Abandon all chill ye who enter here

Her voice is tentative, vulnerable, and for a split second, he is tempted to feign ignorance so that the strain of apprehension will melt from her body and they can be as they were.

But the truth is he remembers everything. Remembers needing so sharply to hear her voice that it was an ache in his chest. Remembers her quiet greeting, voice rough with sleep.

Remembers her agreeing to be his.

Always, she’d said.

His cock strains against his trousers as it did last night, and he glances over at her where she sits on the couch next to him, legs tucked underneath her. Her trailer is a reflection of her; comfy and warm with pops of impish color. It is one of his favorite places to be, especially with her.

“Remember what?” he asks, unwilling to answer just yet. He’s curious which answer she’d prefer. If it were the early hours of morning, he’s sure it’d be “yes,” and perhaps when he gave it, she’d sit on his lap and press her luscious lips against his, grinding slowly down on his–

“Tom. You don’t remember last night?” A tinge of exasperation has creeped into her voice, but he quirks his lips at her.

“Did we do something naughty together?”

A huff of laughter from her.

“How unfortunate for me not to remember if we had,” he continues, teasing tone growing stronger the more she relaxes. “Perhaps we should do something naughty together again.”

She gasps softly.

The desire to kiss her is almost overwhelming and his hands clench involuntarily.

“Behave,” she chides softly.

“Never,” he grins.

“Why did you get so drunk last night, anyway?” The question is casual, and as if to reflect that, she shifts over to lay her head on his shoulder.

Much better.

He moves to accommodate her, enjoying the scent of her so present in his nose: coconut, shea butter, and another sort of fruit…pomegranate? Exquisite.

He inhales deeply, once again delaying his answer. It was her, of course. He’d gotten well and truly soused because he wanted her so intensely and couldn’t have her. Because she’d gone on a date two days ago with a man who was surely a decent sort, but who Tom immediately disliked sight unseen. Because she shone so brightly and like the idiot moth he was, he couldn’t stay away.

So Orlando had gifted him a gorgeous bottle of fine aged whiskey and then he’d raced his gregarious friend to the bottom of the bottle–if only to ease the longing for a few hours. But it had backfired, and now the woman who felt more and more like the love of his life was asking why.

“Orlando bought this fantastic bottle of real Scottish whiskey–not that swill you bloody colonials call ‘whiskey’–and you well know how weak I am for full-bodied brown things.”

He waggled his eyebrows and she burst out laughing.

“Shut up. Just shut up,” she said affectionately.

He knows then that she is comfortable believing he remembers nothing of last night. Her breath catching when he inadvertently admitted he loves her, falling asleep to her sleepy rendition of Skylark, his begging her not to forget in the light of day that she’d pledged herself to him.

Finally, she sighs contentedly, seemingly unconsciously nuzzling his arm.

“What am I going to do with you?” she says.

I can’t handle these two, gah!

The slurred words come through her phone with all the import of an Emergency Broadcast, and Nicole blinks blearily at the clock on her nightstand. She groans when she notes it’s sometime after 3:00 a.m., then shifts to sit up in bed before answering her obviously drunk costar.

“I think you’re drunk,” she replies flatly.

“Nooooooooooo!”

She can’t stop a smile from spreading at his antics.

“Tom, it’s almost 4 in the morning.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, is it? Shit. ‘m sorry, Nicole, I really am. Do you forgive me?”

In the past year and a half of working together, she’d gotten used to Tom popping up at random times, but he’d always been really good at not being annoying. She really wants to be annoyed now that he’d interrupted a really good steamy dream–in which he actually made a few appearances–on one of the precious few nights she got to fall asleep at a decent hour, but she thinks of him pouting on the other side, pink lips shiny, eyes earnest, and it just makes her sigh. Fuck him for being adorable and having a sexy voice even while drunk.

“I forgive you, Tom. Where are you?”

“Not with you,” he says in a voice so mournful it makes her smile again. “Can I come be with you, Nicole? I promise I’ll behave.”

She snorts at that.

“You never behave.”

“I do, too!”

“You do not.”

“I do, too, I have the ress–the reese–the resseipts!”

Nicole bursts out laughing and suddenly she does wish he were here and she could study his face for as long as she wanted without having to worry he’d read too much into it. That he’d read exactly enough into it.

She bites her lip.

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it,” she says.

“I love you, you know,” he says suddenly, and her heart legit stops beating in her chest for a good minute.

“What did you say?” she breathes.

“I wish I could touch you right now. Can I touch you, Nicole?”

Nicole swallows past the sudden dryness in her throat.

“You touch me all the time.”

She can practically hear him shaking his head.

“Mm, no. Not like I want,” he replies.

“How do you–” she clears her throat. “How do you want to touch me?”

She asks it against her better judgment, but fuck it, nothing is really real at 3:49 a.m., right?

He heaves a frustrated growl-sigh that brings back to mind the naughty things he’d done to her in her dream and she presses her thighs together, wanting him to touch her as much as he apparently wants to touch her.

“Your skin is so soft, Nicole. What’s it like to kiss you? I think about it all the bloody time.”

Oh, god. Her heart has resumed beating, and it would be a relief, but it’s skipped past beating normally into racing like a speeding train.

“You do?”

“Mmhmm. Kissing you. Holding you. Exploring you with my tongue. Do you forgive me, Nicole?”

Lord help me.

“Forgive you for what?” she chokes out past her pounding heart and dampening thighs.

“For thinking of you beneath me, loving me. Do you forgive me, love? God, I want you.”

Same.

At this hour, in this moment, she can admit to herself that she feels exactly the same way he does. In fact, she can’t even remember why she usually denies herself this. All she can think of is how low his voice has gotten, how it’s making her gush, how the drunken slur isn’t doing anything to undercut its sexiness.

“Do you really want me to forgive you?” she whispers.

He sighs again.

“No,” he admits. “You can’t forgive me because I’ll do it again. ‘M bad.”

“You’re not bad, Tom.”

“‘M very bad. I need you. Can I have you, Nicole?”

His voice is getting slower now and she knows it won’t be long before he’s asleep. She wonders if he’ll remember any of this tomorrow. If he does, what does she want to have happen? Does she want him enough to break both their lives apart?

“You can have me however you want me, Tom,” she says, her heart feeling like it’s finally broken free.

“Mmm, thank you, love. You’re mine now, right?”

“Always,” she whispers, then remembers something important.

“Where are you, Tom?”

He murmurs something that sounds like “bed,” and she sighs a little in relief. If there’s a bed, he’s not in a ditch somewhere.

“You’re mine,” he says again, and he almost sounds lucid. “Remember, okay, Nicole? Mine now.”

“I’ll remember, baby,” she says softly. “Go to sleep.”

She hears a rustling over the line. After he’s settled, he speaks again.

“Sing to me, Treasure. Please. Promise I’ll behave.”

She obliges, singing to him until she hears deep even breathing. He snores softly, and she lets herself listen until the tension eases in her chest, and between her legs. She snuggles back into bed, cradling the phone to her ear.