Mini's Library

You don’t even know where the guy came from, but before you knew it you were pressed up against a pillar with a gun to your head. You knew some shit like this would happen, especially parking in a spot that’s not only dark, but you’re pretty sure is out of view from the cameras.

If you make it out of this you’re gonna kill the person who took your spot.

The man smells of expensive cologne and beer. You wouldn’t put it past someone who robs people in parking decks to be drunk, but you don’t expect him to smell rich. Otherwise, why would he be robbing people.

You snap back to reality as the cold barrel presses further into your head. He’s feeling your pockets, this isn’t an assault case, no, that’s not what he wants. He just wants money, which you’re happy to give if it means nothing worse will happen.

Still, you can’t help but utter small pleas.

“Please- stop, I won’t call the police just st-“

“Shut the fuck up bitch.” He whispers with gritted teeth, pushing the barrel even further. That’s when you notice that his finger is on the trigger. Holy shit.

He’s serious.

If you try to fight he’s gonna pull that trigger.

At the thought of that you can’t help but tear up, just out of fear. It’s a bodies natural reaction. He finds your wallet in the pocket of your diner apron, smirking as he tries to flip through it with one hand.

“My ID is in the-“

“I’ll take that too.” You whine at that, a helpless beg filled with tears. He shakes the gun around recklessly as he threatens you. “If you tell anyone what I look like, what my car looks like, where this happened, I’ll personally come find and ki-“

His words are cut off by something- someone, smacking him harshly in the back of the head. A loud thud, you might’ve even heard a crack if you were a bit more focused.

His gun fires, but you’re lucky he was waving it around, because the bullet hits the concrete far off, and bounces off of another pillar.

You feel your heart race as you hyperventilate, the adrenaline pumping through you. You clench your heart and watch as the scene goes down.

Is that your neighbor?

You can’t see well through the tears, but he immediately gets the robber far from you, knocking him to the ground with the hit of a… is that a hammer?

The robber crawls away, and now he’s the one whining helplessly as your neighbor walks slowly over to him. The thief shakes his head, saying no, no, that he just needed money. 

The blonde, quiet, stoic man quietly walks over to him. The man he just hit is bleeding from the back of the head, but you don’t think he’s done. He crouches down, grabbing the man’s forearm, preventing him from moving.

With tight leather gloves he grabs your wallet from his hand, keeping him pinned down as he tosses it leisurely to the side, in a direction where you could safely go grab it.

Then, without another word, he lifts the hammer up and stabs the claw right into his wrist. He lets out a blood curling scream that doesn’t last very long because his hand covers his mouth immediately. 

You can’t help but look away at the sight, blood immediately begins to pour out from the man’s wrist. A deadly amount, you have no clue how hard your neighbor hit him but it was clearly enough to kill.

You don’t really understand why he didn’t just injure him and call the police while he was down. He’s resorted to literally killing the guy.

You don’t know how, but the gun ended up next to you on the ground, you’re guessing the robber dropped it when he fired it- when he got bludgeoned. 

You hastily pick it up, looking at your neighbor who’s still holding down the squirming robber, whose screams are muffled under his hand. Under the tension, the man’s blood is spirting into the air, it’s gross, and it seems like a long death.

“Do you need the gun?” You ask, the words come out fast. If you didn’t get it out immediately you weren’t sure if you ever would’ve been able to.

He looks over his shoulder, somewhat surprised. It’s not surprisal at the offer of the gun, but surprised that you’re still there. He would’ve expected you to run. He nods quickly without another word, holding out his free hand for the gun.

The robber screams, you can hear the words ‘no’ trying to escape his mouth into the glove as he takes the pistol from your hands. You immediately back up when it’s out of your hands.

Instead of immediately shooting the guy, he lifts the gun up and pistol whips him in the face, repeatedly, you’re sure you see a tooth chip. As the man cries out with blood running down his nose and teeth, your neighbor replaces his own hand with the gun.

Before he can even plead for his life, he fires it into his mouth.

The bullet goes through, and it doesn’t come out, that’s not what you notice though. The shot was obviously loud, all gunshots are. But this one had a silence to it.

Your eyebrows raise. The gun had a silencer on it. That man intended on killing you tonight.

You back away farther, away to a totally different pillar, and at an even darker spot of the parking garage.

The man stands up slowly, making sure that the robber is very clearly dead. He then looks over his shoulder, seeing you. He drops the gun and grabs the wallet you never picked up, he’s coming over to you. You have no clue if he’s safe, but judging how you offered him a gun and he just dropped it, you don’t think he’ll kill you.

He rushes over to you, handing you your wallet, his face is less serious, it looks worried. He whispers sweet nothings at your heavy breaths.

“I’m so sorry…” He gasps, looking absolutely upset that you seem so… so scared. “I didn’t want you to see that, I’m sorry.” Before you can think, his hands shakily find your waist, a not-so-subtle attempt at pulling you into a hug.

It’s hesitant, unknowing, like he doesn’t know how you’ll react, giving you plenty of room to push him away.

And you don’t know if it’s the adrenaline, how he looks with a bloodied white jacket and veins pulsing from spots like his neck and one spot on his forehead, but you kiss him. 

It’s messy, and shocking at first. His feet stumble, his grip on your waist tightens. And his eyes stay open for a shocking amount of time. For a moment, it’s just you kissing, his lips are still.

You’re beginning to second guess this whole thing until he kisses back. Roughly. His hands grip you tightly on your sides, feeling you up and down. Blood getting on your apron, but it’s okay, you can wash it. You don’t care.

His lips are hungry against your timid ones, your hands are shaking as they hold his cheeks, and his arms hold you surprisingly firmly for someone who just killed someone.

He pushes you up against a column, turning you in a way that you won’t have to see the cold-growing corpse of the man who tried to rob you. In your mouth, he moans apologies. You’ve never heard him speak this much.

“I’m sorry…” He whines into your lip, “I’m so sorry…” You can’t tell if he’s apologizing because of the fact that you watched him kill someone, or if he’s just sorry that this happened at all.

You bite his bottom lip softly, and you swear you can hear a whimper leave his lips, because his fingers tighten on your hips. When you let go, you whisper. “It’s okay… it’s okay, I’m okay. You saved me.”

He almost buckles at your last words. He saved you, that’s right. He did. He feels honored to have been the one to save you, too. His head leans down, finding the crook of your neck and kissing it hungrily. He’s been craving this, you can tell. And he doesn’t care about the circumstance, if he doesn’t act with this adrenaline now, he never will.

As he gets closer to you, you can feel how hard he is in his denim jeans, you swallow, and he can tell you noticed it, because his kissing falters shyly.

“It’s not from… it’s not from killing him.” He struggles to say it. “It’s, it’s the adrenaline and the kissing. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You speak quickly, moaning into the parking deck. “No, don’t. Please. I- I like it.” You admit in a soft whimper. 

His head tilts up, and he leans back to look at you. His expression is one of shock, he can’t believe your words. The fact that you like him being hard, from adrenaline and a little bit of kissing?

He doesn’t know what to say, so he goes back to kissing you. This time, on the lips again. It feels different, because his hands are exploring you. Feeling the curvature of your hips, it almost doesn’t feel sexual. 

It feels like he’s trying to memorize you.

With just his touch.

Fuck, that’s hot.

You move your hips slightly against his knee that’s conveniently found its spot against your legs. The action catches him off guard, but he’s not turned off by it. No. No not in the slightest.

He can feel his cock throb at the small action.

You hear a car drive into the parking deck, and your heart drops a bit. Lucky for you, this is literally the darkest spot in the deck. Infact, the dead body is just out of view too.

Your neighbor covers your mouth, with a now bare hand (you’re not really sure when he slipped the glove off) waiting for the car to fully drive away, before he gets closer to you, whispering. “Are you sure about this?”

You nod your head, pushing his hand away softly. “Mhm.”

“Okay, we can go back to your apartm-“

“No.” You whine, grinding against his leg again, which makes him moan loudly just at the concept. “Here. I want you now I, I can’t wait.”

He looks unsure, he bites his lip, hard, you think it may bleed. It’s risky, not only is it public indecency, but the dead body of the man he just killed is… in his view. Which doesn’t really do anything for his arousal.

“..Okay. But we have to go to a different spot.”

You blink for a moment before it registers, you don’t have to turn over your shoulder to understand why.

The two or you sneakily look around to make sure no one’s around, before walking to an area of the deck where there’s… shit, there’s only one car here. You didn’t even know this part of the deck existed.

“I park here.” He states. “No cameras, no one comes here.” He states firmly, as if reading your mind. You nod your head, you don’t really understand why he does park here, but you don’t wanna know. Not after watching what you just did, you can only assume the worst like him being a psycho killer or something.

He clicks his car keys, and you whine as he leaves you untouched. He throws his gloves and bloody hammer into the backseats, not even caring about the blood on his carpet floors. Then he starts slipping off the white jacket covered in blood, and you have to speak quickly before it slips off.

“No- no leave it on.”

He stares at you blankly, before you explain. “It’s hot… especially with the blood and stuff.”

You don’t have to tell him twice, he walks back over to you quickly, pushing you up against a third different pillar this time. He immediately gets to work, he locks his car again as his tongue is exploring your mouth. His keys find their way back into his pocket, and his hand rubs up against your groin softly.

You buck your hips into the touch, showing him that yes, you do want this. He reaches up, lifting your apron above your head, and untying it behind your back as it arches into him. He slips it off onto the floor.

In the proper conditions, he’d be more of a gentleman. He’d kiss you tenderly, he’d undress you slowly and softly, but right now all he can do is rush. He fears being caught, even though he knows nobody will come back here. They never do.

He rubs his fingers against your jeans, hands veiny, and much bigger than yours. It’s almost intimidating, you can’t help but shudder at the touch.

They inch up to the waistband of your jeans, looking at you intently. “Can I..” He whispers against your mouth, and before he even finishes his sentence you nod, pursing your lips into a line.

Despite the conditions, and with shaken hands, he unbuttons your jeans slowly, zipping them down. He’s supposed to be rushing, he’s supposed to get this over with, but he can’t help but treat you delicately.

His hands slide underneath your panties, you definitely weren’t expecting this to happen, so it’s not like you’re wearing your sexiest pair. He doesn’t care though, he doesn’t even notice.

He’s staring at you, intently in your eyes as his fingers slide up and down your slit, he watches your eyelids widen, how your eyebrows curve, he looks at how your mouth opens, and the tiny gasp that comes with the warm touch of his fingers.

“You’re wet.” He says. You don’t really know what to say to that, because of course you’re wet? With him touching up on you like this?

His thumb presses neatly onto your clit, rubbing soft and subtle circles. It’s not enough, you feel like you want more of him already. You want to study the curvature of his-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a finger, pressing into you slightly. It doesn’t last long, but he takes it out. It’s like he noticed you zoning out, and did that just to make you refocus. “What were you thinking about?” He whispers against your mouth, almost possessively. 

You swallow, hoping to get some saliva in your dry throat. “You.” You choke out.

His thumb moves a bit more intently against your clit. “I’m right here.” He states, matter of factly.

“That’s not what I meaa-ah-…fuck.” You gasp, holding eye contact with him as his finger goes into you fully, curling into that spot behind your clit. 

“What did you mean then?” He asks quietly, his velvet voice sounding like music to your ears.

You whine, turning your head to the side, against the cold concrete pillar. You don’t wanna answer, not with his finger inside you like that, pressing against you. Your hips can’t help but betray you as they grind softly, feeling his thumb press against you harder.

“Tell me…” He gasps, still trying to hold your gaze, looking a bit disappointed as you look away from him meekly. “Please tell me.”

You glance his way, he looks… you can’t put a finger on it. Whatever expression he’s giving you is one of arousal and desperation, his eyebrows are furrowed with a quivered lip. He’s getting off on this, 100%, he loves seeing you like this. He loves the adrenaline of being in a public place doing this.

But he’s so needy, he’s desperate and he’s definitely greedy. 

He wants you to tell him. He wants you to look at him so fucking badly.

“Your…” You choke on your words, looking away from him at first, but it hits you that looking in his eyes while you say it would probably earn an extremely sexy reaction. So you turn your head back to him, lips almost touching. He backs up a little so he can get a good look at your face while you say it, his fingers continuing to work.

“Your cock. I was thinking of your cock.” You admit, a shy expression on your face but still doing your best to hold his eyes. His breath falters, you can hear it, you can almost hear his heart stop briefly.

His hands pause, and you whine at the temporary loss of rhythm, until he sticks another finger in. Just at the thought his hands are shaking, moving at a faster pace against your clit, going in and out of you as they curve.

“Really? You were… you were thinking about that?” He asks, almost in disbelief. He needs to hear you say it.

You nod, biting your lip to stifle a moan. “Yes- yes I was.”

He gasps again, his free hand finding the pillar wall to hold himself up. For the first time his eyes move away from yours, because his forehead finds itself in the crook of your neck meekly. 

“Say it again.. please…” He whines softly.

You can’t say it as clearly as you did earlier, because his hands are moving so rapidly now against your wetness. “I was… I was thinking about yo-your cock….”

He makes a high pitched noise, a whimper? It’s stifled by the crook of your neck, and by him biting his lip.

He lifts his head up, you grind against his hand again. His mouth opens to say something, he can’t think of anything super sexy to say right now. You notice his lip is bleeding from how hard he was biting it.

You shakily bring your hand down to his crotch, he moans loudly in the parking deck as you touch him, palming him softly as he fingers you.

In the exchange of touching eachother, you lean in to kiss him. You can taste the metallic wetness of his lip, how hard he was fighting to stifle a moan only made him bleed. You aren’t turned off by the taste though, for whatever reason.

“Fuck me.” You whisper into the kiss. “…please.” You add meekly.

His fingers pause, he backs his head away, looking you in your eyes. “Really?”

You appreciate his need to get double confirmation, but you don’t really have the time for that. You squeeze his cock through his denim jeans. “Yes. Now.” You say.

His movement stutters, but he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. “I have to take your jeans off.” He whispers. 

“I know.” You whisper back.

He nods slowly, hesitantly. How could a man with so much concern and thought not only kill someone in a parking deck, but be willing to fuck you in that same place?

He crouches down, unzipping his own fly just to give his boner some relief. But right now you’re the priority. You can see the bulge of his boxers poke out through the opening, you can’t help but bite your lip at it.

He crouches down, gently lowering your jeans. You lift one foot up, he slowly takes off the shoe simply to make it easer to pull your jeans down. When they’re off, he tosses them with your apron, tossing the shoes on top of them.

It’s awkward, it’s kind of cold. The cold air hits you even harder when he starts pulling your panties down, you shudder at the rigid air that hits your already wet core. He must hear you hiss, because you hear him whisper softly. “I know, I know.” against that spot.

You can feel his hot breath against you as the last opening of your panties goes over your foot, and he sets that aside with your other clothes.

“Should…” He stands up again, fully, getting ready to take his cock out. “Should I take my pants and underwear off too?”

It’s a genuine question, he seems really unsure. You stifle a laugh, you know he’s just asking because he feels kind of bad. “No, no. It’s better you don’t, if someone drives by they’d just see your bare ass cheeks.”

He doesn’t really react much. It just looks like he doesn’t know what to say. He palms himself through his boxers before thinking about how to go about this. He mumbles a brief ‘hold on’ before taking his cock out. You don’t get a chance to look at it before you feel him lifting you up.

You don’t really know how he does it, you feel his hand on your thighs, your legs instinctively buckle up to wrap around his back, your arms were already around his neck because you expected a kiss, but now they’re gripping him tight as hell.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He says, pushing you against the concrete a bit more firmly. “Brace.”

