FelicitasLowkey

Chapter title is lyrics from "Kool-Aid”

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I was soaked and freezing when we reached the building I could only assume was a bowling alley from the massive sign reading Laine’s Lanes, surrounded by low quality, bowling pin clip-art.

“Won’t this be locked?” I asked, remembering the agreement with the park.

He flashed me a smile before he opened the unlocked doors for me, “They should be, but we’ve stayed here a fair bit too, and Garry — who’s working the gate tonight — happen to like our music.”

I walked into the darkness, only illuminated by various signs and what sounded like refrigerators in the next room, which I could hear humming over the weather steadily building into a minor storm outside.

Oli stepped around me — taking great care to not touch me — to get to the check-in counter and began rummaging around behind it.

I rubbed my arms to regain some heat as I waited, not feeling too keen on exploring the place in the darkness on my own. After a moment, a couple of dim lights flickered on with a buzz — including in the next room.

“Much better,” He said under his breath before walking off through the doorway.

I followed him. 

It was a relatively small bowling alley considering the size of the campsite. It consisted of just eight lanes total, each with their own table, and chairs that had been shuffled around in various configurations to accommodate the size of each group that had used the lanes last. Behind the seating areas was a bar, housing a a couple of glass-front refrigerators, and a pass-through window that I assumed lead to a fast-food style kitchen, considering the the light-up menu above it.

The place was very much dated, but the fact that only a handful of warm lights had been turned on, made the atmosphere feel charming and nostalgic, rather than just run down.

While I was still busy taking in the decor, Oli had opened one of the refrigerators by the bar, pulled out what looked like a couple of soft drinks, and kicked the door shut.

“You want one?” His words were muffled over the sound of rain hitting the roof above us — which was significantly cosier now when we weren’t in it anymore.

“Yes, please.” I said and sat down at the table by the lane closest to me.

Since there were only two chairs at this table, I assumed he’d take the only seat available, which was directly to my left on the short end of the table. So, no wonder my nerves multiplied as the man I’d accidentally fallen in love with put our drinks down — along with some towels he’d grabbed from who-knows-where — only to take the chair and move it across from me, so that the table would be placed firmly between us, being blatantly, stubbornly intent on enforcing the physical distance between us.

I watched Oli slip out of his drenched jacket and take a seat, the sense of rejection that already hung heavy in the air all the more undeniable.

He slid my drink over the scratched up and aggressively bright red tabletop, and threw me one of the towels before using the other to haphazardly dry his hair off. It wasn’t until the drink was in front of me that I realised it wasn’t a soft drink at all, but a pre-mixed mojito in a can. Which meant that he was looking to numb himself — looking to numb me. And while incredibly tempting, I wanted to see why he wanted us numb before taking that route. So, I moved it to the side and began wringing my own hair out, feeling watched under his intense gaze.

There were so many elephants present in the room with us at this point, that despite the open space, I felt claustrophobic. And from the way Oli opened his drink and downed a large portion of it, I assumed he was having a similar experience.

Once he came up for air, he said out of nowhere, “Do you remember your first day with us, and how we’d all been fawning over you?”

“You were?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes,” he laughed, as if what he was saying had been obvious to everyone but me. 

As I leisurely dried my hair, memories of being flooded with an unusual amount of questions that day resurfaced. Which, in hindsight, could most certainly be construed as flirting.

I was lost in thought, but Oli never stopped watching me as he nursed his drink, “Did you know you were a last-minute change?” 

I put my towel down, “What do you mean?”

“We were supposed to have some 20 year old bloke from Wales join us, so we weren’t expecting to spend six weeks with a seriously hot bird. I’d pulled Liam aside right after I’d met you to ask about the sudden change, and he said he’d liked you so much that he made sure you joined him on this tour instead.”

Waves of regret hit me for quitting so impulsively, feeling horrible that some poor guy wasn’t here just because I’d been so pathetic when I met Liam for the first time that he’d taken pity on me. And now, Liam would be stuck doing it all on his own.

“Did the guy lose his job, b-because of me?”

I felt the worry on my face shift to confusion as I watched Oli’s expression melt into… 

Is that adoration?

Shaking his head, he spoke with a soothing softness, “No, he went to Germany with another band.”

But the softness didn’t last. In the next beat the harder exterior he’d shed so effortlessly for a moment returned, “I talked to Liam about you today actually, before Fay showed up.” 

