Caleb’s Hunter

“Caleb ?”

You snap him out of his thoughts, he jolts at the sound of your voice speaking his name.

“Sure”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to—“

“No, no, I…”

Caleb stutters, what is he supposed to say anyway ? Fuck you mean “if you don’t want to” ? Of course he does. His brain just short-circuited. He doesn’t know how to act, how to breathe. He has been craving for this moment for so, so, so long.

He’s so deeply in love, obsessed with you. He imagined the taste of your lips so many times, he guessed how they feel all over him. Over every inch of his skin. His heartbeat is uneven, he’s so excited, so desperate.

“I’m not sure how to…”

“Don’t worry, pip’, I’ll guide you”

“Just trust me, m’kay ?”

He smiles lovingly. Caleb wants to reassure you, he doesn’t want to ruin this for how needy he is. He wants to be the first and the last to know how your lips taste.

When you nod, his hand finds yours, gentle, warming. He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. His eyes find yours to make sure you still want him to kiss you, just one more time.

You’re frozen, unsure how to react, what to feel. You want to burst into giggles, of excitement. God, you’re about to kiss him. Kiss your whole life’s best friend, savior, protector. You know… you’re obsessed with him too. You’re so desperate and needy for his touch, his attention.

“Caleb”

Your voice echoes in his ears, like a faraway memory in the void. He presses his lips over yours, fuck…

Your lips feel exactly the way he imagined them, if not better. Soft, sweet, gentle. He likes it. More. He kisses your lips like you were something to be delicately handled. Not because he’s afraid to break, because he’s doing his best to hold back. More.

Caleb wants to take all of you, all the things he’s been craving from you. If only you’d let him do more.

His large hand cover your cheek, thumb grazing your lower lip between kisses.

“Can I ?”

You nod again, unsure just what he asks permission for but when the tip of his tongue licks your lips, you know what he means.

Inside your head, you know for a fact that if he’s going to teach you how to kiss, at least you’ll show him what you think you can do.

Hands lightly grabbing his shirt, you press your lips harder over his, giving him access to your mouth by sliding your tongue into his. Heat builds into your cheeks under his palm.

And when you think the kiss is good, he pulls back. Embarrassing.

“Did I do too much…”

“No, pip’, you’re really good at this”

You want to hide yourself. Something in his eyes or expression makes you think he didn’t like it. Or are you overthinking ? Ugh.

Truth is, he just can’t continue if all you’re expecting is a kiss. God, he’s burning inside. How is he supposed to kiss you like this and go on about his day ?

And you’re good at this. His brain is full on ‘who the fuck did you practice with’, but there’s no one. There can’t be. He always made sure there was no one.

He presses his lips over yours chastely, pulling away with a gentle smile. His eyes avoiding yours like they were going to enchant him and pull his clothes off him in a second.

He’s so good. You want to tell him he’s a good kisser, but he stands up faster than the words can fall off your lips.

“I’ll make dinner, wanna keep me company?”

You both manage to go on about your day, ignoring the needy dampness of both your underwears. As long as it’s not obvious, you’ll hide it from each other.

Both of you can’t risk being caught so obsessed with each other. No, never. Not yet, at least.

Lesson 1: Kissing. Completed.

For days you can’t get the kiss off your mind, nor can he. You miss the feeling of the kiss. His lips on yours. Your lips on his. He stares at your lips when you speak, when you smile, when you eat. For whole minutes without you noticing. And all you do is avoid looking at his all the time.

“Caleb ?”

“Pipsqueak?”

You don’t quite know where to start your question, or request. But your mind was so focused on his hands holding his phone. The device so small in his hands, so defined, so perfect.

“When did your hands get so big ?”

He frowns, holding his hand out to check it. You curl up closer to him on the couch cushion, grabbing it in yours. They make your hands look so tiny and gentle next in his.

Caleb stares at your hands around his, his mind quick on imagination. Your little fingers curled around him the way he always pictured.

And all you’ve been thinking about is his fingers curling inside you, pressing spots yours could never reach.

You don’t know how to voice your need, feeling like no matter how you ask for it, it’ll sound wrong.