That’s a weird way to tell you, but you feel his tip press against your entrance. He pushes himself into you slowly, so slowly. He’s thick, he’s fucking thick. You gasp at the entrance, as he pushes and spreads you open.

“Fuck-“ You hiss, and he pushes his lips into yours. He gets himself all the way to the base, and you realize just how big his cock in general is, bigger than you would’ve imagined.

You feel squished, pressed into a wall of concrete and penetrated by—what you would later describe to your friends as—a huge fucking cock.

“Gonna move…” He whispers as he pulls away from the kiss, you nod and he begins thrusting in and out of you. They’re slow and subtle movements, he doesn’t pull out entirely and slam into you, no, it’s like he’s slightly shuffling inside you. Like he doesn’t know how to do this.

He’s studying you. He’s trying to learn.

And you realize.

“Have you…” You bite your lip. “Have you done this before?” His hips falter subtly. And he shakes his head no, pursing his lips.

You’ve caught him, and he doesn’t know what to do. You lean in, kissing him briefly and softly. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” You reassure him. “Was just curious, you can-you can move a bit more.”

He nods quietly, bringing himself back and pushing himself inside you slowly. His hips find a steady rhythm, moving in and out of you, hitting spots you would’ve never been able to hit with just your fingers.

You gasped into him as he sped up, you moaned softly, and you decided it’d be best to just hold on tight and bury your head into the crook of his neck. He continues with that exact pace because of your reaction. 

You hugged onto him tightly, almost like you were gonna fall, or you were simply trying to process how much dick was inside you.

Between his calculated thrusts, you heard him whisper. “Mm- you okay?” He asked, clearly unfocused to his own pleasure, no matter how good this feels for him. No, he’s worried about you.

“Yeah- yeah, can you… ah- can you go harder?”

He pushes you up against the concrete wall harder, God, it’s so fucking cold on your back but he’s starting to hit spots deeper than you thought you could go.

You whine and break softly under his sharp hips. His head dips at your shoulder, lapping at the crook of your neck. He began sucking your neck softly as he fucked you, but remembered that you have a job to be at.

When he pulled away there was only a faint mark, so nothing obvious. He moved into your mouth, kissing you messily.

His hands gripped your legs tightly as he held you up, you’ve never felt so secure in the embrace of a man. His adrenaline is still pumping, the closer he gets to run his tongue against your lips the harder you can hear his heartbeat against his chest.

His hips made a soft slapping noise every-time they hit against your thighs in the echo of the parking deck, fuck, you forgot you were even in public right now.

When he pulled away from the kiss, there was a thin string of saliva between you both. His eyes were focused so intensely on you. On the way your face looked when you let out soft moans into his ear.

Something about the way your face, your eyes looked at him, tears building up from him hitting you just right. He could cum just from looking you in your eyes.

That’s when you heard the sound of cars.

His thrusts slowed, his head perked up. Normally, nobody comes around here. If he got caught like this- fuck, if you got caught like this. He’d never forgive himself.

Despite the threat, he still grinds his hips slowly into you, which honestly makes you want to moan even more. You wanted him to speed up, you didn’t even care if someone saw you. 

He whispered against your ear. “Shhh…” Oh he was so hot.

His head peeked around the pillar as best as he could. His breaths were heavy with each slow grind, each agonizing pull and push of his shaft.

You heard the noise of a car door open and close. His face was a lot more focused, it seemed fearful. You wanted to know what he was seeing to make this expression.

You heard a voice, in the fogginess of his tip grinding against your g-spot every now and then, you couldn’t really make out the man’s accent. “Fuck, he killed him.”

Your breath hitched, your neighbor kissed you softly to cover up the gasp. It was hot, why are you so turned on? You should put your clothes on and leave, but you can’t help it. When he pulled away he whispered against you, so quietly, you don’t think you could even hear. “It’s okay. I’ll explain everything when we’re done. We’re safe.” He hopes.

You hear the sound of dragging against rough concrete floor, whatever leather jacket the robber was wearing is getting torn up by it. A soft thud that matches up with your neighbor’s cock hitting you just right, and it covers up a soft gasp that leaves your mouth.

He’s getting you to the edge, so slowly.

“I can’t, I’m gonna cum-“ You moan softly. He kisses you again, whispering against your mouth.

“Hold it, they’ll leave soon. Then you can cum on my cock. Just hold it.”

His words would’ve made you cum if this weren’t the circumstance. You whine softly into his mouth, he can’t just say things like that to you and expect you not to finish.

You hear the men in the distance continue to talk. “I swear.” One of them says, you think there’s multiple, “When we find that guy I will make sure he never walks again.” The car door slams shut. The wheels skirt and grow more distant.

He picks up the pace, the further the car gets the harder he fucks into you. You gasp.

“Are- were they talking a-“

“They won’t get me.” He assures you in between sloppy thrusts. “That’ll never happen. I’ll be fine.” He pushes himself all the way to the base. “You’ll be fine.”

Now is not the time to be assuring you, but he fucks into you with such sloppiness and presumably adrenaline that you don’t have time to worry about the apparent criminals on the hunt for him.

You hold on tight, gripping his jacket. “Fuck- I- I’m gonna cum.”

He nods, continuing. His thrusts are slowly becoming less calculated and more ragged. He leans in as he pushes you to the edge, catching you in an open mouthed kiss. Your tongue missed his lips half the time, brushing up against the corner of his lips. He didn’t care though.

Your legs wrapped around him hard, best they could, you hugged him tightly and moaned into his mouth as he pushed you over, finishing all over his thick cock.

He didn’t stop though, he didn’t slow down as you came hard around him. Legs shaking as your ears ring slightly, you’ve never came that hard. You can’t believe the hardest you’ve ever came was in a parking lot.

He still pumps into you harshly, chasing his own orgasm. He’s mumbling apologies, probably because he knows how sensitive he’s hitting certain spots inside of you.

“I- fuck-“ You moan against his ear, tears streaming down your face.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry.” He actually whines, that stoic voice of his cracks softly against your ear. He grips you so tightly, like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold onto you as he fucks you into overstimulation.

“I’m gonna cum…” He admits, fucking you. “I’m- ah-I’m almost done where… where can I-“

“Inside.” You moan into his ear, and his thrusts grow faster as he moans a soft ‘oh fuck’ at your words.

“I can’t- no I ca-“ He gasps, holding his orgasm in slightly, he doesn’t wanna get you pregnant, but the idea of burying his cum inside you sounds extremely appealing to him right now. “Pregnant…” Is all he can manage, but you get the point.

“I don’t care right now.” You gasp, it comes out in a moan but he still hears it. “You- you killed a guy to-fuck-today, and, and you live next door so…” You wince, whining softly as he picks up the pace at your words, “It’ll be fine, just- please, I need it…”

You don’t have to tell him again, you don’t even have to say anything, because he ends your words with another sloppy kiss. It’s barely a kiss, he just presses his mouth against yours, tongue and hot breath feeling on you as he fucks into you with a few more sharp thrusts.

Eventually, he lets out a whine, a moan, you don’t even know what to call it, into your mouth. He buries his cock deep inside you, all the way to the base. He feels your pussy pulse around him, and he pumps you to the core.

He winces, hissing into your mouth at the pleasure. He gives you a few soft kisses as he slowly grinds his cum into you. His breath comes out in shuddered pulses as he slowly pulls out of you.

You feel so empty, feeling him leave. your pussy had just gotten used to how thick his cock was that it feels empty without it. You feel his cum almost pour out of you, you brace to stand on the concrete but he continues holding you.

You’re not sure how, he’s incredibly smooth and quick, but he continues carrying you with stumbled legs and pulls his keys out his pocket. He opens his passenger seat and with shaking arms, he sets you down to sit. Sitting on a nice leather seat feels amazing after that, you think your back may have a few scratches from the rough column he was fucking you on.

His cock is still hard too, you get a glance at it as he walks off to get your clothes from the floor. It’s dripping with your wetness and his cum, he must’ve come a lot because you can feel a glob of it drip from you.

You look down as it gets on his leather seat, you’re not sure what to do about it.

You scoop it up with two fingers, he comes back with his boxers on, pants (albeit unzipped) on, and your clothes in his arm. He watches as you scrape his cum up from the leather seats.

“You don’t have to worry about tha…” His words trail off as you lick it off your fingers. It tastes salty, like a man with a good balanced diet. It doesn’t taste amazing but, cum isn’t really supposed to.

His breath shudders as he watches, and he gets on the ground, on one knee and holding your panties.

He lifts up one of your legs, pushing it through the hole as he redresses you. “I’m sorry.” He said.

“Why?”

“I don’t think you expected your night to go like this.” Is all he manages. “Lift your hips, please.” You do, and he slides the panties back onto your hips. He clears his throat. “I would change when you get back to your apartment I just… I don’t want you walking back naked or anything.”

You nod in understanding as he begins putting your pants back on in the same manner. You think of how to respond to everything.

“I didn’t, but I liked everything. Besides getting robbed.”

“Right…” He nods shyly. “I’m sorry, those guys they…” He hisses, trying to think of how to put it.

“You don’t have to tell me details, y’know.” And he nods, letting out a soft sigh of relief.

But you continue talking. “I assume you’re involved in some shady shit. I just… why’d they come for me?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know. Because every time they come for me it doesn’t work, I guess.” He sighs, feeling like he said so much. You’ve never seen him talk this much. He looks back up at you. “You don’t… you don’t have to worry. I’ll make sure you’re safe, this won’t happen again.”

His words hit you harshly, they’re less hot and more… romantic. You physically can’t help the blush that creeps up on you, so you cover your face as he zips up your fly.

He starts putting your shoes back on. “You don’t want your apron do you?” You shake your head. This is extremely romantic, how he dresses you after this. You’re glad he didn’t just walk off.

He stands up fully, pulling his pants up more and zipping his own denim fly over his now half-hard cock. He opens the car door wider. “Can you walk?”

“I think so,” You say, he holds out his hand—that’s now gloved—for you to grab. You don’t know when he put the gloves back on, but you can hear the leather squeak softly as you grab it.

Your legs are definitely shaking, but you think you’re okay to walk.

He takes you around the parking deck to the elevator after he locks his car, going a way where you won’t have to see the blood ran through tire tracks from the man who tried to hurt you. It’s a long walk, and neither of you say anything.

You don’t say anything in the elevator ride, or on the way back to your rooms. You dig into your apron pocket for your wallet and key, it feels like a normal walk with your neighbor.

He glances at you, and you catch his eyes. Both of you want to say something, and for once you wait for him.

He clears his throat. “I would like to do that again. Properly. With a date and a…a bed. I want to treat you right.”

His words come out hesitant, like he understands if you don’t want to. But you just nod, you might as well get used to the idea of dating him, because his cum is dripping into your panties right now.

Since Standard had gotten out of prison, they seemed to host a party every other night, keeping you up and causing you to lose sleep. You let a sigh slip out of your nose as you sluggishly drag one foot in front of the other, your (colored) eyes half-lidded, riddled with exhaustion.

The apartment door off to your right swings open hastily as you go to pass it, making you blink in surprise. You step to the side as you regard the man who appears in the door frame, silent as ever. Driver.

He had a habit of being out at night, and with the loud evening, you couldn't blame him for wanting some peace and quiet. Still, the tall, blonde-haired mechanic catches the edge of your eye, making you halt in your tracks. You can't help the wave of butterflies that bounces around your stomach as you take in his appearance.

He's got his white scorpion jacket on, one you've found him in many days and nights. A pair of jeans and boots hang on his legs and feet, a tired but pleasant look in his blue eyes. His soft blonde locks are tucked off his forehead, barely combed back, and out of his eyes.

"Hey," you breathe out as you turn to face him, watching as he steps out of his apartment and shuts the door behind him. All without taking his eyes off of you. "Hey," he murmurs back, the sounds of your voices drowned out by the loud music still bursting from down the hall.

Driver can't help but let his eyes wander over you. He immediately places the tired look on your own face, no thanks to Irene and Standard's party. But frankly, you're as adorable as ever. You've got that twinkle in your eyes, that kind smile on your lips.

Then you're speaking to him, "What are you up to tonight?" Your voice is gentle, tender, despite cutting through the harsh music. It makes Driver's lip curl upwards as he turns away from you slightly, locking his apartment door behind him with a skilled hand.

"Trying to get away from the noise," is his dry response. He faces you again, ensuring his door is locked, to gauge your reaction with a single glance. You roll your eyes knowingly, the smile on your mouth only growing as you chuckle back, "I get that."

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he finds your gaze again, holding it level. His mouth is still set in that soft, kind smile you've always known him to have, and he asks, "You?"

You shuffle slightly, letting one of your hands rub over the material of your sweatshirt covering your arm, and then you sigh out, "Going for a walk." You motion down the hall to the next door and mumble, "They've given me a bit of a headache."

Driver's eyes flash briefly with an undetectable emotion. It's not anger; his brows hadn't furrowed, and his smile never faltered. He takes a step closer to you, his presence flooding your senses as his eyes soften. They're calculating, as always.

"Want to go for a drive?"

The simple question has your once-calmly beating heart slamming against your chest; the gentle smile on your mouth widens to give Driver a toothy grin. A second passes, and you realize you were perhaps too eager with your reaction, and you glance away, tucking a stray lock behind your ear.

Driver eats up the shy look on your face. You're beyond adorable. Again shuffling on your feet, you nod and say lightly, "Yeah, that would be nice." Without saying another word, Driver juts his chin toward the elevator, his body encouraging yours forward silently.

You step in front of the blonde-haired mechanic, willing your nervous system to calm the fuck down. It's just Driver. He's taken you out on drives before. He's taken you out to eat at a couple of restaurants. Hell, he's even picked you up from work when your car didn't want to start.

The two of you leave Driver's apartment door, setting off for the elevator in silence. The beat of the drums and strumming of guitars grow louder yet, making the thump in your forehead pulse stronger. Your eyes flutter shut as you come to a stop by the elevator doors, willing the throbbing sensation to go away.

Driver moves around you to get to the elevator panel, his long digits scouting out the down button before slowly pushing it and returning his hand to his pocket. His eyes then focus on you and the crease that now lines your brow.

Before he can stop himself, he's pulling his left hand out of his pocket and reaching toward your blissfully ignorant face. His fingers hover in the air millimeters away from your cheek before he takes a step closer toward you, flooding your personal space.

Then, Driver lets his hand settle on the skin of your cheekbone, his rough fingers carefully swiping under your eye. The warmth his touch brings has you lurching forward in surprise, almost right into his chest. You catch yourself at the last moment. Or better, Driver's hand on your cheek steadies you.

The sounds of the elevator creeping up and down the shaft and the Latin music seem to dull as your eyes flutter open. They search for the bright blue of Driver's, your lips parting at the soothing tenderness of his touch.

You can see the concern in his eyes. There are a million silent questions there, but the main one that you see is: Are you alright? You don't realize you start leaning into his grasp after a few seconds of holding his gaze.

Driver doesn't realize he's leaning into you, either. He's so enraptured with the shade of your wide, (colored) eyes, he can't help but stare. You force yourself to take a shallow breath when all of the air seems to be sucked out of your lungs, and that's when you catch the scent of his cologne.

It's pleasant. It's rich and slightly smoky. You immediately think it matches his look when he's got grease smeared on his cheek and dirt caked into his jumpsuit. There's something else to his scent, but a part of you thinks it might just be what makes him so... Driver.

The distance between you is rapidly decreasing as you wait for the elevator. Your heart rate cannot say the same; it steadily beats faster and faster as your gaze flits back and forth nervously between his eyes. You can feel air sighing from his nose fan out across your face, and a twinge of nerves takes hold of your chest.