He took this moment to finish off his drink — probably to see how I’d react to the news during the forced silence.

“Oh?” Is all I said as I fought off the urge to squirm in my seat.

Oli put the empty can to the side, “I asked him if he thought we’d work out — which, I’ll admit, was a bit cheeky since he’s a lot closer to you than me.”

“Well, what did he say?” I tried to sound unbothered, but from the way he was looking at me, I don’t think I’d been successful.

“He admitted to keeping us apart at first when he noticed our — apparently — very apparent mutual attraction. And while he didn’t say it in so many words, I got the impression he thought we were both too messed up from our past relationships still to start anything that would last.”

It was my turn to stare him down, “I’m assuming you agree, considering everything you said outside.”

But Oli just looked away, before muttering, “I think I’m messed up from a lot of things, love, not just my past relationship.” He barely finished his sentence before pushing off his chair and heading back over to the bar area, avoiding answering the question properly. Which caused a lump to build in my stomach.

I could hear the sound of glass clinking, and before I knew it, he was back with four shot glasses pinched between his fingers, and a nearly full bottle of tequila, further showcasing how quickly he wanted to run away from whatever he was feeling right now.

He began filling the shot glasses to the rim, and asked, “Do you agree with him?”

I threw him a look.

“What?” He said with a sly smile, obviously aware of what he was doing, then downed his first shot.

I leaned back and folded my arms, “Why would I answer that when you won’t?”

He wiped his lips with the back of his hand — a distractingly filthy gesture — as he studied me, and I was momentarily struck by how his hazel eyes sparkled through his eyelashes in the soft, amber lighting of the bowling alley, “Fine — truth or dare?”

I scoffed, “I haven’t played that since I was a child.”

“Clearly we’re both incapable of talking about things like adults. So, let’s do it.”

While my immediate reaction to the idea had been that it’s ridiculous, it dawned on me that I could use it to my advantage.

“Fine, dare.” I said, intent on asking the first question.

But he was unsurprised by my answer. Instead, he side-eyed my unopened mojito and proceeded to slide two of his shots my way, “Drink up.”

I felt rather annoyed as I watched the overflowing shot glasses spill as he slid them across the table, but only because I hate tequila. The decision to grab one of them and down it’s content had been incredibly easy. Not only might I get to ask my question once I was done, but the only reason I’d been on the fence about drinking in the first place was because I didn’t know how the conversation would go. And currently, it was going horrendously.

However, what I hadn’t been ready for was how much it would burn my throat, sending me into a coughing fit.

Oli just looked amused by my misery before taking his last shot, causing my annoyance to double.

“Truth or dare?” My question came horse, hoping he’d overlook the fact that I hadn’t taken my second shot.

But he shook his head, “Nuhu, love, both of them. Or you can still choose truth if you want.”

Feeling determined to ask the first question — regardless of how many times I’d have to do a dare before him — I let the tequila burn my throat a second time.

And thankfully, he answered my question without me having to ask again.

“Truth.”

I suppressed the instinct to celebrate my victory out loud, then asked, “Do you agree with Liam?”

“In some ways. Truth or dare?”

A frown pulled at my eyebrows, “Personally, I don’t think we should be allowed to be that vague with our answers.” 

While I knew my addition to the rules of our little game might bite me in the arse in a minute, I couldn’t help myself. I needed to know more.

Oli leaned forward, bracing himself on the table as he considered his words. While I waited, I noticed the flush from the alcohol already starting to creep up his neck — no wonder, this tequila could be used as lighter fluid.

When he finally spoke, he spoke with intention, “There’s so many couples out there that are considered the epitome of a healthy relationship, but in reality, they hate each other so much that the only joy they experience is when they’re apart. Do I think we’d be healthier than them? Yes.” He reached for the bottle and began leisurely refilling the glasses as he spoke, “But do I think our specific problems clash in a way that could cause some damage? Yeah, I do. Truth or dare?”

In many ways, I agreed with his assessment, but I still wasn’t satisfied with his answer, as it brought me no closer to figuring out how close he was to giving up on us.

It also made other questions bubble to the surface.

“Did you feel the same way about Fay?” The question was fuelled by the uncomfortable jealousy that rushed me every time my eyes fell to his lips, and I distantly wondered if this is how he’d felt after I kissed Mat.

But Oli wasn’t keen on answering any follow-up questions. 

“Truth or dare?” He repeated sternly.