His eyes meet yours and he swears he can read the words in your gaze. Begging him to touch you. But he won’t unless you put words into it. He needs to hear it.

He knows how wet and uncomfortable you are, he knows what week it is, he knows you’re needy. He notices everything, from the way you shift and rub your thighs together when you sit. To the way your skin feels hot under his touch.

When you bring his hand over your thighs, he’s sure he’ll lose his mind and use his cock to ease the tension between your thighs. Surely that’d help you out.

“Say it, pip’, what do you want.”

It’s not even a question, it comes out like a statement. Assuring you he won’t do anything if you don’t ask him with words. It’s just an act of service. Best friends help each other, right ?

Let’s just say it’s another lesson. The ‘fingering’ lesson, after the ‘kiss’ lesson. It’s just fair.

“Can you touch me, ..please ?”

He practically throws his phone to the side to grab your thighs. One hand snakes around your waist to pull you closer. Caleb is so gentle, so calm it feels like he has done that plenty of times and it twists your insides to think about it.

But he hasn’t. He has never touched anyone in his life, never felt how soft and warm your gummy walls would feel around his fingers. Around him. But he imagined it so many times that he knows how to touch you, how to handle you.

You sit back, spreading your legs for him. He smiles, lips kissing your temple, humming when his fingers slide inside your panties. Damped, soaked for him. And him only.

Your thighs flutter when his digits graze your clit, sliding down to your hole. He slides a finger inside, his cock twitching at how warm your velvety walls already feel around him.

Caleb is slow, appreciative, like he’s discovering your anatomy, learning every spots that make you gasp for more.

He pumps it in and out of you a few times before adding another finger. He kisses your cheek, reassuring you when you try to grab his wrist to hold him.

His thumb finding your button, pressing his digit over it. You squeeze around his fingers and he chuckles.

“Okay, okay… right there”

“Let me hear you, pipsqueak”

You squeeze your thighs, mewling at the feeling of his fingers inside you, so foreign and different from your usual small and thin ones. His practically press your walls deeper than you could ever hope on reaching.

Caleb makes sure his fingers are precise over and inside you, your clit carefully circled whenever he pushes back in.

And oh you sound so sweet, moaning his name in unison with the sounds of your hole squelching. Wet and noisy. It’s like the best harmony to his ears.

He works you through it, keeping his long digits between your walls. His thumb never stopping to rub over your pearl forcing your thighs to press together. The man smiles to himself, proudly.

“you did so well, pip”

Lesson 2: Fingering. Completed.

It’s the first time Caleb finally engages sexual activities with you, because all the things felt so unreal already. But all he wants to taste is in your panties and that— surely you’d give it to him willingly if he made the first move.

“just relax, m’kay ?”

The sound coming from you, your sweet hum of allowance is enough for him to pull your shorts off. His eyes darkening at the sight of your lacey panties before him.

It’d be a shame to waste just a beautiful nature for a few licks, right ? Even then, Caleb is hungry. His appetite grows bigger the more you stand close to him.

A few minutes and his hands firmly hold your thighs apart. Your thighs instinctively try to close or move away from his tongue lapping over your clothed clit. Your panties ridiculously wet, the scent of your arousal clinging to the fabric makes his mind go crazy. Blank in daze and lust.

“Caleb..”

Your moan begs him to just eat you out directly, stop teasing you.

Caleb has made you cum already by just tasting you over your panties, and the way you’re already trembling in his hands makes his cock leak.

“Please..”

“Sshh pip’, you’re doing so good”

Your head sinks back into the mattress. Panties so soaked by your juice and his saliva, you swear it’ll dissolve at some point. And he’s so loud over your clothed folds, so eager to taste you nonstop.

His tongue flat and wide over the fabric, lacey panties rubbing against his muscle. He reaches between your thighs, grabbing the fabric and pulling it tight over your clit when it loosens, nearly ripping the thin fabric.

The moans falling off your lips turning lewd, uncontrolled. How is he so good at this, his lips pressing kisses on your pussy. It’s like he loves her more than you.

And just when you start begging his name at the way he doesn’t stop even after your walls tighten around nothing, Caleb hooks two of his fingers into your panties and pulls it to the side.

