eyes and gave me a look. His eyes were full of regret and sorrow, but also fear. 

Sometimes it felt like he had many more feelings than me and I couldn't keep up. They shifted so quickly in his ocean eyes it was like trying to see a hummingbird’s wings.

×××

I sneaked into the guest room that night. I just wanted to touch his skin. Feel him close before the sun would rise and make everything complicated again. In the night he was mine. Just like my dream. My nightmare. He took over my body and mind just as much.

I touched his skin. I crept as close as I could. I let him push into me. My dream. My nightmare. One day he would destroy me, but until then I would let him make me fall into pieces and then put the pieces back together again.

×××

We danced close together, even if Greta said she was Eric's girlfriend. She wasn't, neither was Milly, but she at least didn't believe they were a couple. I had understood that he had slept with them both, and still did when he was drunk and felt lonely. Both of them always waited for him with open arms and legs. They were in the same friend group, a big friend group with artists, junkies and employees in New York's nightlife. I had just come home from Uganda where I had lived for two years and worked at a home for abused women. I had grown a lot because of it, but I had also missed the man I loved. Eric would probably always be that, but we were different from each other and even if he thought he was slick, I could see him swallow pill after pill while we were out with his friends. I didn't know what it was and I didn't want to ask in front of his friends; they probably took the same thing.

If it wasn't for Eric I would have felt small and uncool among his colorful friends, but he openly showed how proud he was of me. I laughed at him when he said I worked in philanthropy, it sounded so fancy, while my work was far from fancy. Eric just smiled at me though, he thought I was too modest. I also felt pretty, even if both Greta and Milly looked heroin chic in a Kate Moss kind of way. He said it over and over, how pretty and hot I was, and was not shy about giving me kisses. Both of us were single so we didn't have anyone to hide from. I could dance close to him, sit in his lap and kiss his lips. The jealous people around us didn't have anything to say.

We walked away from the others when New York started to light up with the sun. We walked hand in hand, slowly and romantically, even if I noticed Eric wanted to go faster. It was obvious he was on some sort of drugs, but I was too happy to be with him and be able to express my feelings openly, so I let it be. I laughed at his eccentric stories and made out with him messily. It all took a turn though when he jumped up on the railing of the bridge we walked on and started to walk like there was just concrete on the other side, but below him was the dark Atlantic water.

“Eric…” I said worriedly and stretched out my hand. “Come down.”

Eric laughed just as ecstatically as before.

“You can calm down. Nothing will happen.”

I swallowed hard and felt my heart hammer aggressively in my chest.

“Please, just come down.”

Eric giggled like a little boy and instead of listening to me he started teasing me by more or less running along the railing. I knew he had a good physique and probably also good balance, but one step too far to the side would make him fall.

“Eric! Stop!” I screamed in panic, even if that could have been the thing that startled him and made him lose his footing.

Eric stopped though and turned to me on the railing with a big smile. He took all of it as a joke while I had started crying.

“Hayden…” he said with a smile, like I was dramatic for crying, but I wasn't. He was playing with death in front of my eyes.

“Come down now!” I said angrily while pointing at the ground in front of me.

Eric gave me a confused smile but finally did as I said.

“What?” he said and looked down at me from his tall height. Carefully he wiped away a tear on my cheek with his broad thumb.

“Nothing will happen.”

I stared at him in disbelief until I understood what it was about. Eric believed he could play with death because he had already met it. Eric believed he was dead and that he wouldn't be able to die again.

“Eric…” I said with a sigh and pressed my forehead against his chest. It was too much to explain to someone that they were alive, especially when I couldn't understand his thoughts at all. He worked, partied, played in a band and was with girls, but still he thought he was a corpse.

“You're not dead, but if you do things like that you can die and you will leave everything…”

I looked up at him and started crying again. Beautiful, kind Eric. It was a horrible thought that he wouldn't exist and I shivered while saying the words.

“It's not that easy, Hayden…” he said and sighed. He seemed to have sobered up from my big emotions, but still he couldn't take in my words.

“No, it isn't, because you can die.”

Eric sighed again and looked down at the ground. He looked hurt and misunderstood but didn't say anything more. He wasn't the type who would fight so hard for his beliefs that it would become an argument, like I was. It was also why I most often “won” arguments. I could many times see that he wasn't finished, but he swallowed it down or just walked away. Now he swallowed it down and nodded a little. After a minute of staring at the sun rising over New York he took my hand.