“Truth.” I said after throwing a quick glance at the tequila bottle, not feeling ready for more shots just yet.

Oli stared down into the small glass in his hand as he thought. He appeared focused, taking his time to choose the perfect question, which made what he eventually settled on even more confusing.

“Did you really set your ex’s car on fire?”

I blinked.

“Really? That’s what you’re choosing to ask right now?” 

But he just shrugged, brought the glass to his lips, and emptied it.

I was bewildered, stumped by the fact that he was asking me to confirm an event he’d known about for weeks. And while I’d never explicitly told him the rumour was true, I would have thought the mere fact that I never denied it was confirmation enough.

“Yes.” I answered carefully, feeling unsure; feeling inexplicably judged.

Oli’s expression turned unreadable, and I wondered what he could have possibly deducted from my answer.

“Truth.” He said without me having asked yet.

And like water on a ducks back, I forced the insecurity from his question run off me. Which, thankfully, was made easier by how the particularly strong alcohol was rushing my head.

So, I moved on to the second most pressing question I had for him, “Why don’t you want me to quit if you’re so uncertain about us?”

Oli exhaled a long, frustrated breath, looking away as he said, “Because I’m a fucking prick.”

I was about to point out that his answer was once again too vague, but he spoke up before I had a chance to.

“…Because if you leave, then it’s really over. But if you stay, there’s still hope.”

There. That was the confirmation I was looking for — a sign that he might keep his word and uphold our most recent deal: to keep trying as long as I did.

“Truth or dare, love?” He asked, the softness momentarily back in his voice.

“Truth.”

This time his question came immediately.

“Why did you call me a hypocrite?” He asked, referring to what I’d called him on the swing-set outside.

I played with the fabric of my skirt, listening to the muffled sounds of the howling winds, pondering whether to answer in full or not, now when things where calmer, being sheltered from the storm outside.

“Because when I said I was too broken for you, you insisted that wasn’t true. Yet, suddenly y-you’ve decided you’re too broken for me.” The flush already present on my cheeks spread as I decided to give him all the reasons for his hypocrisy, “Also… I know you love what we did in London that night.”

He did not like my answer, made obvious by the bitterness that fell over his face.

“Truth.” Oli said quickly, ready to move on from the topic.

But I was absolutely not ready to move on.

I sighed, folding my arms again, “If you hate what happened so much, what would you have done differently that night?”

Oli looked towards the ceiling and sunk into his chair. 

From how he’d deflated, I’d expected him to take a while before answering, but he straightened almost immediately, emptied yet another shot, and dragged his fingers through his wet hair, “In a perfect world, I would have just asked you out, accepted whatever answer you gave, and gone to bed.” There was a short pause, filled with hesitation as he stared me down, “But knowing what I know about you now, that would’ve just have pushed you away, wouldn’t it?”

The heat crept higher on my face as I felt laid bare; too seen, too understood. Because without having even considered that outcome, I knew he was right. If he’d simply courted me, there was a very real possibility I would’ve been too guarded to be open to the possibility of more.

Oli’s eyes darkened as he watched me blush, “…Knowing what I know now, I reckon I’d been better off not bothering with questions at all.”

An unexpected shiver of lust shot through my body like electricity as he implied skipping the consent check all-together that night, causing confusion to stir in me, as something else entirely was stirring behind his eyes.

Whatever it was made him to grow visibly uncomfortable, so he swiftly moved on.

“Truth or dare?” He asked, his voice deep and raspy, and I struggled to tell if it was the self-hatred or arousal that caused it — potentially a mix of both — before taking another shot.

Feeling rattled by my own reaction to his answer, I decided it was time for a little break from the questions.

“Dare.” I answered.

And thankfully, he poured me another shot. 

Which I took eagerly this time.

I would have expected the burning to subside by now, but it still felt like liquid fire. And once my throat had recovered, I had to lean against the table as another wave of alcohol hit me like a ton of bricks.

“Dare,” He said, mimicking me.

I could only assume my last question had thrown him for a similarly unexpected loop, and he also wanted a break. So, I inclined my head to my left, where he’d move the chair from.

“Sit there instead.”

Whatever shadow that was stubbornly hovering over him seemed to grow as he reluctantly followed my command.

I couldn’t help but smile through my alcohol-induced haze, finding our sudden reversal of roles quite amusing.

But Oli wasn’t amused, “Well, do you want a question or instruction?”