He rubs his nose over your clit, inhaling your sweet scent, a smirk forces on his face. How he’s been waiting to taste you, he never wants it to end now.

His mouth waters at the sight of your whole leaking down, spasming around nothing. He hurriedly laps at the juice glistening in front of his eyes, he swears he could have came into his sweatpants at the taste.

“You taste so sweet, pip’”

Your hand finds his scalp when he laps up your bare folds, you can’t even make out when his lips or his tongue is touching you.

The sound of his lips pressing hot kisses over you echoes, Caleb tastes you like you’re an ice cream, sweet and melting from the heat. His mind lost, eyes closed in concentration, anything to keep the taste and scent of your pussy engraved into his memory.

He’ll never get enough of it. Never. He has never enough of everything that includes you.

Especially not this sweetness that clings to his tongue.

Lesson three. Pussy eating. Completed.

Caleb swore he could cum the moment you asked him what his cock looked like. You just seemed to have the need to see one. To touch one.

“Can I touch it ?”

You ask him so much kindness and innocence, it feels like you’re asking to touch the tip of his nose. Though when you crawl closer, letting him pull it out for you to grasp it. His eyes stare at your face, more focused on how your eyes light up at the sight of it.

How hard and already leaking with precum his length is under your palms. You’re so eager, yet you slowly rub your hands up and down. Holding the base of his cock firmly before pulling your hand up to his tip, where you slightly tighten your hand.

His breathing quickens, nearly choking on air as he desperately tries to not let out any lewd moans. Pathetic and needy.

Oh but it takes him just a few more strokes and he’s whimpering in your hands.

“Ah— pip’”

Caleb gulps thickly. His head thrown back, it takes every ounce of him to not circle his hands around yours and guide them over his cock in desperate strokes. Cause fuck, you’re teasing him at this pace.

His thighs shake under your touch, he forces his eyes close to focus on merely just your hands around his length. He knows he can’t bear the sight of your eyes staring at his cock between his thighs.

But then again, it’s unbearable to keep his eyes off you.

Caleb stares back down at you, taking a shaky breath in when he meets your eyes. Curious, eager and so beautiful.

He leans in. If you’re not going to suck him off, at least his lips will put your mouth to use. It goes against all that teaching session but fuck that.

Breathy moans mix in between his kisses, your hands never stopping their movements on his cock.

“You’re doing so good, pip’”

How many times will he tell you that along the way, he’ll eventually lose count.

Lesson four. Masturbation. Completed.

Everything about you makes him more and more obsessed. Everything you do, or say.

He can’t bear the thought of someone else having you. Having your first times. It’s all his. Every single one.

Just like it was his job to help you when you first rode a bike, it’ll be his responsibility to be the first to help you ride a cock. He’ll happily help you with it.

“Caleb, could you poke my cherry ?”

Believe it or not, he nearly falls into giggles like a maniac. But he holds back, his mind processing just what you just asked him. You can’t be seriously giving him your virginity.

Then again, he showed you plenty of stuffs you didn’t even know what it felt like. He showed patience when he could barely hold his restraint together. He deserves it, right ?

“Are you sure ?”

Be so fucking sure you want him to put his cock inside you. Inside your warm and gummy walls. Fuck he’s been dreaming about it. It was hard to not push it inside you whenever you passed your lessons.

Caleb knows that once he’ll be fully inside you, no one will ever have the chance to go past your entrance. Hell, you’re his and his only.

And he’ll make sure your body knows and remembers it.

Lesson five. Poke the cherry. To proceed.

"Perimeter's clear," he said, quiet, like nothing in the world could rattle him. He crossed the debris toward you, boots crunching over glass and rubble. "You're bleeding, though."

You looked down. A chunk of crystal debris had opened a gash along your calf and you hadn't even noticed.

"Huh. Didn't feel that happen."

"Let me look at it." He dropped to one knee, taking a bandage roll out of your hands before you'd even fully pulled it from your pouch.

His hands were warm. Warmer than it made sense, given the cold. When he folded the torn fabric of your pants back to get at the wound, his fingers grazed bare skin and something jumped straight up your spine. You bit down on the inside of your cheek so you wouldn't make a sound about it.