Just as his nose goes to brush yours, the elevator dings. It's arrived on the fourth floor. Without saying anything, Driver swallows thickly and softens his already gentle grip on your face. He takes a measured step backwards and releases you, your eyes wide with loss.

His arms drop back down to his sides silently as the doors to the elevator slide open. His blue gaze remains on you, his brows slightly furrowed in thought. You give him a reassuring smile despite your heart sitting in your throat, and you turn to regard the elevator shaft.

The doors lock open, and inside, you can see a man wearing a tan suit. He's got dark brown hair, and you see him glance between you and Driver with interest. He doesn't move for a second despite the elevator coming to a halt on his designated floor.

He glances at the button panel inside the elevator and states dumbly, "Sorry, uh, wrong floor." The man in the tan suit's words fall a little flat to you, but who are you to judge? It's later in the evening. It could just be a simple mistake.

You give him a polite, tight-lipped smile before shifting your body to face the elevator. Driver's gaze lingers on you as you move, silently slipping into the corner of the elevator on the far side of the unknown man. There's a yearning in Driver's gaze, but you miss it as his gaze flits up to meet the man in the tan suit.

The blonde-haired mechanic moves a second later, the Latin music flooding the elevator as it had in the hallway. Driver's strides are long and sweeping as he moves into the confines of the elevator, splitting the difference between you and the stranger.

Deathly silent, Driver reaches forward with his right hand, pushing the ground floor button. He doesn't ask the man where he's going. Odd, considering the man didn't push a button to go to another floor.

The thought brushes through your mind, but you can't bring yourself to care. You're too tired, and the elevator doors are sliding shut, giving you a break from the loud, obnoxious music. Driver comes to stand next to you, the inner mechanisms of the elevator slowly ringing out as the doors click shut.

The man in the tan suit glances over at Driver after the elevator slowly starts to descend, the blonde-haired mechanic's gaze set straight ahead of him. It's hard for the man to read Driver's cold expression. He gets the feeling that he interrupted something when the doors opened.

You opt to glance tiredly at your shoes, your hands resting by your sides, swinging slightly in boredom. That's when the man in the tan suit carefully glances away from Driver using the corner of his eye. He blinks away, staring evenly ahead, just as the blonde next to him is.

Now, it's Driver's turn to peer over at the stranger. His blue eyes have shifted from being cold and emotionless - now his gaze is dark and weary. Untrusting. Taking his time, Driver's eyes trail down the figure of the man on his right.

His suit is impeccably fresh for being so late in the evening. Finely pressed, newly put on. Driver's mind reels. Why? His blue eyes sink lower over the man in the tan suit's frame. Despite the stranger's suit being finely pressed, Driver notices a lump on the right side of the man's jacket.

Driver's stomach drops. It's a lump he knows well. Too well.

Then, the man in the tan suit shifts his weight slightly, the opening of his suit jacket tugging back a few inches. Driver's suspicions are confirmed as his eyes settle on the handle of a pistol tucked inside the tan suit jacket.

The blonde-haired mechanic's gaze drifts away slowly as horror and realization wash over him. What can he do? What can he do? Driver's eyes float to his feet as his jaw works for a second and then sets in a hard clench. The blonde locks of hair that had been neatly tucked back now dangle over his forehead, taunting him.

Without wasting another second, Driver knows he needs to move. His right hand clenches into a fist as he tries to work out a plan in his head. He needs time. But he doesn't have that luxury. And you're here. The thought of you makes his heart beat harder and his stomach lurch.

You.

He moves before he thinks about it. He needs to keep you safe. And if this ends poorly... He can't entertain those ideas. Driver sweeps his right arm back toward you, releasing his fingers from the tight ball they had contorted into.

His long, lithe fingers grasp you by the arm, curling around your limb and gently pushing you behind him. It's a soft push, one that you willingly follow as your eyes leave your sneakers. Your eyes come to a soft landing on the back of Driver's blonde head, his eyes still trained directly in front of him.

You don't stop moving into the farthest corner of the elevator until Driver releases the pressure from his hand, instead loosely holding onto you. That's when he turns to his right, following the length of his arm to look at you over his shoulder. He slowly releases his hand from your arm as his wide, blue eyes catch yours.

The usually bright blue of his eyes has softened, full of some kind of emotion you aren't sure you can place a name on. His right hand still hangs in the air from where he moved you, and now it reaches forward. His knuckles graze your stomach, showing you that he's still here. Still with you.

Then, the blonde-haired mechanic reaches forward with that same right hand, slipping it around your waist with a certainness that makes the dormant butterflies in your stomach flutter. He fully faces you now, taking a long step into your personal space, flooding your senses.

Your eyes can't help but focus on him, looking up at his tall figure blocking the man in the tan suit, and shielding your eyes from the light on the ceiling. Surprise and confusion lace your features as flashes of memory hit the front of your head from moments ago.

But you don't stop him. Not when he's leaning into you slowly. Deliberately. Holding onto you like you're his world. His everything. The conviction in his eyes makes your heart slam against your chest, threatening to burst as your eyes flash from his and down to his mouth.

Driver continues his steady but slow swoop toward your mouth with no hesitation. It's methodical. Calculated. Just like him. It feels like you're living in slow motion, but you know that's not possible. His eyes have you pinned in place, focused on you and nothing else.

Realization hits you as to what his intentions are, and this time, there is no question about it. Driver's head tilts to the right as he finishes his descent to your lips. You let your eyes snap shut, and then it's like walking through the gates of heaven.

His mouth hits yours with a fervent passion. Warm and soft. Familiar and foreign. Old and new. Driver tilts your head back as he lets his mouth slot against yours, pouring his heart into the kiss.

His brows furrow with an intense concentration as you accept his kiss, your hands fumbling to grip onto the elevator railing behind you. You let Driver use you the way he wants, you're helpless with the way his lips dance over your parted mouth, his nose bumping against yours.

When Driver feels no resistance from you, he slowly straightens his back. His body shifts from directly in front of you to blocking your entire frame from the man in the tan suit. You hardly even notice it, not when your brain is thinking of one thing, and one thing only.

Driver.

The move is fluid and natural - it feels protective and encompassing all at once. You could stay in this moment, the taste of his mouth on yours addicting. It's slightly minty, like he was chewing on spearmint gum not long before leaving his apartment.

His body frames yours, keeping you out of sight from the man in the tan suit. Driver wants to let himself enjoy every moment of your lips pressed against his, but he can't. Not when he's the only thing separating you from the man with the weapon.

The blonde-haired mechanic rolls his broad shoulders ever so slightly to hide the angle of your face from the stranger. He lets his mouth work over yours, slow and tantalizing. Driver wants to remember the taste of your mouth, the feeling of you pressed against him, and the way your mouth chases after his.

But it's not enough for him. He tilts his head again to deepen the kiss, pressing your back against the elevator wall. You can feel the handrail press into your spine, but you let Driver move as he wants. Your hands flutter down to your side, unsure where to rest as the blonde-haired mechanic shifts back in front of you.

There, Driver is pouring every single emotion into his kiss. Every late-night drive. Every afternoon spent at the diner. Every morning you passed him on your separate commutes to work.

The soft touches on the arm. The grazes of his knuckles against yours when passing him a greased rag. The way you would smile at him while making a shared dinner. The comfort of your head slumping against his shoulder when you fell asleep in his apartment.

All of these emotions and memories run to the front of Driver's mind as he again straightens to his full, looming height. He doesn't dare break the kiss; he needs his mouth on yours for as long as possible. He pulls your mouth up with his, your back flattening as his hand splays out against your spine, stretching it.

Your weight shifts forward and onto your toes as your mouth follows his, the kiss remaining slow yet desperate. With the emotion Driver is infusing into the kiss, you return it with as much vigor as you can. Your lips burn from the way he's kissing you, but you can't stop, not even with your lungs aching for respite.

But as soon as he's kissing you - he's drawing back painfully slow. Your body follows him as if it's become addicted in only mere seconds. His body pulls away first, the distance between your torsos increasing steadily.

Then it's his mouth drawing back, like he wants to stay connected to you forever, but he knows he can't. His lips slide over yours in longing before they separate from yours, remaining parted to try to retain the feeling of your mouth on his.

Driver pulls away from you, his eyes shut in want and wonder. But then they're peeling open to look down at you as he leans back. His blue eyes are dark and half-lidded, taking in the blissful look on your face. Your eyes are still shut, but they flutter open to meet his a moment later, hazy and dazed.

Your mouth hangs open like you want to say something, shock making your nerves thrum with electricity. He has you speechless. The two of you stare at each other in silence, a million words shared with just one look.

There is so much conviction and meaning in Driver's eyes - you know he's trying to say something. But he can't bring himself to say it. Not with the gun on the stranger's hip.

Driver's eyes flit from your wide (colored) ones down to your mouth, his emotions twisting with the dark realization that you don't understand the panic in his eyes. You've never seen him panicked. How would you know? It makes his jaw clench tightly again, and then he's leaning close to you.

He fills your space naturally, and you let him. He analyzes your face, contemplating his options. Say something. Push a button. Let the man in the tan suit move first. None of the options are the right choice.

The blonde-haired mechanic lets a shallow sigh out through his nose, the air gently fanning across your face. You are just starting to get comfortable with him being so near. Your eyes flit from his down to his mouth, same as he had done to you. They only linger on his pink, plush lips for a moment before snapping back up to his eyes.

Then - he moves.

His head whips to his left, where the man in the tan suit is watching. He had been watching you and Driver from the corner of his eye, sharp and waiting. Patiently, like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey.

Driver's left hand has been safely tucked in the pocket of his jacket, but now it flashes out faster than you can comprehend to deflect the man in the tan suit's advance. In fact, Driver's right arm raises toward the stranger's head as the stranger positions himself to attack Driver.

Immediately, you duck in fear, adrenaline shooting up your spine faster than you can blink. You're wide awake now. The fast movement has your already rapidly beating heart slamming in your chest, crouching down to avoid the fight.

Driver uses the momentum of his right arm swinging through the air to grip the man in the tan suit's neck with his large palm. With a forceful shove, the blonde-haired mechanic slams his opponent's head into the elevator wall in front of them. The stranger's head crashes into the spot next to the doors with a sickening thunk.

The sound makes you recoil, lunging forward into the opposite corner of the elevator to hide. From there, Driver doesn't waste his moment of attack. The man in the tan suit stumbles back, and Driver slides his right hand to the front of the man's face, slamming his back against the furthest wall of the elevator.

Driver's hands work at the stranger's face, disorienting him enough that he can throw his opponent into the corner where he had just kissed you. That moment is long gone now. Fear runs high in the elevator - all parties included.

The man in the tan suit hits the ground before you can move, and it takes your brain a second to lock in. Move! Move! Move! You skitter forward, lunging toward the corner of the elevator with the button panel where the stranger first appeared.

Everyone in the elevator has done a complete 180 in positions, Driver now stands over the stranger where you had been. You stand in horror where the man in the tan suit had been. Driver stands menacingly over the man in the tan suit as blood starts to seep from the stranger's head.

Oh my gosh. The thought hits you in horror. Your lungs aren't moving. You aren't breathing. What. Is. Happening? You can't bring yourself to look away. You know you should.

The stranger is out of breath and disoriented from the tussle with Driver, whose skin is shining with exertion, his muscles rigid and ready. It's... terrifying. The man who has been nothing but kind, loving, and sweet to you... is... scary.

Then, Driver draws his right knee up and slams his foot down once into the man in the tan suit's face. It makes a gasp of fear fall from your lips, horror flooding your already wide eyes. You brace yourself against the corner, a primal, instinctual fear making you freeze in place.

You watch silently as Driver brings his arms up to balance himself, then he again crashes his foot downwards and into the stranger's face for a second time.

Then a third time.

And again.

...and again.

All you can do is helplessly watch as Driver's foot bashes into the man in the tan suit's skull repetitively. Over, and over, and over again. After the first few kicks, Driver's left hand grabs onto the railing for balance as he mutilates the man, his blonde locks messily falling over his forehead and sticking to the sweaty skin.

Broken jaw. Smashed in skull. There's blood everywhere, pooling in the corner of the elevator. You can hear Driver wheezing out air with effort as he works, but you can't focus on that.

No, your subconscious manages to count seventeen individual stomps to the stranger's head - blood and brain matter oozing across the floor in thick, red and pink chunks. The biologic material covers Driver's right boot, soaking it in his opponent's blood.

His boot is slick as it comes to a rest under him normally, supporting his own weight. The lower part of his pant leg is splattered with blood and brain matter, too - his jeans now stained a dark red rather than the medium wash they had been.

You can't help but watch the blonde-haired mechanic in a fascinated horror - you didn't know he was capable of killing a man. He had been nothing but normal. Kind. Sweet. A little dry and quiet at times... but not this.

Then, as Driver takes a step back from the now mutilated man, the elevator doors slide open. Ground floor. You stumble out of the elevator in terror at the scene in front of you, your mind somehow both empty and scrambling with the facts of what had happened.

The blood pools faster now that the man in the tan suit's head lies undisturbed on the floor of the elevator. Driver is breathing hard, panting as his body runs high on adrenaline and short of oxygen. He can only stare down at the man he killed, silent.

His body is still slightly hunched over as he turns over his left shoulder to look at you. His eyes are wide and distant-looking when you first catch sight of them, a full sheen of sweat now coating his tan skin. You can make out a bead trailing the left side of his cheek, and then you glance down.

Blood has spattered over the front of his jacket thanks to the vigor of his kicks. It coats what had been soft, white material, but is now forever stained red.

It is dead silent.

There is not a single sound in the air. It's thick with tension, there's no doubt about that. Driver had just killed a man. And there's a level of unsureness that hangs in the air. What are you going to do? How are you going to react?

But you're drawn back up to Driver's wild gaze, his blue eyes dark and shadowed as he watches you. Waiting. His eyes are untamed. You've never seen that look on a man's face. Or any human, for that matter. He looks downright deadly. And it shakes you to your core. It's terrifying.

You know that the man in front of you is the man you've come to surely but quietly love - even if you haven't verbally told him your feelings. He wouldn't... do this to you, right? This was self-defense. The man in the tan suit had a gun.

Driver shuffles on his feet to face you a little more clearly, helping to draw your attention away from your spiraling mind. His brows start to draw together in a worried frown, and there you see the humanity in his eyes. It's a silent ask.

You have stumbled just outside the mouth of the elevator, your hands by your sides. You stare at him, again frozen in place. Your lips have parted, your eyes wide with horror. You're pretty sure your fingers have gone numb. But you can't really tell.

The blonde-haired mechanic doesn't say anything as he watches you, catching his breath. You can see the way his chest rises and falls, his eyes flooding with fear. Anxiety. Nervousness.

There's a pleading look in his eye. You aren't sure how, but there is. Despite being covered in brain matter and blood - Driver looks like a scared, kicked puppy at the pound. Waiting for a helping hand to gently caress him. To comfort him.

Any semblance of the violence you just witnessed is gone. This is Driver in front of you. Not a cold-blooded killer. So you focus on his heavy breathing in silence, trying to sort out your thoughts faster than you ever have before, your late-night drive long forgotten.

Movement in front of you has you blinking out of your locked-knee stance. It's the elevator doors beginning to slide shut. Without thinking of the consequences, you lunge forward, pressing your body in between the doors to stop them from closing on Driver.

Now that you're up close to the blonde-haired mechanic, you can see the emotion in his stormy gaze much more clearly. There's surprise. Intrigue. You stop in front of him, the elevator doors retreating back, and you shakily state, "Y-you, you need to t-take your shoes off."