“Question.”

“Do you want to leave tomorrow?” He asked quietly, considering our more intimate seating arrangement.

Sitting up a bit straighter, I shook my head.

If I hadn’t been so close to him, I might have missed it: there was an unmistakable flash of vulnerability in his eyes as I wordlessly answered, but it disappeared as quickly as it surfaced.

I hated how contained he was tonight, and I would have thought from the amount of alcohol currently in his system, he would have been more obviously drunk by now; more undone by now.

Reaching for the bottle, I refilled our glasses and held one up towards him.

I could see the faint signs of a smile by the corners of his mouth as he picked up his glass, gently dinking it against mine, before we emptied them. 

Having closed the majority of the distance between us, I noticed the water droplets from his hair running down his neck as his head fell back, snaking along his tattoo covered chest, weaving between the holes of his shirt like sinful little art displays. My eyes followed them helplessly, uncontrollably, while the liquid burned my throat, and in the back of my mind I blamed the alcohol for looking at him the way I did, despite the seriousness of the situation.

Once I managed to break my attention away, I noticed the carnal eyes on me.

“Truth or dare?” I heard myself ask, knowing we can’t get derailed now — not when I hadn’t asked my most dreaded question yet.

“Truth.” He answered with heavy eyelids; significantly more undone than before.

Maybe too undone.

I braced myself, knowing now was the time, or potentially not at all.

“What happened with Fay that changed everything?”

I’d expected an explanation for how his distrust had turned inwards — maybe even an explanation for the kiss that I didn’t want to ask about directly. Instead, I got what felt like a slap in the face, as well as further confusion.

His relaxed gaze turned icy and landed on the empty shot glass his fingers were mindlessly playing with, “She told me she was scared of losing me. So scared in fact, that she self-sabotaged.”

I felt myself go cold.

“That’s why she cheated,” I heard myself say distantly.

“Yeah, that’s why she cheated.” He confirmed.

My vision darted between his cold features, and his fingers meticulously rotating the small glass in neat circles, feeling rather hopeless.

“And you think I’ll do the same to you?”

He shook his head, the stoicism unchanged, “I don’t think so, no.”

My confusion doubled, because if that wasn’t it…

“Then why did it change everything?”

Uncertainty filled the air around us like a thick fog, and for a moment I wondered if he’d once again refuse to answer any follow-up questions, leaving me baffled, and move on with our game at his convenience.

But then he suddenly slid the glass away from himself and leaned back in his chair — still not meeting my eyes, “You have some red flags, love — and trust me, I understand that I’m not lacking in that department myself. But it turns out it doesn’t matter how many overlapping troublesome traits you have with Fay. I’ve been fucking relentless with you, and you’ve been terrified every step of the way, but you’re still here, tonight, with me.” He threw me a quick, almost anxious, glance, “Not with Mat, not back in England. Even when you quit it’s to prove a point about us, not because you don’t want to be around me anymore… and not because you’re trying hurt me.”

Oli released a long sigh before he continued, “Which means that even when I learn you have the same driving fear as her, or that you can be vengeful,” he added, which made the first question he asked finally make sense, “it doesn’t make me trust you any less. Because while you have things in common on paper, you’re nothing like her.”

There was a short pause as he repositioned himself in his seat, his anxiety growing more obvious, “Another thing that set you two apart is that I can read you like an open book, Alice… And I’ve been using that against you; to make you uncomfortable, to push you — and not just in the ways you enjoy, but in order to get what I want from you. Which ultimately means that in this scenario, between you and me, love: I’m Fay, and I can’t fucking stand it.”

As someone who had lived with a manipulative partner for years, I didn’t agree with Oli’s assessment.  

“You’re really stubborn, Oli.”

“No shit.” He muttered.

“So was my ex.”

Like a sharp blade striking with precision, the hurt on him was undeniable — but I had to speak my mind.

So, I pressed on.

“I was so young when I met him, I’d just graduated. On our first date he’d lectured me on my choice of car. I didn’t know anything about cars, and he was obsessed with them. So, later on I’d let him take me back to the dealership and help me get something better — according to him anyway. And sure, I had that car for a long time and it didn’t cause much trouble, but I didn’t care for the extra bells and whistles.” I felt a sombre smile bloom on me, “I’d thought he was so smart, when actually, all he did was belittle my every choice. My choice of education, friends, even down to how I wore my hair. He made me feel so small, so insignificant, I was no one with him. And I was no one for so long that it was the only way of being that felt comfortable in the end.”