“Let's go home…”

×××

Somewhere I had thoughts about moving to New York to be with Eric, but the story on the bridge made me doubt. I had a diploma in social studies, while Eric had lost his job as a cleaner because he had come to work high. He was a mess and even if I loved him I couldn't see how he would fit into my life.

I took a job as a social worker in our hometown just to think about what to do. We had a relationship over the phone. It was painful to talk with him because he always was that sweet Eric I was in love with, but the stories he told me were the stories of a broken man. Even the stories that should have been fun felt filthy to me. Everything had a thin layer of white powder or an injection of something. I tried to say he could have fun without it, that drugs were bad for you and all the other things a mother would say. He agreed with me, but the next time he would tell me a story about waking up among horses or shaving off all his hair. I didn't want to hear it, but I knew I needed to, to have some sort of control over him.

Still I thought about moving to him. Maybe everything would be better then? Maybe he would change?

I was sitting at work when my phone rang on my desk. I worked in an open office landscape so when I saw Chance’s name on the display I knew I couldn't answer then. Everyone would hear and if Chance called it couldn't be good. I didn't have time to call him back because of a meeting, so during it I got to think and wonder why he had called, and why he had called again. No one probably missed how distracted I was and neither did they miss how I ran out of the building when the meeting was over.

Chance cried in my ear.

“What? What?!” I said desperately to make him talk.

“Fuck, he did it…”

For me those words meant just one thing; Eric was dead. Eric was gone and had left me while I had rejected him.

“Oh my god… Oh my god… Oh my god…” I muttered to myself while the panic grew inside me. I couldn't live without Eric. I thought about that boy every other second. If he was dead, so was I. If I couldn't hear his cute laugh again or look into his soulful eyes my body and soul would collapse.

“He hung himself from the TV cable in the ceiling… I fucking don't know how he got that idea… And he was, like, happy yesterday. Where the fuck did it come from?” cried Chance.

I knew where it came from. He constantly had a darkness inside him that suddenly started to eat its way out of him. It came suddenly and without explanation. Suddenly the idea was there. He needed to leave earth because he didn't belong here. He was a creature of pain and death.

“Where is he now?” I said, but my voice failed me. I could feel my own darkness grow in the pit of my stomach.

“At the hospital.”

“Will they do an autopsy on him?”

The thought of it scared me in several ways, but I also wanted them to confirm that he was different.

“What? Eric isn't dead,” said Chance, confused.

I stared in front of me. My emotions couldn't keep up and instead of feeling relief or happiness I got so angry I screamed out loud. I had really started to see Eric as dead, even thought about his dead body and felt the bad conscience push against my ribs. Chance had made me question my own life, made me angry at Eric for leaving me, but also made me hate myself for never giving him a serious chance to be my boyfriend.

“Why didn't you start by saying that?? You fucking asshole! I fucking thought he was dead!”

I could only guess that Chance wasn't prepared for my anger to be directed at him, but it had probably also been too much for him, because I could hear him start crying again. I listened to him cry loudly, and I did the same in his ear.

×××

Chance was a good guy, a good friend to Eric even if they had the same relationship with drugs, but when I saw him at the hospital in New York I got so angry I could have hit him. Not because he had been unclear about Eric, but because of what he held in his hands. He waited for me in the waiting room, sitting on a plastic chair by the wall. I stared first at his puffy face, but then my eyes fell to his hands.

The TV cable.

He sat with a TV cable in his hands, hanging between his legs, and it was obvious what cable it was. I didn't let it pass for even a second, but marched towards him, and pulled the black cable from his hands.

“What the fuck, Chance?!” I screamed so loudly all the people in the waiting room turned towards us. He looked at me with big glassy eyes.

“He tried to kill himself with this and you want to keep it?”

“I… I, I need it,” he stuttered, but looked ashamed.

“Buy a fucking new one! This could have been his death!”

The word death made my voice fail me and the tears pushed behind my eyes. Finally, a nurse came up to me and touched my arm calmly.

“We have private waiting rooms…”

I sighed loudly, but the tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Just… Just throw this away, please,” I said and gave her the cable that had almost taken my lover's life.

The nurse looked down confused at the cable, obviously not knowing what it was, but took it from my hand.

“Okay, but you can't scream like that here…”

“I will be quiet, but please just take that thing away.”

The nurse nodded, but gave me a worried look. She walked away through the corridor but said something to another nurse, probably to keep an eye on me.

I sat down clumsily next to Chance. I didn't make an effort to wipe away my tears; all my strength went into keeping myself from screaming out loud.