He dips his chin down at you, his eyes still wide as he watches you. Not calculating. Not methodical. His blue gaze just flits over the features of your face rapidly, his breathing slowing as he focuses on you. You, standing in front of him.

Another bead of sweat rolls off his brow and slides down his cheek, but he doesn't bat an eye at it. You're not even sure he's blinked in the last few seconds, but then he's doing as you asked. He's toeing off his soiled boots silently, holding your gaze level as you stare up at him.

The elevator threatens to close again, but you once again stop it. Patiently. Then, Driver carefully reaches down and clasps both shoes in one of his hands, slowly standing up to his full height.

His eyes blink at you now, and you can see some of his usual self in his features. His jaw is still clamped shut, tense in the muscles there, but his eyes have grown less wild. Less untamed.

It takes everything in you, but you reach for his left hand, which is free of his blood-riddled shoes. Your fingers brush his tenderly, and his digits twitch against the soft touch. Driver blinks at you, his vision becoming even more focused, and then he lets you thread your fingers through his own.

Then, as smoothly as you can, you pull Driver out of the elevator, letting his socked feet pick their own pace. You can tell he's in as much shock as you. He couldn't believe you were here, holding his hand after witnessing that.

The blonde-haired mechanic can't take his eyes off of you as he lugs the blood-soaked shoes with him. The elevator doors slide shut behind him a moment later, carrying the gruesome scene higher into the apartment complex.

The two of you stand there for a moment in silence, staring at one another. You're both breathing heavily. Driver's heart rate and breathing are slowing down, resetting. Your's are speeding up. Logic is setting in. What are you going to do?!

You know you aren't thinking straight, but you step forward. Into Driver's personal space. His gaze is so finely concentrated on you that it feels like a laser cutting through you. His mind is running a million miles a minute, and his adrenaline is slowly wearing off.

Careful as if not to spook him, you bring your free hand up to cup the slick skin of Driver's jaw. Your fingers are trembling. Quivering with fear and anxiety, you can't stop it. Driver doesn't say anything, too enraptured with the way you're looking up at him, tightening his loose grip on your hand to be firmer.

He almost flinches when you make contact with his skin - his reaction causes him to rapidly blink at you. But then he softens. It's you. He quietly leans into your gentle touch, bringing himself forward to equally crowd into your personal space.

Then, in one smooth move, you shift your weight onto your toes and let your mouth crash against his.

Driver didn’t mean to get attached to you. Maybe attached isn’t the right word. More like completely, utterly obsessed with you.

It started pretty simply, really. You’d just moved into the building a month prior, and he hadn’t really seen you around until two weeks ago. You were leaving your apartment, just down the hall from his, and something about you captivated him.

He started seeing you in the hallway most mornings, or at the coffee shop down the street, at the mall a few times. He hangs back every time, watches. You smile at him, sometimes say hello, and it sends a little thrill through him.

He doesn’t think you know he’s watching. Maybe you do, but you haven’t mentioned it. But he is.

He unintentionally learns your schedule, learns when you leave work early, when you go grocery shopping.

And he starts showing up to the places he knows you’ll be. Perhaps on purpose. Perhaps not.

He just knows that he’s started to get hard when he thinks about you, and he thinks about you a lot. He thinks about this one shirt he’s seen you wear, the way it fits you perfectly in all of the right places. About how you dropped your keys right in front of your door once, and the way you bent over to retrieve them.

He asks you out on a date one morning in the hallway.

“You’re beautiful, can I take you out tonight?” he’d asked, eyes roving over your body. Bold, yes. But he wants you.

You’d smiled at him, fuck he loves your smile, and said yes very enthusiastically.

When you open your door that evening looking devastatingly gorgeous, he almost decides to just forget dinner and drag you to bed right then and there. He’s been thinking about this for weeks, and you’re not making this easy for him.

But he takes you out to dinner, pays for the meal, listens to you talk. You’re chatty, which is good for him. He doesn’t have to talk much at all, though you do ask questions about him and his life.

The drive back to the apartment building is charged, his hand lingering on your thigh as you fly down near empty streets in the Chevy.

When he finally gets you back up to his apartment, he wastes no time in pushing you up against his door and kissing you the way he’s wanted to since the first time you smiled at him.

Clothes come off just as fast, a trail leading to his bed where he explores your body for as long as the aching need in his cock will allow him. You’re perfect, and he wants to kiss you all over, run his hands over your skin.

He leaves marks on your tits and neck while he’s got two fingers knuckle deep inside you, drawing out the sweetest noises he’s ever heard.

When it all becomes too much, he fumbles for a condom from the box he’d bought specifically for this scenario and slips it on with a hiss. He’d love to feel you around him with no barrier, but the last thing he wants is an accidental pregnancy, even if the idea of claiming you like that makes his heart skip. He’s thinking way ahead of himself here.

Then he’s pushing into your soaked cunt and savouring every inch, watching your face as he bottoms out. Your blissed out expression is enough to make him drive into you with enough force to rock the bed, all of the pent up energy of the past weeks he’s been watching finally surging to the front.

He drops onto his forearms to cage your head between them and kisses you heatedly as he fucks you, catching your moans between his lips, and letting out a few muffled noises of his own. You’re so tight around him and it feels so perfect.

When he adjusts the angle of his hips to hit your g-spot, he thinks he could cum from the way you’re gasping and moaning alone.

But he holds off until he feels you clench around him, your eyes rolling back as you bite out his name around the pleasure washing over you, and then he finally allows himself to come to a stop deep inside you, spilling into the condom.

He rests his forehead against yours and stays like that for a second, catching his breath before pulling out with a sharp intake of breath.

He takes care of you, of course. Gets you water, cleans you up with a damp cloth, kisses all over your face and tells you how perfect you are before dropping down beside you to hold you in his arms.

Now he has you, he isn’t letting go.

A few feet away, Driver stands silent beside the black sedan he’s been precision-driving for the high-speed inserts. The scorpion jacket is unzipped just enough to show the tight black shirt underneath. He hasn’t said much all night, but he’s been watching you those pale, unreadable eyes tracking every move you made while you coordinated the sequence. Now he’s looking at you like the only stunt left is how fast he can get you out of those pants.

You fold your arms, trying to keep your professional tone even though heat is already pooling low in your stomach. “This is still a work site, boys. Cameras are off, but security still does rounds.”

Colt pushes off the car and steps closer, crowding you gently against the side of the sedan. “Security knows better than to come back here when I’m testing rigs.” His fingers brush a loose strand of hair from your face, surprisingly gentle for someone who throws himself off buildings for fun. “And Driver… well. He’s been real patient all week. Haven’t you?”

Driver finally moves. He closes the distance on your other side, gloved hand settling on your hip with unmistakable possession. The leather is cool against the sliver of skin where your shirt has ridden up. He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks for the first time in hours, voice low and gravel-rough:

“Take a break.” His fingers tighten. “Now.”

Colt’s grin widens, playful but hungry, as he tilts your chin toward him. “What do you say, sweetheart? Let the stunt team take care of you for once.”

The decision is made with barely any words. Colt flashes that boyish, troublemaker grin and tosses you the keys to his truck. “You’re riding with me, Coordinator. Driver’s gonna follow. He drives like a goddamn ghost anyway, better not lose him.”

Driver doesn’t argue. He simply nods once then slides into the black sedan. The engine purrs to life.

You end up in the passenger seat of Colt’s big black truck, the scent of motor oil, cologne, and faint gunpowder still clinging to the leather. The lot gate barely swings shut behind you before Colt’s hand finds your thigh, squeezing possessively as he pulls out onto the dark service road.

“Been thinking about this for weeks,” he admits, voice lower now that it’s just the two of you and the rumble of the engine. His fingers slide higher, rubbing slow circles against the inside of your thigh through your tactical pants. “Every time you chewed us out during rehearsal… every time you climbed up on the rigs in those tight pants… yeah. Real professional of me, I know.”

In the rearview mirror, Driver’s headlights stay right on your tail; close, steady, never falling back.

The drive to your apartment is only fifteen minutes, but it stretches. Colt keeps teasing, his hand stroking higher, thumb the seam where you’re already aching. He doesn’t go further than that. Not yet. Just enough to make you squirm in the seat while he murmurs filthy little observations about what he wants to do to you once you’re home.

When you finally pull into the underground parking of your building, Driver’s car glides in right beside you. The three of you step out in charged silence. Colt slings an arm around your waist as you lead them to the elevator. Driver walks on your other side, gloved hand resting at the small of your back, heavy, quiet, and impossibly controlling.

The elevator ride up is thick with tension. The second the doors close, Colt crowds you against the mirrored wall, kissing you hard and greedy, all tongue and playful nips. Driver watches for half a second before stepping in, turning your chin toward him with two leather-clad fingers and claiming your mouth next, slower, deeper, almost devastatingly intense. You taste the difference between them instantly: Colt’s heat and cocky hunger versus Driver’s quiet, barely-leashed control.

By the time the elevator dings on your floor, your lips are swollen and your pulse is hammering between your legs.

You fumble with your keys at the door. Colt’s chest presses against your back, lips on your neck. “Hurry up, sweetheart. I’ve got plans for you.”

Driver’s voice is right at your ear, low and rough: “So do I.”

The door barely clicks shut behind the three of you before the tension snaps.

Colt’s hands are the first to find you, gentle but eager, sliding around your waist from behind as he presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, voice warm and reassuring. “We’ve got you. No rush.”

Driver steps in front of you, his gloved hand cupping your jaw with firm, deliberate pressure. He tilts your face up to his and kisses you hard, deep and commanding, tongue stroking possessively against yours until your knees feel weak. When he pulls back, his pale eyes are dark with intent. “Breathe,” he orders quietly.

They work together without rushing you. Colt’s fingers find the hem of your fitted production tee, slowly peeling it upward. Driver’s hands slide down to unbuckle your belt and work open your tactical pants with precise, efficient movements. Every time your breath hitches, Colt murmurs soft praise against your lips, “Good girl… so fucking pretty for us”, while Driver keeps one firm hand on your hip, grounding you.

Soon your clothes are pooled on the floor, leaving you in just your bra and panties. Driver’s gloved fingers trace the edge of your bra with strict patience before unhooking it. Colt drops to one knee, kissing down your stomach as he tugs your panties down your legs, helping you step out of them.

“Bedroom?” Colt asks softly, lips brushing your hip.

Driver answers for you, voice low and authoritative. “Couch. Closer.” He guides you there with a firm hand on the small of your back.

They sit on the couch side by side, legs spread, both still fully dressed. The sight of them, Colt with his easy grin and Driver with that intense stare, makes heat flood between your thighs.

You sink to your knees between them. Colt reaches out first, stroking your cheek tenderly. “Only what you want, baby. Take your time.”

Driver’s hand slides into your hair, grip firm but not painful, guiding your mouth toward the obvious bulge in his black pants. “Open.”

You start with him. Driver watches with strict focus as you unzip him and take his thick cock into your mouth. He doesn’t thrust, he lets you set the pace at first, but his hand in your hair tightens when you take him deeper, a low groan rumbling in his chest. “Good. Deeper… that’s it.”

After a few moments, Colt gently turns your head toward him. “My turn, sweetheart,” he says softly, voice thick with need. His cock is already free, hard and flushed. He’s gentler, fingers stroking your hair instead of gripping, whispering praise as you swirl your tongue around him. “Fuck… look at you. So good for us. Just like that…”

You switch between them slowly, taking turns. Colt’s moans are breathier, encouraging, while Driver’s are quieter, rougher, his instructions low and commanding when he wants your attention back on him. Every time you switch, one of them is touching you, Colt’s soft caresses down your back and shoulders, Driver’s firm hand keeping you steady.

Driver’s patience finally snaps.

He slides his hand from your hair to under your chin, tilting your face up. His thumb drags across your swollen lower lip, voice low and commanding. “Enough.”

Before you can catch your breath, he pulls you up from your knees with strong hands under your arms and turns you around. Colt shifts on the couch, making room, his eyes dark with arousal as he watches. “Easy with her, man,” Colt murmurs, but there’s a thrill in his voice.

Driver doesn’t answer with words. He bends you over the arm of the couch in one smooth, firm motion, your chest and stomach pressed against the cushions while your ass stays raised for him. You feel the cool leather against your skin as he kicks your legs wider apart.

“Stay just like that,” Driver orders, voice rough and strict.

You hear the sound of his jeans rustling, then the blunt head of his cock is pressing against your soaked entrance. He doesn’t ease in. With one brutal thrust, Driver buries himself to the hilt inside you, stretching you open in a single hard stroke.

A sharp cry leaves your throat. The roughness is immediate and overwhelming, his hips snap forward again and again, fucking you deep and mercilessly. Each thrust is powerful, controlled, and punishing. His gloved hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise while the other presses between your shoulder blades, keeping your upper body pinned down against the couch.

“Fuck-,” you gasp, fingers clawing at the couch as you attempt to grasp anything to try and anchor you.

He leans over you, chest against your back, teeth grazing your shoulder as he growls low in your ear, “Take it. You can handle it.” His pace doesn’t falter, hard, relentless strokes that make the couch creak beneath you. The wet sound of his cock driving into your cunt fills the room, obscene and loud.

Colt moves closer, kneeling beside the couch so he’s at eye level with you. His hand strokes your hair tenderly, contrasting sharply with Driver’s rough pounding. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he praises softly, voice warm and soothing. He kisses your temple, your cheek, your parted lips. “Look at you taking him so well… so fucking pretty when you’re getting wrecked like this.”

Driver’s grip tightens. He straightens up again, slamming into you harder, one hand fisting in your hair to arch your back. Every thrust hits deep, brutal, and perfect. The intensity makes your legs shake, pleasure bordering on too much as he uses you exactly how he wants. Each brutal thrust rocks you harder against the arm of the couch, your moans turning into broken, desperate sounds. His gloved hand leaves your hip, only to come down hard on your ass with a sharp, resounding smack.

The sting blooms hot across your skin. You cry out, clenching around his thick cock.

“Again,” Driver growls, voice dark and commanding. Another hard slap lands on the same spot, then the other cheek, the impact sharp enough to make your eyes water even as pleasure spikes through you. “That’s it. Squeeze my cock just like that.”

Colt’s hand gently cups your jaw, turning your face toward him. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers tenderly before capturing your mouth in a slow, deep kiss. His lips are soft and reassuring, tongue sliding against yours in sweet contrast to the way Driver is pounding into you from behind. Every time Driver’s hips slam forward, Colt swallows the resulting moan, kissing you like he’s trying to ground you in the middle of the storm.

Driver’s hand slides up your back, over your shoulder, and wraps firmly around the front of your throat. He doesn’t hesitate as he squeezes, cutting off just enough air to make your head spin while he keeps fucking you. The leather of his glove feels cool and unforgiving against your heated skin.

Colt pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re so fucking good for him… taking everything he gives you.” His thumb strokes your cheek lovingly as Driver’s hand stays locked around your throat. “Let go, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”

Driver’s pace turns even more savage, hips snapping against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. He keeps one hand choking you while the other delivers another sharp slap to your already stinging skin. The combination of Driver’s rough thrusts and Colt’s soft kisses has you trembling, pleasure coiling tight and vicious in your core.

Driver leans in close, lips brushing your ear as his grip on your throat tightens just a little more. “You’re gonna cum like this,” he states, not asking. “Right on my cock while I fuck you."

You nod quickly, desperately wanting to be good and cum for him. It only takes him a few more hard thrusts and quick spanks before you're clenching around him. Whining as wave after wave of pleasure hits you as you finish around his cock.

Driver gives one final deep thrust before he stills, groaning low as he cums hard. He stays buried inside you for a few seconds, hand losing his grip around your throat, before slowly pulling out. You’re left shaking, bent over the arm of the couch, thighs slick and trembling as his cum slowly drips out of you.