Oli’s presence had always been all-consuming, and despite the liquid courage coursing through my veins, I was uncomfortably aware of how much he was currently hanging on my every word, so I let my head drop, and I kept my eyes on my hands resting in my lap as I continued telling my story.

“When I found out he’d cheated, the illusion of him crumbled. Not only did he not control me anymore, but I was horrified at what I’d been reduced to… So, I destroyed his precious car, because he had destroyed me.”

Steadying myself, I let myself look up at him, only to see him smiling.

Which disarmed me enough to keep looking at him, “You m-may be stubborn, and you may see right through me, but I’ve grown an aversion to being controlled against my will. Every moment I haven’t agreed with you on something, I’ve fought back. And while I may not be able to read you as well as you read me, I can always tell when you’re playing games. So, let me make this perfectly clear: the power you have over me isn’t taken, but given freely, by me.”

I felt my heartbeat in my chest as I was about to say something too vulnerable, too much of a confession of my true feelings, given that previous times I’d voiced similar thoughts to him, the topic had always been around sex and exploration. But right now, we were completely, unmistakably, submerged in the topic of relationships.

More specifically, our relationship.

“So, w-what if I told you that I want to be uncomfortable?” The storm returned to his eyes as I spoke, unreadable, yet intense and changing, “What if I told you that I’ve been longing for someone to push me to… to express myself, to… fly me closer to the sun.”

The room seemed to fall away around us, only him and I remained as I’d laid myself uncomfortably bare.

“Is that what you want?” There was a dreamlike quality to his words, and it was impossible to tell if I was having an outer body experience, or if it was just the alcohol in my system.

My heart was in my throat as I nodded.

He studied me with an unmatched intensity, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

He leaned forward, bracing one arm on the table, as warm fingers caressed along my jawline, coming to gently cup my chin, guiding me to sink deeper into his bottomless eyes.

I was falling endlessly, and the longer he held my gaze, more of the familiar panic was creeping in from all corners. But I remained strong.

Until he spoke, that is.

His words came slow, and on a frequency that appeared to resonate with the very centre of my being, “I can’t help but wonder… if you’ll ever confess your true feelings for me.”

I don’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t that.

The uncontrollable spike of panic that followed made me shoot out of my chair, ready to flee out of pure instinct.

But Oli was faster than me, and before I’d taken more than a step — before our knocked over chairs had stilled on the floor — I was shoved against the table, held in place by strong hands from behind.

It was impossible to ignore the similarities from that night in London; how painfully contorted I was, pinned between the table and the warm body behind me. With his hand on my throat, firm and possessive, he guided us to be cheek to cheek as he held me closer against him, causing his locks to fall into my vision. Suddenly, I was surrounded by him, and his previously safe, but now confusing scent.

He spoke, low and determined, “Are you even able to admit it to yourself? Or do you shove it under the rug, with the rest of the uncomfortable thoughts you have?”

The hand on my hip caressed its way under my hoodie as he spoke, traveling along the sensitive skin of my stomach, causing my brain to scramble further.

“I-I don’t— I’m n-not— I,” My words came jumbled, uncertain what to say without giving too much of the truth away.

“Are you denying it?” He asked.

I froze.

But I knew my none-answer was answer enough. Crystallising a truth that I hadn’t dared put a voice to.

He may have already suspected it, even known, but now I had all but confirmed it.

I felt the wonder in Oli’s touches; a hitch in his caress, an added edge to his grip. Just like I heard the awe in his broken exhale, felt the twisting of his lips against my cheek, and the faint flutter of eyelashes on my temple.

I swallowed against his warm hand on my throat — vulnerable, cornered.

As if showing me mercy, he seemingly changed the topic.

And I more than welcomed it.

“In the spirit of honesty, there’s a couple more things I would’ve changed about our first time, love.”

I felt the hints of a smile touch my lips as his hand continued its slow ascent towards my chest, “Like w-what?”

The stubbly cheek against mine pulled away, and his lips appeared by my ear. A shiver ran along my spine as they parted to speak softly, “I would’ve told you that I was in the room next to you in Dublin, with the paper-thin walls.”

My eyebrows knotted in confusion, until it dawned on me.

He must have sensed my realisation, as he released an exhale akin to a low laugh, before whispering, “I heard every little noise you made when you touched yourself. You drove me fucking insane.”