“You know I hate you, right?” I said quietly to Chance. I didn't really mean it, but in that situation I did. Couldn't Eric have a normal best friend?

Chance was quiet and looked towards a door in the corridor, probably the door to Eric's room. We didn't say anything more, but I hoped he would understand why I said what I did.

We didn't get to meet Eric that day. He slept like a baby for eighteen hours and the next day he acted like normal Eric. Even the doctors were confused because of how calm and stable he was. The darkness had left him again and I was the only one who knew what had made him hang himself from the ceiling. 

The next day, he emailed a manager who wanted to meet him and his friends. It actually sounded like they could get a record deal.

×××

We danced wildly around the living room. If people saw us they would have thought we had taken something, but we hadn't. Eric and I were just like that. Together we could be embarrassing teenagers. Our guilty pleasure music was playing loudly, Icona Pop, and Eric sang along like his life depended on it. I giggled while watching him throw himself around with his long limbs and it made him smile, a big dimpled smile.

In his ecstasy he lifted me high off the floor in his strong arms. I laughed loudly and freely while he spun me around a bit too fast. I felt dizzy, but it was worth it. These sorts of moments were my proof that Eric and I were soulmates. With another guy, even Malek, I would have felt stupid just dancing wildly, but with Eric the emotions were so big they needed to come out in one way or another.

It was also how his spinning turned into a passionate make-out session. Deep, messy kisses, hands searching for skin and the adrenaline from our silly dancing session made our clothes fall to the floor, and soon our naked bodies followed. Between my legs he thrust hard with his hips and made me sound like an upset cat. I was far from upset though, but I would always be his kitten.

His seed darkened our beige rug, but that would be a problem for later. I thought I would just enjoy being with a happy Eric, but a message on my phone changed that. I shouldn't have grabbed it from the coffee table, I should have just stayed on Eric's chest on the floor.

Mom:

Something has happened in the forest by the old oak. There are police cordons everywhere. Can you ask Malek if he can find some information?

×

@kikibit @malenoradgn @a-differentbrandof-beans @forrealandjustsaying @useyourwandbro @turbotasticoo @keysandthesea @muchwita @hanamirandak @hamburger-sprite

@loushaw131460 @lunaskye999

His heart hammered a frantic, erratic beat against his ribs—a trapped bird tearing itself to pieces in the dark. The sheer, blinding panic of the life within him being snuffed out was white hot, a singular, agonising realisation that he was entirely small, entirely helpless, and entirely alone against the weight of a world that did not care if he knew how to swim.

Then, the fire died.

The frantic, desperate thrashing of his limbs grew heavy, then slow, until the current finally stopped fighting him and simply took him away. The suffocating pressure in his chest didn't hurt anymore; it expanded, dissolving the wild edges of his panic into something thick, dark, and impossibly quiet.

The black ocean had become a womb, keeping him safe and sound, cradling him the way his mother never had.

A profound weightlessness washed over him as he sank deeper into the stars beneath the waves. The lick of the flames and the bite of the cold vanished, replaced by a creeping, deceptive warmth that bled into his veins like liquid silk. It was an unadulterated euphoria—the kind of terrifying bliss that only belonged to the dying. The kind of peace that came after it all ended, and there were no worries in sight.

There were no expectations down here. There was no family legacy, no monstrosity within him, no yearning for a greater destiny tearing at his heart. There was only the soft, creamy density of the dark, holding him so perfectly that he never wanted to break the surface again.

For once in his life he was entirely, beautifully loved by whatever god had granted him such mercy.

And then it burned again. A hand—vast, gnarled, and ancient enough to have held the beginning of earth in its palm—broke through the ceiling of the world. Giant, twisted fingers plunged into the black surf, reaching for him, not to save him, but to scoop him up like a rag doll.

Roman bolted upright, a breathless gasp tearing from his throat.

The silk sheets on his bed were tangled in a heap around his waist, damp with sweat and tears. The familiar, faded grandeur of his bedroom in the estate rushed back to meet him, but the phantom scent of stagnant water still lingered in his nose. 

He found himself grieving that peace at once.

"Bad dreams, my darling?"

The voice—her voice—was a cruel, precise blade slicing through silk.

Olivia Godfrey sat in the armchair beside his bed, a cigarette perched between two manicured nails, with her other hand carding through the floppy brown locks draped across his forehead.

She hadn't turned on the lights, no, she sat there in the dim, grey morning light watching him. Always fucking watching him with that same stillness as always, the kind that itched at his bones and tore at his skin as if she had found a way beneath it. As if she wanted to crawl inside it, as if she couldn't possibly get any closer to him.