They give you a short moment to breathe.

Colt gently pulls you up and turns you around, kissing you softly as he sits back in the middle of the couch. His cock is hard, flushed and ready as he shoves his pants down a little with one hand before settling his hands onto your hips.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he says tenderly, guiding you onto his lap. “You’re tired. Let me do the work.”

He helps you straddle him, hands supporting your weight as he slowly sinks you down onto his cock. You both moan as he fills you, thick, warm, and gentler than Driver’s brutal pace. Once he’s fully inside, Colt keeps his hands on your hips, rocking you in slow, controlled movements so you don’t have to use your exhausted legs.

For years you had wanted an escape, a grand exit like someone was holding the string that tied you to your hometown and had finally cut it. But for the moment, it was pulled tight, locked around your wrist like a cuff and things had never been anything but the same. The place was small, a blink while on Main Street and you’ll end up on the outside of town type of place with people who knew all and wouldn’t keep their mouth shut about what it is they knew. They infected social lives with town gossip of who dated who, who married that year and what crazy person left to go and find something not contained within three streets and a handful of streetlights. 

You weren’t that brave and were scared that since your ID said you were born there, one day it would also say you died there. Obituary ending up in a small town paper with the ending line, “she was loved by all who knew her, the population of a town situated between Nowhere and Nothing.” Maybe one day you’d end up there because you got married to some farmer with a good collection of land and a house with a porch built for two rocking chairs and nothing more, simplistic and easy, the exact life you were destined for. Your mom appeared years back, gas tank empty and didn’t leave when it was full because a man told her she looked pretty in the checkout line of the singular grocery store. She dressed in lace and baby blues, attended church and baked cookies for Sunday brunches and never did the one thing you wanted to do…leave. 

Exodus was nothing but a chapter in a bible you no longer fully believed in, not a truth, not a thing you could do, nothing but a dream. A dream that made you restless, hands twitching as you poured coffee for a trucker who stopped in the small diner you worked in. A neon sign out front declared it was open and named after some pun involving waffles that everyone liked to comment on. You dubbed it jail, the trap you built for yourself and gave him a warm smile, heart of ice heavy in your chest as he called you a sweetheart and went back to his midnight cup of coffee. And you meandered back to Janet, a woman who also never left and leaned against the counter, brushing a hand along the lace trim of your apron, tied in a bow around the waist of a baby blue dress. 

“Slow night,” Janet muttered since her sentences never got bigger than three words, spoken with a clipped tone like she hated talking. 

“Quite,” you said and she frowned. 

“Sal has extra food.” 

“From dinner.” 

“From lunch, a sandwich.” 

“I’ll eat it on break,” you muttered and glanced at the clock, shift only half over and let out a sigh, grabbing a freshly made pot of coffee and doing a round. 

The diner was open all day and all night, the one spot in the whole of your nowhere town where you could grab something to eat after 8pm on a Wednesday and was a haven for truck drivers. Most of the time, they were the only people you served and had been debating on asking for a ride for years but didn’t, chose to still stay, make some money while doing online schooling a couple days a week and it was finally done. You graduated with a degree that was impressive enough to do something else and had a letter sitting on your kitchen table, the whole of your future printed on A24 paper with a stamp in the corner.

“I finished my degree,” you said and Janet nodded. “I could leave. I applied for a teaching school but it’s in Raleigh.” 

“That’s far.” 

“A whole new town,” you agreed and sighed, watching as the door opened and a man walked in, keeping his head down as he sank into the booth in the far corner. 

“I wonder what his problem is.” 

“Long night,” you guessed and grabbed a mug of coffee before walking over. “Coffee?” 

He looked up, eyes bloodshot and nodded, resting a hand on the tabletop as your eyes narrowed at the redness on the leather of his fingerless gloves. It was the kind of red that was concerning, that bloomed from places it shouldn’t and you half debated calling someone to help when he grabbed your hand. It wasn’t rough, it was gentle, the most gentle grab you had ever felt, as if he was scared of holding on too tight and making you leave. 

“Uh…” 

“Coffee is enough,” he muttered and you nodded, giving over the mug and also grabbing a collection of napkins, ignoring the red on his white jacket. 

“Can you give me a half hour?” you asked and he looked at you like you’d hit him. “I need to tell her I’m leaving, you need help.” 

“No.” 

“Not a doctor. I can help, I live across the street in the apartment above the hardware store and have a pretty good first aid kit, a gift from my dad.” 

“Okay,” he said and sat back, sighing and drinking half his cup of black coffee as you smiled and wandered back to Janet, pulling off your apron. 

“I’m leaving early.” 

“Why?”

“I know him, an old family friend and he needs my help.”

“What’s his name?” 

“Uh…Mike…It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” 

“Be…” 

“I got it, I’ll be careful. But don’t worry, I know he’s fine,” you said and didn’t believe it for a second as you punched out, grabbing a couple sandwiches and a key lime pie that had been made three days back before pulling on your coat. 

He was still sitting there, mug empty and staring at the tabletop as he breathed heavily, red stained white coat heaving and you swallowed hard, taking a seat across from him. He didn’t look up, eyes still locked on nothing but you reached out, gentle as can be and placed a hand on his, fingers brushing against the burgundy leather of the gloves. 

“Can I trust you?” 

“No.” 

“Why are you here?” 

“I drove.” 

“From?” 

“LA.”

“That’s hours from here.” 

“I know.” 

“If I take you to my apartment you’re not gonna kill me right?” 

“Nope,” he assured and there was more trust in that one syllable than anything else he’d said yet. 

“Good,” you said and he stood, stumbling a bit but keeping himself upright and trailing after you as you tried to ignore the look that Janet gave you, eyes narrowed like always. “We don’t get a lot of strangers like you. Mostly truck drivers. Why drive here?” 

“Not here…just…away,” he assured and you helped him up the narrow outdoor steps to the balcony on the second floor that led to your apartment and dug a key into the lock. 

“Well this is a hell of a place to land. We have nothing.” 

“I like nothing.” 

“You’ll get tired of it,” you said and he chuckled, dryly and struggling but the noise was a welcome change. “Come in. I’ll grab a blanket, take that jacket and shirt off.” 

“Are you sure?”

“You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” you shot back and he nodded, doing as you said, pulling off the white coat with a gold scorpion embroidered on the back, white shirt following as your eyes widened. 

Despite the very obvious bullet wound, his back was a myriad of scars from years of abuse and you wanted to reach out and trace them, ask about every dip. His skin told so many stories, ones you wanted to beg to hear, to have him whisper in the dark of your apartment or on nights when the nowhere town ran out of power because of a storm a county over. But there were more pressing matters like the splotch of blood on his lower stomach, the source revealing itself as a bullet wound that had an exit on his lower back much to your relief. Sure it likely hurt like hell, even worse from driving for so many hours but if he was still moving around, it meant it didn’t hit anything important and your new houseguest wasn’t about to drop dead. 

“Well…it exited,” you deadpanned after he had taken a seat on your blanket draped couch. “So that’s good and it means you won’t die because I’m not a surgeon. I have some gauze and padding so you won’t bleed out either but there is a story to be told.” 

“About the wound?” he guessed and you chuckled. 

“Yes, about the wound,” you assured and reached forward, gently wrapping the gauze around his midsection until it was tight as he stayed tense, barely breathing until your hands left his skin. “Grammy Merna would tell me all about the perils of California but she left out the guns. Was she wrong or is this a special case?” 

“Got wrapped up in bad men, took care of it.” 

“Clearly,” you muttered and stood as he moved back, leaning against the back of the couch with a sigh, finally looking a small bit relaxed. “You never said your name.” 

“People at home called me the Driver.” 

“Do you drive?” 

“I drive,” he agreed and you chuckled. “What is your actual name?” 

“That was always the ironic part…my real name is Driver.” 

“Driver is one hell of a name.” 

“Ended up doing what I was named for,” he shot back and you nodded before telling him yours. 

“I was not named waitress so I’m not following fate.” 

“Should be named saviour,” he shot back and you chuckled, moving to your small kitchen and grabbing him a glass of water. 

“Just ended up in the right place.” 

“Fate sounds better,” he said and leaned back, drinking back half the water as you smiled. “Without you I would’ve kept going.” 

“Any stopping point?” 

“When I couldn’t drive anymore,” he shot back and you frowned. 

“Good thing you stopped before that.” 

“Needed coffee, first place open for miles,” he said and stood, cringing but continuing and looking out the window, face framed by the neon greens and blues of the diners sign. 

When you got the apartment the glare of that sign pissed you off, always there in the background like a reminder that the place was as far as you could get, living across the street from work. But now…as it made the blue of his eyes pop and the dips and divots of the scars on his shoulders stand out like they were made with the utmost care you loved it. Maybe all the window needed despite a good clean was a fresh face to look out of it, someone who could still appreciate neon signs and 24/7 waffle themed diners on small country roads that cut through a nowhere town like a river. 

“Butter Me Up?” he asked with a laugh and you groaned. 

“Waffle pun. It sells.” 

“To who?” 

“Truck drivers with no sense of humour,” you admitted and yawned. “I’m beat. Take the couch, I brought out some blankets and some clothes from my dad in a bag on the chair. There’s a bathroom by the front door, fully stocked and even some plastic wrap so that the bandage can stay dry.” 

“You trust me not to rob you and run?” Driver asked and turned, hands crossed across his chest, still coated in the blood stained leather gloves. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?” 

“You don’t look like the robbing type.” 

“What do I look like?” 

“Someone who stopped less for a coffee and more because he had to.” 

“To die?” 

“To hope someone like me would offer some help,” you shot back and he looked away, gaze not meeting yours and you knew you had figured him out. “Sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Wait…” 

“Yes?” 

“Thank you,” Driver said and you knew he meant it. 

“Of course,” you said and moved into your bedroom, changing into a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt before getting into bed, listening to the road outside your bedroom window as people drove through your town. 

You were glad that he chose to stop, to grab that coffee and accept your help and hoped that he’d be there when the morning light made the place look less lonely. 

Driver stayed. 

He slept on the couch like you told him to and woke up to the smell of bacon cooking, finding him slumped over the stove in your small kitchen, eyes narrowed as he made sure the breakfast was perfect. You raised a brow, leaning on the doorframe in a robe as he cracked an egg into another pan and let out a curse when a piece of shell got in, scrambling to fix it as you chuckled and he looked up, eyes widening.

“Sorry.” 

“Why?” 

“I used your kitchen.” 

“I barely use it, it deserves it,” you said and nodded out the window at the diner. “I normally eat there.” 

“Do you work a lot?” 

“Most nights,” you admitted and took a seat at the breakfast nook, wishing it wasn’t full of papers. “I split my time between there and online school.” 

“For?” 

“Education,” you admitted and he made sure the eggs wouldn’t burn before turning and moving to lean against a counter, giving you his full attention. “I want to be a teacher.” 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“The schooling I need is out of state, in North Carolina and sure I have enough money but it’s far…out there and I’m not…I’m here.” 

“But you could be out there.” 

“I could,” you said and sighed. “My dad died six months ago, he left me all his money and told me to leave, to get out of this place and see the world but I didn’t…I stayed.” 

“Why?” 

“Too scared,” you admitted and he scoffed. “Here is small but familiar. I know every face and when John at the grocery store gets the good apples in. I wouldn’t know any of that in a big city, wouldn’t even know myself.”

“Did you get in?” he asked and turned back around, plating the eggs and adding some toast and bacon before walking it over to the table. “To the school in Raleigh?” 

“No…Or…I don’t know.” 

“You don’t?”

“This is my ticket,” you said and grabbed a letter from North Carolina State University. “It arrived two days ago.” 

“And?” 

“It has stayed like this for two days.” 

“Not going to open it?” 

“Maybe.” 

“You’re scared,” he accused and you nearly dropped your fork at that very bold accusation. “That letter is your excuse. Never look at it, never get an excuse.” 

“Never look at it, never be disappointed,” you shot back and he rolled his eyes. “I’m not like you, I don’t pack it all up and drive with a bullet wound in my stomach, hoping to crash land in some town.” 

“You may not have the bullet hole but you do have the pain,” he pointed out and you never would’ve invited someone so philosophical into your house. 

“Still keeping it sealed.” 

“Maybe by the time I leave.” 

“Are you?” 

“Maybe. I need to keep going, find myself somewhere else.” 

“Where?” 

“Don’t know,” he admitted and sipped his coffee. “That gunshot was done by a man who wants me dead…he’s dead too but he had friends, angry ones. I left LA to get away from that and I don’t think I’m far enough away yet.” 

“This town is pretty empty, you’d fall off the radar.” 

“Maybe…but I can’t take that risk.” 

“At least stay long enough to relax,” you suggested and glanced out the window at the sun shining. “It’s sunny today and there’s a lake not far from here, could be a nice change.”

“The bandage?” 

“Don’t swim,” you shot back and he rolled his eyes. “Come on…I grabbed some sandwiches and a pie from work, it’ll be fun.”

“What kind of pie?” 

“Key lime.” 

“Nah…I’m more of a lemon meringue guy.”

“Driver…” 

“What?” 

“Come on.” 

“I can enjoy limes,” he muttered and you rolled your eyes, finishing off your breakfast, changing and grabbing a few items as he stood by the front door, eyeing the blood stains on his white coat. 

“Here,” you said and handed over a black jacket that was Yankees themed and hoped that he was secretly a fan. 

“Not a baseball fan.” 

“It was my dads.”

“Why?” 

“He can’t wear it,” you said and Driver nodded, grabbing it and pulling it on, smiling at the fit and shoving his hands in the pocket. “Perfect.” 

“Maybe I’ll end up in New York and wear it to a game,” he muttered and you nodded in agreement, grabbing your bag and following him out to his car, a smile on your face. 

The car he drove was nice by the standards of someone who didn’t know cars and was black and sleek looking, an older model with nice but worn tires since he drove it to the brink for hours on end. He admitted he didn’t get all the way from LA to your small little town in one night, it took three days and he slept in the back seat on the side of the highway and in truck stops, avoiding people until he met you, the first person who begged to offer some semblance of help. He took it because you looked as desperate to give it as he was to receive it and liked the tenderness in your voice, even though all you did was offer him some coffee. 

“Been here your whole life?” 

“Forced to,” you admitted and he raised a brow. 

“Mom lived here, had me and died here. It felt like it was in my blood.” 

“Blood is made to be shed.” 

“I don’t think that sounds like you want it to.” 

“I drive…I rarely speak,” he shot back and followed your lead when you told him to turn, pulling onto a dirt road that led to a lake you loved, the one good thing in your town. 

“You’re talking with me?” 

“I have exceptions,” he shot back and parked the car in the lot, slipping out and grabbing your bag out of the back and handing it over. “This was worth it.” 

“Wasn’t it?” you said and smiled, making your way down to the shore of the lake and spreading out a picnic blanket that had seen better days. “This place was like an escape from the rest of the town, a small piece of something new.” 

“You could leave.” 

“Driver…” 

“I know.” 

“I can’t,” you muttered and grabbed a wrapped sandwich from the bag, handing him one and he nodded in thanks. “It’s a big world out there…full of people and I’m just me…sitting here and staring at a lake I’ve stared at a hundred times before and will continue to stare at until I die. Like my mother and father.” 

“Or you could open that letter.” 

“What if it says I made it?” 

“Leave,” he suggested and you rolled your eyes. “Back in LA, I got all mixed up in that stuff because of a woman named Irene and her young son, my neighbours and she had a husband in jail and he got out and went right back to it. My favorite day with them was at a place like this, a piece of paradise in a city of nothing.”