His searching hand caressed its way over my breast as he shared his confessions, with my nipple coming to rest between his fingers through the delicate lace of my bra. During his last words, he squeezed, and my nipple got pinched in the process. My breath hitched, and it was impossible to discern whether it was from what he was saying, or doing to me.

“Where you thinking about me?” He asked.

“I-I was.” I answered truthfully, knowing I’d only been thinking about him when I touch myself for a long time now.

He exhaled another broken breath, “I’ve only been able to get off to the thought of you since.”

My pounding heartbeat had dropped to my core by now, ready to abandon all previous conversation, and lose myself in this moment. And from the way I could feel his length throbbing, pressed into the softness of my behind, I could only assume we were on the same page.

So, I shut my eyes, letting myself melt against the man holding me.

But then he asked, “You know what else I would’ve told you?”

“What?”

“I eavesdropped on you another time, when you were on the phone.”

My eyes snapped open.

“You were in distress over forgetting to buy a fucking birthday card...”

I tensed up, unsure of the unknown topic he was leading us into.

“… And now, my sweet Alice, I want nothing more than to be loved by someone who cares as much as you do… Someone whose heart bleeds as much as mine does.”

I knew he felt the panic in me return by how the caressing stilled, now replaced by fingers digging into me, keeping me in place.

“I would have told you all this right away, just so you’d know what an obsessive creep I am.” There was a short pause as our heaving breaths dominated the space, before he whispered, “Are you uncomfortable yet?”

I nodded against his claw-like grip on my throat.

And just like that, without any warning, he let go of me. 

I would have collapsed against the table if it wasn’t for him immediately taking hold of my hips, turning me around to face him. Panting, feeling drunk and disoriented, I had to reach back and brace myself against the hard surface as we locked eyes, never having grown immune to the effects of them.

Oli leaned forward, causing tufts of hair to obscure his vision as he placed his fingers close to mine on the edge of the table, leaving mere inches between us.

“Do you want to leave, love?” He asked and created an opening for me by raising an arm, gesturing towards the exit.

I swallowed, and threw the doorway a glance, but my attention quickly returned to the man before me as he stood up straight. While the gesture was to mark that he wasn’t keeping me hostage, I could only focus on the very obvious erection, faintly bobbing to the beat of his pulse, draped only by the thin, grey marl fabric, covered in dark patterns from the rain which was still whipping the building from the outside.

But even through the cloud of alcohol, and despite the heat emanating from between my legs, I understood that staying meant that he wouldn’t let up — wouldn’t stop pushing me deeper into discomfort.

I also knew that even without the borrowed bravery from the tequila, I would have stayed; I knew what I wanted, and it didn’t matter anymore that I was scared. Because the alternative felt less like an alternative, and more like a mistake — more like heartbreak.

But I also knew it was my turn to confess.

I shook my head slowly, and said, “I want to stay… But, in the spirit of honesty, you should know I was getting off to the thought of you before we even met.”

The man who was more artwork than bare skin, tilted his head, causing wet locks to move across his face, bewilderment painting the few features I could see, “I thought you used to find me… bizarre.“

“I did… but in a hot way,” I said timidly, my blush deepening.

He took a moment to contemplate my words, “So, you want to stay.”

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Even if I won’t fuck you?”

“Even if you won’t fuck me,” I repeated.

I watched his jaw work, before he commanded, “Take off your shirt.”

“I thought you didn’t want to fuck.” I said, teasingly.

His voice dropped several octaves, “Take. off. your. shirt.”

I’d wanted to continue teasing him, to verbally spar my way into being manhandled in ways that would satisfy the incessant itch inside me, now screaming for release. But as if possessed, I reached for the edge of my hoodie to pull it over my head and threw it to the side. The moment my hair cascaded out of the thick garment, his hand was there, ready to push it out of my face, caressing it. I leaned into him mindlessly, craving his touch, as he guided me to face him. 

“I need you to know, Alice…” Taking another hold of my hips, he raised me up to sit on the table, making me inhale sharply from the unexpected motion. In the same beat he pried at my thighs, forcing my skirt to hike up as he spread them, creating space for himself to slip between, “…that you’re not small, or insignificant.”

Shaking his hair out of his face, I could clearly see the flush on his skin, the intoxication in his stare. But he was transfixed on my mouth, where his thumb appeared, pressing into the softness of my lower lip. His breathing grew laboured, matching my own, as he dragged his finger along it. Out of instinct — out of hunger — I felt my lips gently part. He leaned in, whispering against them, “You’re all I think about, all I see… all I want.”