"You've been so busy lately, Roman," she murmured, her nails clicking softly against his collarbone as her hand drifted away from his head, before she finally withdrew her hand and settled it in her lap. "You're pale and, quite frankly, moody. You should spend the day at home with your mother and let me take care of you."

"Mmm. I would rather kill myself," he drawled, forcing himself up and out of the bed, in which he would have loved to remain for another several hours had she not tainted the space with her presence. He didn't feel completely safe going back to sleep, not with her hawk ass watching his every twitch.

Olivia let out a soft, melodic hum, entirely unbothered by his hostility. She tapped the ash from her cigarette into a small crystal dish on his nightstand, her gaze tracking the sharp, tense lines of his shoulders as he reached for his clothes.

"If you say so, darling," she murmured. "The staff tells me you’ve been spending your evenings down by the old greenhouse lodge. What's going on there, hmm?"

Roman froze, his fingers stalling on the buttons of his shirt. Gossamer was probably curled up in the sun by the docks out there right now, or swaddled in the blankets he had brought her. His neck still twinged where she'd fed from him before healing it as if nothing had ever happened. 

"Needed a change of scenery. Fucking chicks in the car was getting kind of old".

Roman forced his features to smooth out, turning over just enough to look her in the eye with the most bored, pathetic expression he could muster. 

Olivia stared at him for a long, slow beat, searching his face for a different. Finally, her lips curled into a faint expression of supreme disgust. "You wound me with your ludicrousness. Have you no respect for yourself? For this family?"

"I'm shocked that you ever thought I did," Roman muttered. For that, she slapped him.

<<>>

Gossamer knew she had company long before she stepped out of the shower. There was a distinct, sharp interruption in the static of her surroundings—a shift in the room's frequency that she had learned to pick up on.

She didn't rush. To show haste was to show a certain amount of fear, and Gossamer was not the kind of animal to be startled in her own nest, to be driven from her own comfort.

With deliberate elegance, she went about her routine as if she were entirely alone. She let the freezing water drip from the lengths of her dark hair, tracking the slow path of a droplet as it rolled down the curve of her spine.

She reached for one of the faded, threadbare towels Roman had smuggled down to her, her movements fluid and unbothered as she pressed the cloth to her skin, drying herself with the precision of someone who had all the time in the world.

When she finally dressed and braved the porch of the lodge, she found Roman's mother sitting at the edge of the small pier. Olivia Godfrey was a grand oil painting of high-society leisure, a vision of aristocracy and might lit within a swampy clearing. She was draped in a flowy white dress that pooled around her like milk, damp as her legs dangled over the edge of the wood and swayed about in the water. 

A wide-brimmed hat shaded her face, catching the pale morning glare and filtering it into a soft, glowing halo. It was her eyes that were devilish—two sharp, calculating slits tracking the fog as it drifted over the water, before settling on Gossamer.

Beside her on the weathered wood sat a gorgeous marble charcuterie platter and two wine glasses, each filled with a deep, ruby-red liquid. One glass rested comfortably between her fingers; the other sat a precise distance away, waiting just for her.

"You certainly took your time," Olivia murmured, not bothering to turn around as the ice-thin edge of her voice carried over the lapping water. She lifted her glass, swirling the dark liquid in a slow, hypnotic circle. "But then, I suppose wild things like you never have the need to respect schedules."

Gossamer stopped at the edge of the porch. The contrast was stark—the upir woman lounging in her ethereal whites, drinking wine at the edge of a swamp, while the fae stood in her towel, all jagged edges and otherworldly eeriness.

"Wild things like me do not spare time for uninvited guests," Gossamer replied, her voice dripping with undisguised venom. 

"Don't be so rude, darling. You're squatting on my property, are you not? Here, have a glass. I brought enough to share." Olivia gestured lazily to the second glass. "Let’s have a little.....chat about my son," the woman smiled, her crimson lips pulling back over teeth that were far too perfect. 

At the mention of the boy, Gossamer felt her fangs throb, a sudden, white-hot ache blooming at the roots of her teeth. She didn't move toward the glass, but drew closer, shadow stretching taller.

"Yes", Gossamer whispered. "Let's."

.

_____________________________________________________________ booooooooooooooooooo this chapter and life burned me out so bad I hope it's okay! Just needed to write SOMETHING to move this shit forward. anyways here's a WIP of Gossamer I'm working on mwah <3