“You were in LA,” you said and he shrugged.

“Even big places can be full of nothing. I lived there, worked there, almost died there. LA felt as lonely as a place like this with one road and very few stoplights.”

“See that's why I'm worried about leaving, at least I know people here, I have the diner and my coworker Janet. Maybe one day I'll also have a nice guy with a piece of land and a smile.” 

“Sounds like a boring life.” 

“At least I’m not driving forever,” you shot back and shoved the plastic wrap in the bag before heading towards the water, pulling off your shirt and shorts and stepping slowly into it, feeling the coolness start around your ankles. 

You went further out, feeling it run up your legs and onto your chest before sinking deep into the cold water and embracing the bit of shock that always came with dipping into a cold lake in early spring. It brought you back to your dad and his love of the place, the way he called it magic and would spend his time in the middle, catching fish to roast on a fire as you swam like there was no tomorrow. Today there was a tomorrow and you looked back at the shore to find Driver was missing, a pile of clothes in his wake and in seconds the man popped up out of the water, blonde hair slicked back and a smile on his face. 

“What about the bandage?” 

“Excuse to get close,” he shot back and swam closer, able to touch thanks to his height as you clung to his chest, laughing and shaking droplets off the top of your head. “You should open the letter.” 

“Driver…” 

“I brought it,” he said and your eyes narrowed. 

“You stole my mail?” 

“Sorry.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you deserve more than this town. It deserves you, you make it better but you need to leave it and find yourself in a new place with new people.” 

“Come with me.” 

“I can’t,” he said and you frowned. “The people after Irene won’t stop, they know I lived.” 

“Change your name,” you said and got even closer, clinging to him. 

“Driver fits too well,” he shot back and you chuckled, dipping your head down as he reached up, kissing your forehead. “Thank you.” 

“For?” 

“For a coffee,” he said and you looked at him closer, hands pressed to his cheeks as you ran a thumb under his eyes. “And the help.” 

“I wasn’t about to let you bleed to death.” 

“No…but you could have,” he muttered and you rolled your eyes, wrapping him in a hug, shivering despite yourself since the lake was cold, not warmed yet by the summer sun. “You could have moved on, treated me like another customer.” 

“Maybe I was looking for an escape from that shift as much as you were looking for help.” 

“So…not at all?” 

“No,” you said and he laughed, blue eyes brighter than last night, catching the reflection of the few beams of sunlight getting through the clouds. “When are you leaving?” 

“Soon.” 

“Stay,” you said again and he shook his head. “If you won’t stay…kiss me.” 

“I…” 

“It’s fine.” 

“It’s not fair.” 

“No…but I want it,” you said and it felt rash, like a bad choice but Driver complied, dipping his head down and capturing your lips in a kiss that was barely there. 

You grabbed the back of his neck with both hands to deepen it and he complied, kissing you harder as you hooked your legs around his midsection and pulled him closer, swaying in the cool water of that lake. You had a sneaking suspicion you were never going to see him again, that he was going to drive out of that town like he was destined to and leave you to wonder what could have been. But you had that moment, that small piece of something more and rested your head on his chest after he pulled back, staying in that water until his legs began to shake, they were so cold. You moved back to the blanket and Driver pulled the letter out of the pocket of the Yankees jacket you gave him, draping the fabric across your shoulders and nodding for you to break the seal and see what your fate was. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Come on, drive off.” 

“Very funny,” you muttered and he smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and leaning back as you followed, practically laying on his chest as you pulled open the letter. “Alrighty…God…”

“Would you like me?” 

“A stranger I just met…sure.” 

“Here we go,” he said and grabbed the letter, skimming it with the world's greatest poker face as you bit your lip. “Alright…” 

“And…”

“Well…” he began and read out your full name, a smile on his face. “We here at North Carolina State University would like to congratulate you on acceptance into the professional development program for teachers this coming fall semester. Please register for classes no later than August and we’ll be happy to see you in September.”

“Well then.” 

“I guess you’ll have to move to North Carolina,” he said and you nodded.

“I guess I will.” 

“Maybe I’ll go to Raleigh one day.” 

“Maybe I’ll go to New York,” you said and he chuckled, remembering the suggestion. “We’ll run into each other and before you even speak, I’ll remember your name.” 

“Maybe,” he agreed and you closed your eyes, drifting off to the sound of his heartbeat and wishing the day wouldn’t end. 

New York, Somewhere

Driver left. 

During the night he got up and left, getting in his car and never looking back and you woke up to an empty apartment like he was never even there, only a blood stained jacket in his wake. He also left a note of encouragement to go and see your dreams come true and you took it to heart, selling the apartment, telling Janet to screw off and getting in your car and never looking back, making sure to wash that jacket before you left. It became a staple piece of your wardrobe all through the two years of school, a reminder of someone you helped when he finally decided to stop and hoped that he’d found somewhere safe. You had no way of contacting him, he didn’t leave a number on that note and you assumed a guy like him didn’t carry a phone. He was an enigma that you had spent the last 4 years looking over your shoulder for when you spent less than 14 hours together. 

But it felt like more and you sighed, paying for the coffee you bought and heading out into the city since you were even crazy enough to move to New York, getting a job at a private high school and a small apartment with no neon lights shining through the windows. You even still wore his coat, bundled in the one thing besides encouragement that he left behind and sipped the latte in hand, holding the cup for warmth since that April was chilly. 

“Did you drop this?” 

“Probably not,” you said and turned, not interested in whatever the guy was pulling when your eyes widened and you spotted him standing there, dressed in that black Yankees jacket like nothing had changed. “Driver.” 

“You remembered.” 

“I said I would,” you told him and placed the coffee on the edge of a trash bin before wrapping him in a tight hug as the guy picked you up. “You made it.” 

“I’ve been here a few years.” 

“Still driving?” 

“Always,” he assured and you chuckled. “But for better people. A good company and I got this tiny place with a view of some trees. Spend most of my time at a garage, fixing up cars, was always what I enjoyed.” 

“Those men never came looking?” 

“They gave up. Maybe I could have stayed.” 

“I couldn’t,” you admitted and he nodded, grinning. “I also stole your coat.” 

“It looks better on you.” 

“I think so too,” you shot back and he chuckled. “We should catch up, it’s been a while, I have a lot to say, a lot to discuss and…” 

“We should,” he agreed and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Are you free now?”

“Why?” you asked and he smiled before digging into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a set of keys. 

“Care for a drive?”

The ending is a bit ambiguous haha but I like to think it worked out, maybe even one day he went back and told Irene he lived. But for now...picture you and him, driving into the sunset. Also expect more for Ryan and his cast of characters who I adore....a massive Holland March fic is next!!

Mmdhdh okay. He NEVER does too much. No raising his voice. Simple, low commands. A simple “come here, pretty” or “on your knees” is all it takes. If you hesitate, he’ll just tilt his head slightly, give you this look and wait.

Driving is foreplay to him. He’ll take you on late night drives through the city, one hand on the wheel and the other between your thighs when the roads permit it. You’re not allowed to cum until he says, and he’ll edge you for miles. He likes to see his pretty girl squirm.

He’s incredibly methodical and will learn your body down to a science. He knows exactly how to keep you shaking and begging underneath him, how much pressure to use when he pins your wrists above your head. He’ll tie you up so gently with soft rope or his belt, checking in to make sure it’s never too tight (unless that’s what you want, in which case he’ll relent but spend forever worrying over the deep red marks that are left behind once he’s untied you. It’s both thrilling to know he did that to you and worrying to think you might be hurt)

Ooooh god so possessive but never aggressive about it, at least not to you. He tracks your moods, your needs. You’re his and he’s gonna make sure everyone knows that, including you. If a guy ever tries anything with you, he’s right there, a steady hand on your back and staring him down icily. That’s when he fucks you the hardest, driving into you like he has something to prove, territory to claim. He’ll leave marks all over your body, bruising your thighs with his fingers or sucking dark marks into your neck. He doesn’t need to say “mine.” The way he’s touching you makes it clear.

After a rough scene he’s incredibly tender, with slow kisses and warm cloths, carrying you to the shower, getting you drinks. He’s always so soft, asking what you need, what he can do, if that was okay for you. He’ll praise you endlessly.

Prefers positions where he can hold you down or see your face and kiss you. He likes doing most, if not all, of the work. His pretty baby shouldn’t have to lift a finger. Sometimes he’ll let you take control at your insistence, but he enjoys taking care of you. He fucks with the same quiet intensity that he does everything with. Eye contact is a must, it just heightens every sensation for him.

LOVESS making you watch how he fucks you in mirrors or any reflective surface. Car windows at night oouhhh😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 Gripping your jaw and murmuring “You see that? Look how pretty you are taking me” MMMGGFF FUCK.

BREATH PLAY… He’s always controlled about it. A big hand around your throat as he drives into you from above, applying just enough pressure for everything to feel fuzzy and the pleasure to have you seeing stars while he stares into your eyes and fucks you slow and deep. He watches your face like it’s the most beautiful sight in the world. To him, it is.

Late nights when he comes back from a job are always full of desperate kisses, shallow thrusts and whispered praises. He needs it more than you, and you’ll happily let him have it, even if you’re half asleep.

It was home to her.

And it was all thanks to her father, who would do anything to see her happy and healthy. She was far luckier than most and she knew that implicitly. She would always remain grateful to him- who sacrificed so much of his own life to see her succeed. Even with the death of her mother, his soulmate, he remained kind and empathetic, unwilling to let the burdens of his life affect her.

It wasn’t easy, though. 

The death of her mother constantly loomed over her head, reminding her of her own fragility and mortality. Her father tried his best to act like her death didn’t hinder him, but cracks would occasionally appear, reminding her that he was only human after all- not a mindless machine. But he refused to admit it, choosing instead to throw himself into his work in order to fund her own life. All in the name of selfless love.

It was heartbreaking, but she understood, even if she couldn’t actually understand.

Soulmates were almost impossibly rare. A life long bond between two people destined in the stars to be a perfect match. It was beautiful and revered, but so, so painfully rare. Anyone was lucky to have a second half, let alone meet them and spend a life by their side. Losing them was painful beyond recognition and dangerous to a fault. It was normal to die of a broken heart or go even crazy in their prolonged absence. She didn’t understand how her father was holding all the pain in and remaining a kind person through it all. Or perhaps it was all just facade. One perfectly crafted in order to protect her from the horrors of the world.

Regardless, he was a good father to her and she would be eternally grateful to him for being in her life, providing her with her hopes and dreams.

So, thanks to him, she sits at a counter, endlessly shuffling through old books as coffee brews loudly behind her, overpowering the room with a bitter, earthy aroma. It was hard working alone, but she couldn’t ask any more from him. Funding workers was too expensive and the shop didn’t make enough for her to do it alone.

A small bell jingles above sharply  jolting her away from the stack of books in front of her. It was a sound she was used to by now, one indicating the arrival of a new, and hopefully paying customer. A small group of three men walk in, large and imposing as they puff out their chests. They elicited a sense of discomfort from her, a pulsing fear that trickled down her spine in electric jolts. But she didn’t voice her concerns, only plastered a bright smile on her face as she welcomed them in. 

“Hello! Welcome in, what can I get for you?”

“Nothing. Is your father here?” 

“Uh, no… he’s at work right now.” 

“When does he get off?” 

“Well, he works pretty late most nights… it’s not a set time really,” she pauses and furrows her brow, a confused look evident on her face. Fear pulses through her veins now, an instinctual thrum that puts her on edge, telling her to flee from them. “Ummm… is there anything I can help you with?”

None of them answer and instead they share a collective look before two disperse across the room, investigating her shop thoroughly. She can’t help the way her lips quiver as her eyes trail their movements, watching as they pick up books and miscellaneous crafts lining the shelves. One even bends down to pet the orange tabby, cooing unexpectedly softly at the purring creature. The leader, she supposed, stays standing in front of her counter, staring her down with piercing, sharp eyes.

“Tell him we stopped by for him. He’ll know who we are.” 

She nods quickly, her head snapping up and down as she tries to quell the rising panic. She doesn’t know why she distrusts them so much, why they fill her with such overwhelming dread. All that she knows is she wants them gone as soon as possible and she'll say anything to get them to leave.

“Y-yeah.. yeah I can do that.” 

“Very good,” inquisitive eyes gaze at the wall behind her, “can we get three black coffees. Medium.” 

“Yes, sir.” She quickly moves to the counter and rings them up before pouring the coffees, relaxing at the liquid warming her hands through the cups. They take them in silence, moving towards the door before one stops again, waving towards her with a practiced, eased smile. 

“See you later, ma’am.” 

Hopefully not. 

The door slams shut behind them, echoing loudly through the store and vibrating her restless body. The shelves rattle for a moment and the occasional item falls over, crashing loudly onto the wooden floor-breaking at the contact. She watches as they fall, helpless as glass shatters onto the floor, coating her shop in dangerous, glittering shards. A yowl of a cat echoes throughout the room and banging follows shortly after- all muffled in her ears.

The counter is cold underneath her hands as she leans over and grips it, her knuckles turning white as she grounds herself in the feeling of metal beneath her fingers. It does little to ease her emotions. She only gets a moment to herself before another person walks in, the bell jolting her from her from her spiraling thoughts 

The strained, polite smile is practiced and comes with ease as she greets them, forcing her mind to blank as she prepares their order. She throws herself into her work, ignoring the storm cloud looming above her, threatening to wash her in a sea of panic. Being numb is easier than being scared, but she can't help the thoughts that keep pervading her mind.

Who were those men.. and what did they want with her father?

~

The world is dark outside, shrouding the shop in low, moody lighting and cool air. The words echo loudly in her head now that she’s completely alone, allowing anxiety to wrack her body endlessly. All her tasks are completed and all she can is wait and think, scrolling idly through her phone as silence buzzes around her. She tried to make more crafts earlier, to let her hands think for her. But the idea was useless and all she did was waste supplies as her eyes remained unfocused.

There’s a knock on the door and her gaze shoots up, eyes locking with her fathers through the neighboring window. Relief radiates down her spine, allowing her body to ease for the first time since the unfortunate meeting earlier. 

The click of a latch sounds as she unlocks the door and lets him in, smiling and greeting him softly. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead as a greeting before strutting towards the back room, only stopping when she interrupts timidly.

“H-hey, dad!” An almost imperceptible hum of questioning fills the room as he fiddles with the lock in front of him. “Some men stopped by for you earlier…. Three of them.”

“Did they leave a name?” Tension fills his voice, an emotion she hasn’t heard from him in years.

“No, he just said you’d know them.”

“Hmmm, probably just a friend from work, sweetie. Let me call around and see what they wanted. Thank you, y/n.” 

“Yeah, of course!”

The door squeals when he opens it, cutting the tension with a sharp hiss. It's an eerie sound, filling the room with palpable tension as she twiddles her thumbs. He's quiet right now and that does little to ease her concerns. But she just stands there for a moment, watching as he starts sorting through papers and files calmly- ignoring her.

“Um, are you gonna stay here late?” 

“Yeah, sweetie. I have to go through the finances and figure some things out….. It might take me a while.” 

“Oh! Do you want any help? I can make us some coffee and pastries! We can have a little father-daughter bonding time?” 

“Uhh, no it’s fine sweetheart. It’s going to take a while and you deserve a break tonight. Go home and relax a bit, I’ll keep the ginger demon company for now.” 

A pang of disappointment stabs through her heart, her body deflating at the dismissal. He's been so off lately, so closed off from her and she just wants her father back. It’s useless to allow the emotions to show, however- to burden him any more. So, she just nods and backs away from the door, pasting a jovial, playful smile on her face.

“Well, call me if you need anything!” 

“I’m supposed to be the one saying that.” 