I don’t know who closed the distance, but my legs were immediately wrapped around him, and I felt the fabric chafe between us as we fought to be even closer. I heard myself moan, attempting to pull the shirt off the man who I needed inside me right now. But the hand in my hair ripped me out of the trance-like state, pulling me away from the kiss that had induced it.

His lips were wet and parted, and I was struck by how at peace he looked.

Desperate to reemerge myself in what had caused his rare expression, I reached between us to take a hold of his warm, solid length. His eyes fell shut as I moved along it, but when I attempted to free it from its confinement, his eyes immediately flew opened. The peace I had initially aimed for was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was fire in his stare.

Suddenly the hand was back on my throat, pushing me backwards onto the table, and I heard the empty can clatter to the floor from the impact. Adrenaline shot through me as I grabbed at his strong arm, feeling the muscles tense and move under my hands.

Looking down at me was a delighted man, a twisted smile tugging at his lips while I struggled to take a full breath, which I knew exactly how much he enjoyed watching, and so effortlessly released me from my inner turmoil.

The frustration — the tension and paranoia — that had been solidifying inside me all day, began to melt at a shocking rate, breaking away from me like massive glaciers, only to drift away.

I’d been so caught up in in the waves of euphoria which only seemed to come from being at his mercy, that I’d barely noticed his other hand working between us, until I felt my underwear move to the side, and something warm pushing at my entrance.

My nails dug into the skin of his wrist, holding onto him for dear life as he pushed into me. And as my eyes fell shut, the last thing I saw was his face, deep in ecstasy from the same sensation that was short-circuiting all my senses.

Releasing his grip on my throat, I gasped as he began moving inside me. Feeling delirious, all I could do was writhe on the table while his hand splayed over my chest, caressing over the softness escaping the top of my bra.

His words came low and pained, “The future you imagine with me, do you like it?”

I knew that in any other state, such as question would frighten me, sent me spiralling down into a state of flight. But I was completely unravelled, drunk, and lost to the flurry of overwhelming sensations he was drowning me in — including the probing questions.

“Yes,” I sighed between whimpers.

Leaning forwards, he braced himself on his arm to hover over me, casting blurred shadows over his features from the warm lighting. I could tell the walls he’d put in place had finally crumbled from how he studied me with devotion, his expression dissolving more with each thrust; each time our hips connected, and the sound of glass clinking together could be heard somewhere behind me.

“Are we flying close enough to the sun yet?” He asked, but he sounded so distant through the noises helplessly spilling from me.

I shook my head, wanting more.

His intoxicating motions slowed as he held me possessively in his gaze.

“Tell me you love me.” He murmured, but to my ears, it was the loudest thing he’d said all night.

Before I could properly process what he’d requested — commanded — a hand quickly and firmly covered my mouth.

Wide eyes hovered above me, staring into mine, as all movement came to a complete standstill, with Oli buried deep inside me.

“Don’t—” He bit out, his every feature drenched in despair, “...Don’t fucking respond to that.”

But it wasn’t enough. I could see the panic explode on him.

“Fuck,” He muttered, letting go of me — pulling out of me — leaving me empty and hurting in a way that I couldn’t begin to identify during the severe and unexpected turn of events.

I watched him hurry to pull up his trousers and head for the exit, feeling myself being torn apart further with each step he took.

“Wait,” I breathed, needing him to stop, to come back — to reverse whatever was breaking inside me.

But he disappeared out of sight, followed by the door clicking shut in the other room.

Shaking, I clutched my chest as it finally sunk in what he was asking of me.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

With an extremely heavy heart — considering the countless hours I have spent with these characters, torturing, and psychoanalysing the absolute shit out of them the last year and a half — it pains me to say the saga is nearly over. We’ve only got the next chapter and the epilogue left.

Although, once I am done with this story I already have another one brewing in the back of my mind, which would more than likely also be written in this fandom as Oli Sykes is an incredible muse. I may also have a couple of one-shot/short story ideas for Alice & Oli that I really want to write, as the idea of never getting to spend time with them again might just cause a breakdown on my end lol.

So, if you have any interest in seeing what dramatic madness I conjure up next, feel free to subscribe to me as a user on Ao3, or here on Tumblr.