This was the problem with Xavier. Some days he fell asleep against your shoulder like it was the safest place in the world. Other days he kept a careful distance between you and answered everything in a polite, unreadable tone, and you were left wondering if you'd imagined the whole thing.

"Does that hurt?" his thumb pressed against the unbroken skin just above it — the touch was not necessary to wrap the bandage.

"A little," you said, watching the top of his head, how the moonlight caught the color of his hair. "Xavier. Can I ask you something?"

His hands didn't stop moving, but his shoulders went still. "Yeah."

"Why do you do this?" You asked flatly, too tired to dress it up. "Sometimes I think we’re... I don't know, really close. And then other times, you look at me like I'm just another Hunter from the Association. It's confusing."

He finished tying off the gauze, stood up and finally looked at you "I just think about things. More than I probably should."

He reached out to help you up, hands closing firm around your forearms.

"Think about what?"

You went to test your weight on the bandaged leg and the ground chose that second to be uneven. You pitched forward, right into him, your chest hitting his. His hands slid from your arms to your waist to catch you.

Neither of you moved.

You could feel his heart going fast under his uniform, which didn't match the calm on his face at all. His eyes dropped to your mouth, came back up.This is happening, you thought, a little dizzy with it. He's actually going to—.

His grip on your waist tightened. Something cracked open behind his eyes, just for a second "You shouldn't stand this close to me"

"Xavier—"

He stepped back before you could get anything else out.

Crunch. Something snapped under his boot.

A white protocore.

He picked it and it suddenly went off with light, a white light expanding outward faster than you could track. The air got sucked straight out of your lungs. Your ears popped hard enough to hurt, and then the ruins, the sky, and everything else was sucked into a roar of wind that yanked you forward like the world had grabbed you by the throat.

You hit something solid and warm.

"Oof — sorry —"

A grunt came from underneath you. You blinked against sudden dark, hands slapping down flat against Xavier's chest. You were sprawled on top of him, legs tangled, face mashed against his neck.

"Oh my god." You scrambled back so fast you scraped your palms on the floor. "Sorry — are you okay?"

Xavier sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, hair falling into his eyes. "Fine. Are you hurt?"

"No, I— " You stopped. Looked around. "Wait."

You weren't standing in the ruins anymore. You were standing on a balcony with black wrought iron railing and a view of city streets that looked oddly familiar.

"Is this our building?" You turned in a slow circle, "Xavier, did you just teleport us home?"

"I didn't teleport us anywhere."

"You definitely did something..."

"I didn't" He was already moving past you toward the railing, scanning it like it might answer a question you hadn't asked yet.

"Okay, well, something got us here," you said, following him. "So if it wasn't you, what was it?"

He didn't answer right away. He crouched by one of the plants, fingers brushing the soil. Damp. Recently turned. "I don't have an explanation for this."

"When did you get so many plants?."

He moved to a small table near, where two mugs sat, both used, one rimmed faintly with lipstick.

"This is kind of freaking me out."

You spotted a newspaper folded beside the mugs and reached for it before he could stop you.

The date on the header didn't make sense. You read it twice.

"Xavier." You held it out to him, throat tight.

He took it, scanning it fast, and for the first time all night something like real alarm broke through his usual calm. "This is two years out."

"Two years." You said it slow, testing the weight of it. "Okay. We're just —somewhere else. Somewhere with your exact view, which is a really specific coincidence, but fine, sure, this is wrong, so so wrong—"

"Calm down."

"Xavier."

"What."

You pointed, wordless, toward the far corner of the balcony, where a lumpy, badly painted bird feeder hung crooked from its hook, one wing chipped clean off. You'd have known it anywhere.

"That's Fatso"s" you said.

Xavier followed your finger, and whatever he'd been telling himself died on his face.

You grabbed for your communicator on reflex. Dead screen. "No signal," you said, more to yourself than to him.

"Mine's the same. Clock's not even holding steady." He pocketed the device "We need to see what's inside. If someone's living here, we ask them what year it is."

"Oh yeah because that is a completely normal question to walk in and ask a stranger."

"Stay behind me," he reached for the handle on the sliding glass door, testing the weight of it without committing to opening it yet. Behind the curtain, something moved.