“Well you were too late, weren't you?”

There’s no response this time, only a soft chuckle and a playful wave as she backs away through the door. It closes behind her with a soft click, isolating her into loneliness for the rest of the night. Before she leaves, she bends down and gives the supposed ginger demon a quick scratch, giggling at the way he flops onto his back to show her his belly. It's just a trap though and after all these years, she's finally learned that.

“You’re gonna stay here tonight, mister. Give him hell, okay?” 

“Mrrrrrpppppp” 

“Good boy!” 

She walks home in total silence, ignoring the pervasive suspicion of eyes trailing her as she goes. It's nothing. There's no one watching her.

 She's just being paranoid.  

~

Driver always knew he would be alone for the rest of his life. Despite him wanting so desperately to feel normal and loved, happiness just wasn’t meant for people like him. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be this way, he just couldn’t help the violence that followed him wherever he went. The ache, the hurt would always be there. 

People like him didn’t deserve a soulmate. No matter how much he wanted one.

It was almost pathetic the way he craved it, the way we could almost imagine them by his side. Touching his lips and body with soft, delicate, unmarked hands, whispering into his ear about how perfect he was- how soft and nonviolent he could be. But it was just a dream, something he would never obtain in his lifetime. Forced to watch others love and be loved in the way that he wanted.

Perhaps it was just a distraction for him- the vibrant delusion of love. A distraction from the violence and gore he so desperately craved. Rage was second nature to him- the steady thrum of malice that coursed through his veins like molten lava. It burned in a way he didn't understand, didn't approve of. It was necessary though and he would choose to maim every time in order to protect those he loves.

Even if they didn't love him back.

Blood drips down his hands onto the grey, concrete floor, staining his shoes and clothes with the dark, sticky ichor. The drips patter slowly throughout the room, grating his brain with each fallen drop. The shop was quiet and devoid of people-  a rare respite from the endless work and chatter of Shannon. The silence is only broken by a splatter on the floor every few seconds and the sound of his heavy breathing. 

He watches it with curiosity, mindlessly enraptured by the way his life drips out of him slowly. The cut was an accident, a lug nut had slipped, causing him to slash his arm on a nearby door. But blood was blood, and it stained his hands nevertheless.

 There wasn't a point in allowing the stream to continue. So he stood, wrapping his fingers around the wound and staunching the flow, cringing at the sharp, hot pain shooting down his spine. He cleaned it slowly, watching as the white cloth slowly turned pink in his hands before wrapping it tightly with a bandage. It was clean, efficient and practiced over years of continual wounds. 

“There's a job for you.” The voice of Shannon pierces the silence, drawing his attention from the droplets of red smearing on the ground under his feet. “Jesus! What the fuck happened here!?” 

Silences wraps around them once more, shrouding the room in a blanket of tension. Driver's gaze is piercing as he stares at him silently, face blank yet somehow inquisitive and knowing. It's almost as if he can see directly into Shannon's very being- past the shadiness and constant lies.

“There's a small shop off of East 4th. Man there with a lot of money he owes-” 

“When?” 

He doesn't care about specifics. All he needs to know is where and when- he'll do the rest. 

“Tonight. At midnight.. no one else will be there. It's an easy in and out- minimal security. It'll take less than 5 minutes” 

A silent nod ends the conversation before Driver turns, walking back to the car he was working on. Blood smears under his shoes and he ignores it, much to Shannon's chagrin. Soft hands and soft lips float into his mind again as he works diligently, providing him with a safe, comforting delusion. It's harder to imagine than violence and blood, but so much more rewarding. 

~

The past week has passed restlessly, filled with dark dreams and long nights spent awake thinking. Her father had been acting even stranger following the arrival of the suspicious men. He'd begun to spiral, isolating himself constantly for hours, disappearing at odd times of the day, never answering her calls, abandoning the shop completely. Whatever those men wanted, it wasn't good. They were an ill omen for her family. 

It made her restless and uneasy, constantly on the edge of her seat, heart beating out of her chest at every second. The exhaustion and panic started to compile, threatening to overfill and spill onto her surroundings, disorganizing things ever further. She considered closing the shop for a couple of days. Considered using the time to rest and figure things out until things returned to normal. But she didn't, and instead she threw herself into her work more and more. Keeping the shop open late into the night and staying even later for meaningless repairs and upgrades. 

It was a poor distraction.

The blinds remained shut permanently now at her fathers persistence, no matter how much she disagreed. From the outside, it looked like no one was in and her shop was only saved by the bright, LED sign hanging on the wooden door. But despite being so isolated, so shut away from the world, she couldn't help but feel the eyes on her. Following her every waking move. 

And there was no one for her to tell anymore. 

The store was long closed by now, shrouded by the thick blanket of night, only being illuminated by the amber lighting of a single, dim lamp. It was quiet, too quiet- even for this time. She tried to ignore the silence, to ignore the way her eyes burned and heart pounded with anxiety. She knew something was wrong, she just couldn't figure out why. 

So she did the only logical thing she could do- she left. The burning in her eyes had become overwhelming, along with the exhaustion slowing her movements- feeling like molasses in her veins. Ordinary coffee wasn't enough, she needed something stronger and with a burning kick. 

The door shuts loudly behind her and the bell rattles away, dismissing her with its cheery chimes. The streets were practically silent at this time of night, only broken up by the occasional pedestrian walking or homeless animals screeching for food. The trip takes longer than expected, thanks to the store clerk endlessly yammering about her life story- unable to take a hint. 

But she returns, holding two energy drinks in her hands as she tries to open the door- only to find it locked. A confused look takes over her face and she tries again, blinking as it rattles in her face loudly. She didn't remember locking it, but exhaustion does funny things to the brain. So, she dismisses it and unlocks the door with a small huff, cursing herself for having such a bad memory.

The store is exactly how she left it: light still left on, bag laying on the floor, coffee cup empty and cold on the counter, and a hammer next to- 

Hammer? 

Her fingers graze over it softly and her eyes drift away, flickering towards the corner of the room. A pounding fills her ears, palpable fear that takes over her entire being, freezing her in place. The door is cracked, the handle having been broken and wrenched off, now laying in a pool of bent, sharp metal. A gasp escapes her lips and she fights the urge to cry as she backs away slowly. 

Click. 

Something cold and hard presses against her spine, sending a wave of terror down her body. It presses into her spine firmer, forcing her legs to move as it guides her to the counter. Tears well in her eyes as she looks down, seeing the large shadow of a man pressing a gun directly into her back. She can't help the whimper that escapes her at the sight and tears begin to steadily stream down her face. 

They taste of salt. 

“Get down.” 

His voice is oddly calm as it commands her, but she follows instantly, dropping to her knees so fast it hurts. The gun presses to her head now and she sobs, chest clenching with each heaving breath. It presses harder, forcing her eyes to clench tightly and lips to quiver. 

“Shut up” 

She chokes on air, trying desperately to reign in the tears to not anger him. There's a thin line here and she's treading it, trying not to fall off either side into the depth. A loud bang shakes her body, vibrating her legs and arms as panic shoots down her spine. It continues, each succession getting louder and louder, all as her heart continues to beat out of her chest. 

“Fuck!” 

It's muffled through the broken door, but she can still make out the idle, panicked chatter of two grown men. At minimum there's three of them and one currently has a gun pressed tightly to her head. 

There's no way out of this for her. 

One runs out of the room wildly, loudly banging into shelves and slamming items onto the ground as he rages indiscriminatively. His eyes lock with hers on the ground and he groans loudly, throwing his hands into the air as he spins dramatically. He points to her before turning to the man, yelling at him with burning fervor. 

“She wasn't supposed to be here!”

Through her tears she recognizes him, the man who bent down to pet Oscar. All along, she was right. And like an idiot she said nothing. 

And now she'll die alone for it. 

“Okay… o-okay! We can work with this!” He leans down towards her, brows furrowing in false pity. “Listen sweetheart. We just need the code to the safe and you can go. Completely unharmed” 

“Two minutes” 

His eyes flicker up to the man behind me before meeting mine again, narrowing into focused, dangerous slits.

“If you don't, we'll put a bullet in that pretty head of yours, okay?” 

“I don't know-” 

Cold metal disappears and she releases a small breath before it slams down onto her head, thrusting her towards the floor. Her teeth rattle as she catches herself on shaking hands, feeling the stabbing pain shooting through her. It overwhelms her for a second and all she can feel is the swimming of her head and dull, pulsing ache that blooms across her temple. The floor moves underneath her hands, sending burning bile up her throat and into her mouth. 

Fingers curl themselves into her hair, pulling her back sharply as the man stares into her eyes once again. She can hardly focus on him through the pain, tears, and bile threatening to escape her. The fingers pull even harder and she whimpers, her head and neck pounding at the sharp pull. Something sharp presses into her stomach and she chokes out, pleading with them to leave. 

“I-I don't k-know I promise,” snot begins to mix with her tears as the knife presses firmer into her side, letting a trickle of blood run down her side. “H-he didn't tell me I promise! I don't know… I don't.. I-” 

“We don't have time for this.” 

“I know.” 

The knife pressed harder into her, piercing the lining of her skin with a sickening squelch. Her hands instinctually move to grab his wrist. It's cold under her fingers, devoid of any warmth or life- as if he was inhuman. A loud groan escapes her lips as he continues forward, catching in her throat as her fingers form a vice around him, trying to pull him away. She can feel warmth leak out of her, dripping down her legs onto the floor, pooling around her shaking body. 

“Thats an inch. 20 seconds until another.” He leans closer to her, his face becoming clearer in her blurry vision. “Daddy owes us a lot of money, sweetheart. What's. The. Code?” 

“I don't-” 

It goes all the way in with a sickening squelch, piercing her body with hot agonizing pain. A scream erupts from her throat, cracking and raw, before being muffled by a sweaty, slimy hand. Her teeth clamp down on the fingers instinctually, and she feels the crack of bones as blood pools between her teeth, staining her mouth with the taste of metal. The hand reels back as he screams whilst clutching it to his body.

The hand around in her hair pulls tighter, pulling her up to a lousy stand before the barrel of a gun is pressed against her head once more.  

“You fucking bitch!” 

The world blurs precariously as she strumbles on her legs, her chest heaving in hurried, shallow breaths. Every movement sends a wave of agony through her side and causes bile to rise further, threatening to spill over. She closes her eyes solemnly, accepting her inevitable death.

She never got to meet her soulmate. 

Never got to say goodbye to her father.

Never even got to live. 

The door slams open with a loud bang, startling the men from their intents.  She drops to her knees suddenly, the pressure in her hair being released as they turn around to face the intruder. Her shaking, bloody fingers grab desperately at the ground, pulling her away from the men and back against the counter. Squealing, hitch-pitched whines escape her mouth as she goes, escalating in noise as the knife continues to jostle into her side. She grasps at it, desperate to pull it out, but terrified of the blood and pain that follow its removal.

“The fuck are you doing in here?” 

With dizzy, unfocused eyes she looks up towards the men, following their gaze towards the slender legs standing at the door. 

~ 

Tonight was just like any other night for Driver, filled with late night jobs and sleazy men. They had stunk up the car, filling his body with disgust and anger, but also uncontrollable anxiety and fear. The emotions weren't foreign to him, but this was pervasive, unable to be quelled by any means. He ignores it, choosing to instead focus the emotions into burning rage.

He told them 5 minutes, like he does every time. Not second over.

But he stares at the building, fear and anxiety rising progressively as the time ticks down slowly in front of him. His eyes shift down the street, watching as two men start to yell at each other, raising their fist in a fight of ego. The noise of their fight is easy to drown out, but the ticking of the watch isn't. He listens as the ticks continue, pounding in his ears with each click and turn of a hand.

Suddenly, a small ache forms on his temple and he flinches involuntarily, rubbing the sore spot to ease the pain away. It doesn't work and his eyes pinch closed, feeling as his heart starts to beat erratically, pounding out of his chest with each painful thump. Sweat beads on his forehead then, slicking his forehead as it cascades into his mouth. He is hot, too hot.

He doesn't know where the panic or pain is coming from. All he knows is the overwhelming urge to go inside. The primal urge to draw blood.

Too protect. 

White hot pain blooms in his side in an instant and he groans quietly, pressing a hand to the inflicted area, expecting to feel the warmth of blood. But there's nothing there- save confusion.

His feet move on their own accord, guiding him towards the wooden door leading into the shop. 

The scent of blood slams into him when he wrenches open the door, sending a wave of panic careening down his spine. His eyes flicker over the wooden floor, dread rising painfully at the glass lining the floor, mixed with splatters of glossy red. 

“The fuck are you doing in here!?” 

Rage fills him immediately and his eyes shoot up, locking with the barrel of a gun pointed directly at him. With a blank look he ignores it before his eyes drift off, following the trail of blood towards the figure of a shaking woman.

The world stops around him as his eyes rake over her beaten body, taking in her tear stained face and blood covered hands. It's all compounding now, the pain in his temple, the stabbing of his side, the pure fear and dread overpowering his body. It's not his pain, nor his emotions- they're hers. 

“There fucking wasn't supposed to be anyone here man!” 

“Yeah, well she fucking is! Just shoot the bitch and get it over with.” 

A pained whimper fills the air at his words, sending a jolt of burning rage up his spine. 

“Yeah, and have fucking daddy on our asses? Just leave her here-” 

The spike of a hammer enters his neck, sending a spray of hot blood across the room. Driver reacts on instinct, not bothering to think as violence fills his body, overwhelming all other emotions and thoughts. It's instinct to want to protect her, something buried deep inside him that he barely understands. But he listens to it, grabbing a nearby hammer and sinking it into the nearest man's throat without hesitation.

A haze takes over him as he rips it out, relishing in the way his blood splatters over his face. She screams at the action and curls into herself, cowering into her bloodied hands, smearing the ichor on her face. He feels it all through the haze and focuses on it- channels the fear into anger. Anger against those who dare lay a finger against her.

“What the fuck!?” 

The second man backs away, holding a bloodied hand up towards Driver, as if he were placating a wild distraught animal. His eyes lock onto his fingers, noting the bite mark streaming with blood- the same blood smeared across her mouth. The man reaches for his leg, whipping out a gun and aiming it at Driver, cocking it with shaky hands. 

It doesn't stop him, though.

The hammer shakes under his bruising grip, blood dripping off the claw as it glimmers under the amber light. The man raises the gun higher, aiming for Driver's head before pinching his finger. 

Time slows as she watches the man whip out the gun and for the first time in her life, she fights. Her leg kicks out instantly, colliding with the ankle of the man in front of her. Right as he pulls the trigger.

BANG. 

The shot screams out, rattling her brains and pounding head with a jarring, booming noise. It overpowers the fear and rage swimming through her veins. But the idea of him getting hurt, or even worse, dying, forces her to look towards him with quivering lips. She expects him to lie in a pool of his own blood, but he stands, body dripping with sweat as he rapidly approaches her abuser. 

It doesn't take a genius to know what comes next. 

“You hurt her?” 

“NO! N-no! I, I didn't touch her!” 

Wrong answer. 

A sickening wet noise echoes across the room as the claws sink into his thigh, forcing him to his hands and knees as the man screams. The gun clatters to the floor in front of her and she scrambles to catch it, her bloody fingers slipping on the metal. 

The room is filled with screams of agony and the heaving of a man scorned, but her mind drifts to the third man, still lingering around the corner. At any moment he will turn it and kill the man who saved her. 

Her body shakes as she stands, the knife in her side pressing harshly into her skin and organs. But it doesn't matter as she holds the gun up, aiming right at the entrance of the room. The world swims around her for a second and she stumbles, free hand grasping at the counter to keep her steady. The coldness of the metal grounds her for just a moment, before she starts to slip again.