You froze. Your fingers found the sleeve of his uniform and held on.

A hand pressed flat against the glass from the other side of the curtain, fingers spread.

Xavier looked ready to run.

A second hand appeared beside it. Bigger. Scarred across the knuckles. Something in your chest went cold with recognition even before your brain caught up. The second hand moved to close over the first, fingers lacing through.

There were two people on the other side of that door. And from the way the curtain was moving, they were not just standing there.

"Xavier," you whispered, barely any air behind it at all.

He didn't answer. He didn't move his hand off the door either —just stood there frozen, staring at those hands through the glass like his whole nervous system had collapsed.

Then he moved. His hand closed around your shoulder and pulled, one smooth backward motion that tucked you both into a narrow space where the balcony wall met the building's outer brick. The spot was tight —barely enough room for two people to stand without touching —and the angle it gave you was merciless. The glass door sat directly in your line of sight, lit from inside.

You should have looked away immediately.

But you didn't.

The curtains moved a bit. Two bodies, pressed close. The woman's face was hidden, her head tipped back behind the line of the man's shoulder. His face was visible. Hair catching the light. That jaw.

Xavier

The anger came fast and hot and settled behind your sternum like coal. Months of warmth and then distance. Months of patience that felt like it was always just about to become something and never did —and here was the answer to all of it, pressed against a glass door in an apartment that was still his, two years from now, with someone else.

He was kissing her the way someone kisses when they've stopped being careful about it. Deep, his hands dragging her back against him, the movements of his lower body slow and unmistakable.

You looked away. Focused on a crack running through the middle of the wall beside you. Breathed through your nose.

Beside you, Xavier was still looking. His face was flushed.

"Is that—" His voice came out wrong.

"Yup," you said. The bitterness in it sharper than you'd intended. "That's you"

A sound came through the glass.

The impact of skin against the glass door followed immediately by a broken moan, the sound dragged your eyes back to the glass door against your will.

The curtain had been pulled aside all the way.

The view was now unobstructed.

The woman was pressed flat against the glass, her bare breasts against the cold pane, her hands finding the frame for something to hold onto. Her face was fully visible now.

The anger in your chest went out like a light.

It was your face.

Your shoulders, your hands, the sound of your own voice coming through the glass in pieces, breathless and nothing like anything you'd heard from yourself before. Your future self's cheek was pressed to the glass too, eyes half closed, lips parted around sounds that weren't words.

Future Xavier's teeth found her shoulder and bit down, not gently, leaving something that would be visible tomorrow. His hand came around the front of her, sliding between her thighs to line his beautiful cock against her entrance.

Then he drove forward.

The sound she made came through the glass loud and clear and a small involuntary noise started building in your own throat.

Xavier's palm came over your mouth.

Fast. Firm. His fingers sealing the sound in before it could escape. His hand was shaking.

The glass door shook with the next impact. And the next.

Xavier had his mouth at her ear saying something you couldn't hear through the glass but could read in the way her expression changed when he said it.

Xavier made half a sound against the back of your head and he immediately swallowed the other half.

You felt it anyway. Felt the way his arm tightened across your chest, felt the unsteady rhythm of his breathing where his chest pressed into your back.

You couldn't look away from his face —the future version of the face that was currently breathing against your temple— wearing an expression you'd never seen on him before.

"Xavier," you said, against his palm. Muffled.

His arm tightened.

"Xavier." Louder this time, enough that he could feel the shape of his name against his hand.

His mouth dropped to your ear "Don't move." The words came out rough "If they see us—"

Inside the apartment, your future self pressed her palm hard against her lips.

Future Xavier's hand closed around her wrist.

He pulled it down. He held her hand at her side and kept it there, and when she turned her face toward him he was already looking at her.

He wanted to hear her.

Below you a glass door scraped open.

One floor down, a man stepped out onto his balcony. Cigarette unlit between his fingers, head tilted slightly, listening to the night.

You pressed further into the shadow.

The rhythm inside the apartment changed. Not slower. The opposite. The glass shook in its frame and the sounds coming through it stopped being something that could be mistaken for anything else, and the man one floor down stopped trying to light his cigarette.

You looked at future Xavier's face.

His eyes were angled down and to the left.

He picked up the pace.

She tried again, her hand came up toward her mouth. Future Xavier caught her wrist without looking and his mouth moved against her ear again.

Whatever it was, she stopped trying to be quiet.

You thought about what you'd just watched him do. The escalation. The man on the balcony below. The reason your future self's hand kept getting pulled back down.

Was he jealous of that stranger?

Inside, her feet left the ground. Xavier had both arms around her, her arms caught under his, breast bouncing with every thrust.

You saw it first.

An unmistakable pressure beneath the surface of her stomach. Moving with every thrust. A belly bulge.

Your mouth went dry.

She was dripping. You could see it even through the glass —the inside of her thighs slick and glistening where his movements had worked everything down, coating her skin, catching the apartment light every time he pulled back. The glass had a faint fog to it from her breath, small clouds appearing and disappearing with each exhale.

The deep flush running from her chest to her throat made something in your lower stomach pull tight.

The Xavier beside you tracked every place her body responded to him, her hardened nipples, the way her toes curled against nothing, the flutter beneath her skin that mapped exactly where he was.

Crash

A flower pot.

It hit the floor and you both stopped breathing.

Inside the apartment, silence.

Immediate and total.

Through the glass you watched future Xavier's head come up. No panic in it. No confusion. Just a slow turn toward the sound, his eyes moving through the dark until they found the spot where the two of you were standing.

He couldn't see you. The angle was wrong, the shadow too deep.

He knew someone was there anyway.

His expression went cold and your future self said something against his chest. The curtain moved slowly across the glass from inside and the light behind it went out.

You had thirty seconds. Maybe less.

Xavier crouched beside you. The Protocore looked small against his palm, throwing a faint white pulse between his fingers for just a second.

The glass door began to slide open.

The air changed, the balcony, the broken pot, the man with his unlit cigarette, all of it collapsing into white noise and rushing dark.

You hit the ground hard. Your knees met broken stone, the air was knocked out of you on impact and you spent the first few seconds just existing on the ground.

Xavier landed beside you.

You pushed yourself up to sitting. "So..."

Xavier said nothing.

"That was weird."

Still nothing.

"We were—"

"I saw it" he opened his hand and noticed the Protocore was gone "I was standing right next to you."

"So we're both aware of what we watched."

"Yes."

"And we're not going to talk about it?"

He looked at you. "Are you going to be able to not talk about it?"

"Probably not."

He made a sound that wasn't quite a sigh, stood up and offered you a hand. You took it and he pulled you to your feet and didn't immediately let go.

"That man on the balcony," you said.

Xavier's jaw moved. "What about him."

"Future you saw him and then—"

"I know what he did." He dropped your hand. Turned to look at anything that wasn't your face. "You don't need to walk me through it."

"I'm just—" You pressed your lips together, trying very hard not to smile, it felt inappropriate and also completely unavoidable "Was he showing off?"

"We're not talking about that."

"Xavier—"

"Not yet." He said it quietly. Just a line in the ground, clearly drawn. "Not tonight. There's—" He exhaled. "There's a lot I need to sit with before I talk about any of it."

You nodded. That felt fair.

You started walking, picking your way back through the rubble toward the gap in the wall where you'd come in, and Xavier fell into step beside you like he always did —slightly behind, slightly to your left, a position that meant he could see everything around you before you could.

The walk back was quiet. You were almost at the gap in the wall when he spoke.

"Can I ask you something."

"Go ahead."

He was quiet for a beat. Just long enough that you glanced over at him.

"Future me?" he said. "Or me?"

You stopped walking. "What?"

"You heard me. Who do you like more?

"Xavier, that's not—you are the same person—"

"Future me is two years ahead and has information I don't have and he was doing—" a small pause, "—things to you that I have not yet done. So. Future me or me?"

You stared at him.

He stared back.

"That is the most ridiculous question you've ever asked me"

"Humor me."

"You"

Something in his face changed.

"Good," he said.

"But future you did have his—"

The not quite smile disappeared. "We're going home," he said, and turned toward the gap in the wall.

You followed him, and you were very glad he was walking ahead of you this time because the smile on your face was not something you were ready to explain.