The man's screams come to a whimper before disappearing completely, leaving the room in a tense stuttering silence. 

When Driver stands, he expects to see her still laying on the floor in a pool of her own blood. But she's standing on shaky legs, white knuckling the counter as she aims a gun at the room. He feels pity bloom in his heart, easing the anger running through his veins. His feet are silent as he approaches her, anxious of setting her off like a cornered, terrified dog. 

A gasp escapes her lips when his fingers wrap around her wrist gently, easing the gun out of her fingers with unexpected care. Her eyes don't leave the back room as she shakes her head, whispering choked protests as her body begins to sag into the counter next to him. 

“N-o, noo.. t-there's a third… no.. n-”

“I know.” 

Adrenaline crashes suddenly and she falls into him, forcing his arm to wrap around her to keep her steady. 

But he can't defend her and carry her at the same time. So, he sets her down far behind the counter and kneels in front of her, body tingling with something unknown. He wants to touch her more, to put a word to these emotions, but he has a job to do. And he always sees them done. 

“No, n-no.” 

Desperate fingers reach for him as he stands, but he ignores the pain and sadness before approaching the door with determination. And she can only watch as he opens it and steps inside, closing it behind him as best he can. 

There's too much going on right now. The burning pain and agony, the fear, the anxiety, the fiery hot rage and the tingling of her skin and heart. Sobs erupt from her throat as a dull throb erupts on her cheek, radiating down her spine in electric jolts.

 It's not her anger and it wasn't her pain. 

She can only listen to the sounds of violence echoing out of the room. 

~

The door slams moments later, indicating the return of the victor. But the sound is muffled in her ears, shadowed by the blood thrumming in her body, rushing through her head. Her eyes remain firmly closed as steps approach her, fear of the wrong man meeting her gaze.

But soft, leather caresses her forehead and her eyes flicker open, meeting the piercing blue gaze of her saviour. He says nothing, only wraps his arms around her body and lifts her bridal style. They both feel the pain echoing between them like a shared soul, but only he feels the panic screeching through him at her sweaty, weak body. 

The wound isn’t fatal, but it could be if it wasn’t cared for.

Cold air chills her body as he steps out onto the street, careful to avoid prying eyes and racing police. The door is slammed open and he sets her in with surprising gentle arms, his fingers caressing her arm as he walks back.

He already misses the warmth of her skin under his. 

The car roars to life and he pulls away, tires screeching as he makes his way towards Shannon. He will know what to do. He peaks at her through the window, paling at the way her eyes drift closed and body sags. The petal touches the floor as he accelerates, desperate to reach his location as fast as possible. He whispers towards her, voice stern, but not devoid of caring.

“No. Eyes open.” 

“Easy to say… when you're not the one who got stabbed.” Her voice is a pale whisper. 

“Tell me about yourself.” 

“... thats a loaded question…” She whimpers as they hit a pothole and her hand shoots to steady the knife. “Y/n..  my name is y/n.. I own a small shop and I, fuck. Fuck! I own a c-cat named Oscar…. who's still in said shop.” 

The car slams to a stop and she groans loudly as her body falls forwards. 

“Sorry… Do you want the cat?” 

“Yes!?”

There's no response, only the squealing of tires as he rapidly accelerates back towards the shop.

there are very few times when you’ve seen driver be anything but soft around you or in front of you. he’s extremely good at controlling his emotions, keeping calm in tense moments and not letting people know how he’s feeling.

but some days, he loses that. you can tell from the minute he walks in the door whether it’s been a good day or a bad one, but it usually takes a little longer to decipher how you’ll need to go about it.

it had already been a long day for him: shannon had got him on set early that morning (meaning he had to skip your usual morning routine together); then there were a few dickheads at the garage demanding for their cars to be fixed faster; and to top it all off, his car broke down just as he was leaving, meaning he had to stay later to fix it.

he had called you around lunch, explaining that he he might late home, but not realising how late it would actually be. he just needed to hear your voice in that moment, letting you talk about your morning and your plans for dinner. driver so desperately wanted to be at home with you, but he knew in his gut that he would be missing dinner.

still, he kept going, controlling himself in front of others as they shouted at him and shannon, continuing his work on the cars already in the garage as opposed to those who had just rocked up. driver was well and truly ready to go home to you, and that’s when his car broke down and he had to spend another two hours fixing it.

he dropped you a short text, letting you know what had happened. at that, you realised he had been having a truly horrible day, you just didn’t know how to make it better.

it was late when he finally got home. you could sense the tiredness coating his bones as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. he was surprised to see you still awake, all ready for bed in your matching sleep set that he had bought for you the other week.

the colour matched you perfectly, bringing out your eyes and complimenting your skin. in that moment, he knew what he needed. he knew what he had been craving all day, and it wasn’t until he saw you that he realised it.

his touch was rough as you felt your back meet the wall beside the front door within seconds of it closing. driver was pressed up against you soon after that, one hand grabbing your waist while the other came up to cup your jaw tightly. his palm was warm on your skin, his fingertips squeezed you slightly.

you were balanced on your toes to maintain some height against him. his bad day had gotten to the point of needing to be slightly rougher, but you weren’t complaining. usually he’s soft, so soft with you, and sometimes you wished he would let go a little. but when he was like this, it wasn’t just for his benefit. he wanted this to be good for you too.

a gasp escaped you as the hand on your jaw pressed harder, your head falling back onto the wall as your hands reached out for purchase on his denim jacket. driver’s usual baby blues had turned a dark, hazy colour, lust already covering his vision as he looked down at you. he titled his head to the side, a silent question that you knew all too well.

“yes,” you tried to nod, your movements obstructed by his proximity. “please, baby.”

at your consent, he pushed a leg between your thighs, widening your stance and pushing you slightly off balance. his hands help to keep you up right, the one on your waist squeezing tighter as he pushed you down and began to grind your crotch along his jean-clad thigh.

your moan was instant; the pressure and warmth from his muscle hitting you exactly where you needed it, and along with the hand on your jaw, it felt like heaven.

you let driver take control completely, only moving when and how he wanted you to. the hand on your jaw kept you facing him, his eyes boring into yours possessively as you whimpered at your pussy gliding along his thigh. he kept a steady pace, pushing your hips down harder to achieve a moan that slipped out easily.

he could feel you were drenched. it had begun soaking through your sleep shorts and onto his jeans, but he didn’t care. after the day he had had, all he wanted was to see you fall apart on top of him, exactly like this.

the hands that had been bundled up in his jacket were now scratching for purchase on his arms. his constant push and pull of your hips and the flexing of his thigh had built up your orgasm quickly, but you needed just a little bit more to get there. you hoped that driver would realise what you needed as you grabbed onto his biceps and squeezed slightly.

your pathetic whines were enough for him just then. he knew what you wanted. the hand on your jaw loosened slightly as he pulled away from you, taking away his thigh and the build up of your first orgasm of the night. you whined even more when you lost his warmth, your legs shaking as you grabbed onto him harder.

driver just kept his gaze on you, moving his hand from your hip to bring it up to your face. his fingers were still on your jaw as his other hand lightly slapped your cheek.

“you’re going to behave,” he started, a finger pointed in your face with his voice turned low as he looked at you. your eyes were blown wide with lust and complete safety as you listened to him. “you’re going to do as i tell you, or else i won’t let you come. got it?”

“yes,” you nodded immediately, grabbing his wrist. “yes, i promise, i’ll be good.”

“good.” he nodded back to you, happy with the knowledge that you would be good. he knew you knew how to behave, and he was going to let you prove it.

the fingers on your jaw squeezed you once more before his hand started to push you down. he stepped back, giving you space between him and the wall to slowly kneel down. you kept your eyes on him, your head leaning up to look at him as he stared down at you.

cautiously, you brought your hands up to his waist line, ghosting over the leather of his belt and waited for his nod. once you saw the subtle movement, you were quick to unbuckle it, your hands moving quickly to unzip his jeans and pull out his cock from his now stained underwear.

he was thick and heavy, the tip red and already spilling out pre-come. you gave him a few strokes, your hand gentle as it moved up and down his shaft, your other hand resting on his thigh for support. as you squeeze him suddenly, driver jumped forward, his hands falling onto the wall in front of him as he quietly groaned.

“you know what to do.” he muttered after a moment, looking back down at you as you just nodded.

your hand twisted once more before you brought your lips towards the tip of his cock. it was heavy on your tongue and you enjoyed the taste of his come already. the hand on his thigh kept you steady as you moved forward, breathing through your nose as you took in half of his length before pulling back off.

before you could move too far away, you licked the underside of him, tracing the outline of the vein all the way back to his tip. driver’s breathing shuddered above you. his hands clenched against the wall and it took everything in him to not touch you. he enjoyed giving you freedom to taste him however you wanted, but if he didn’t get what he wanted, he wasn’t scared to speak up.

“tastes so good.” you comment shyly, glancing up through your eyelashes to see how fucked out he was already. before driver could say or do anything, you took him in your mouth once more, this time going further down his cock to take him fully.

as he sat heavy in your mouth, you enjoyed the stretch of him, feeling him pulse on your tongue as driver groaned quietly. you swallowed around him before pulling off, setting a steady rhythm of bobbing up and down. when you needed a second, you would press a kiss to his tip, licking off the come that kept dripping out before taking him again.

you were enjoying this, enjoying pleasing him. as soon as you realised what mood he was in, this was all you had wanted to do. but driver? driver was falling apart above you. you were so distracted by his cock to realise how difficult he was finding it to hold in his whimpers, wanting to stay in control, but losing his will with each glide of your tongue on him.

when he finally moaned out loud, you knew that he was close. his thighs began to shake under your hand. one of his came down from the wall behind you to keep guiding your head back and forth. every ounce of his self control was withering away, and it was all because of you.

he tapped your cheek twice just before he came, managing to pull back slightly to come in your mouth rather than your throat. but you sat there and let him pump himself empty, your mouth hanging open as you watched him close his eyes and bite back a moan.

he’s silent for a moment after that. his cock was in his hand, starting to soften as you watch from where you’re still knelt down. his eyes opened to meet yours immediately, tucking himself back into his boxers, the zipper of his jeans still down, before he reached down to help you up.

“such a good girl, hum?” he praised, one hand cupping your jaw again as the other stroked the back of your head. “so good for me. knew you would be.” you just nodded at his words, your hands grasping at his denim jacket once more.

after a moment, he turned you both so that you were walking backwards towards your shared bed. your steps were hesitant, but driver kept both his hands on you to make sure you didn’t fall.

it didn’t take long for the back of your knees to hit the edge of the bed, your balance wobbly as you kept your grip on his clothes. he didn’t flinch, keeping both of you upright as he leaned over you more. the hand on your jaw tightened again, his face coming down so close that you would feel his hot breath on your skin.

“i’m going to let go of you, and you’re going to strip and get on the bed.” he said in a low whisper, his eyes boring into your own with a hazy look.

you nodded your head once more, “okay.” you felt him step back slightly before letting go of you. your legs were shaky as you pulled off your sleep shorts, feeling driver’s eyes on you with every movement you took. his attention turned to your chest as you pulled your shirt up and off your body, and you saw him slyly lick his lips before you moved onto the bed.

not wanting to disobey him while he was like this, you did as he asked. you were stripped and sat on the bed, knees bent as you sat back onto your feet. the soft sheets surrounded you and you were reminded then that you only changed them that morning. that thought left your head as driver began to crawl on the bed closer to you.

“so pretty,” he praised once again, towering over you on his knees as a gentle hand began to trace up your right side. you shivered slightly, keeping your gaze on him as his own eyes followed the curves of your body. “all mine.”

as soon as he said those words, his head bobbed down towards your chest, his mouth enveloping your nipple as his hand came up to squeeze the other one. you couldn’t help but moan, your hands reaching up to thread themselves through his hair as you tugged harshly at the blond strands. he groaned into your skin, flicking your nipple with his tongue as his fingers pinched the other.

“oh, fuck.” you exhaled, looking down to watch as he pulled away from your breast, a string of spit still connecting him and your nipple. you moaned so loudly that you knew your neighbours would hear. you didn’t care.

no one would ever be lucky enough to see what you were seeing right now; driver’s eyes were blown wide with lust, his hands were still kneading your breasts as he licked his lips and shifted his focus onto your other nipple. he repeated his actions, sucking and biting as he held in his groans.

you closed your eyes and threw your head back, hands still tugging on his hair. he pulled away from your nipple after a moment, moving to your skin to mark you with his teeth before kissing the area softly. he reached over and made a matching mark on your other breast.

“my good girl.” he muttered into your skin, licking over the growing red marks before pressing a hot kiss onto your lips. his hands gripped your waist tightly to pull you flush against his chest, his tongue pushing forward into your mouth to taste as much of you as possible.

“please.” you started to beg into his mouth, moving your own tongue against his just to tease him slightly.

“please, what?” he asking condescendingly after he pulled away. he was towering over you again, his face so close to yours it would be intimidating to anyone else, but you couldn’t help but feel more turned on. he tilted his head to the side when you took too long to answer him.

“please, need to feel you.” your hands started to grab at his denim jacket again, fingers fumbling over the buttons.

“i’m touching you, aren’t i?” he mocked, reaching out to stop your hands from moving before tugging them down to your sides.

“need more, baby.” you kept begging, your voice coming out in a whine as driver began to guide you to lay down. your head hit his pillow, the faint smell of him mixed with fresh laundry filled your senses as he moved himself on top of you.

he was still fully clothed, you could feel the scratch of his denim everywhere. it was overwhelming and not enough all at once. you kept your hands at your sides, letting driver shift inbetween your legs as you opened your thighs and he hovered above you, held up only by his strong arms.

you could feel his now hard cock against your bare pussy, imagining the material becoming soaked from his pre-cum, your saliva from earlier and how wet you already were for him. he was ignoring your pleas, letting you whine and restlessly shuffle underneath him whilst he traced along your neck with his nose. he stopped every so often to press a gently kiss onto your skin, but it wasn’t enough.

“ugnnh, please!” you squealed as he kissed your ear, your hands flying to cup his cheeks as you pulled him to face you. “need your cock, baby. need to feel you inside me, please. been wanting you all day.”

“yeh?” he asked, his eyes lighting up at your last words. of course, he had been thinking about you, too. every time your face or bare pussy begging for him popped into his mind, he gripped his steering wheel tighter and felt his cock twitch. but hearing you say that made him harder than he thought was possible.

he ground his hips against yours, pushing his clothed tip between your folds as they separated and let the rest of his cock glide through. you moaned loudly again, throwing your head back into the pillows as he repeated his actions. his gaze was still on you, hard and heavy.

“been thinking about my cock?” he asked, pulling his hips back again before pushing forward. he could feel how wet his boxers had gotten from you alone. “been thinking about me inside of you?”

“yes,” you gasped out, eyes opening to look at him again as he kept dry humping you. “always thinking about you. always want you.”

your words hit deep inside of him causing an animalistic growl to escape him. you’d never heard that from him before and it distracted you enough to not realise that he had pulled back from you, pushing down his boxers and jeans just enough to free his cock and run his tip up and down your folds.

only when you felt the slight pressure of him pushing into you did you realise what was happening. one of his hands were still next to your head as his other guided his red and dripping tip into your pussy. his breathing was shaky, both of you looking down to where your bodies met as you held your breath.

when he was fully seated inside of you, you finally took a breath. your body fully relaxed into the sheets as you finally felt the fullness you had been craving all day. driver rocked his hips forward, his pubic hair rubbing over your clit as his cock shifted against your walls. you felt hot all over, so blissed out that he could do anything to you right now and you’d let him.

while still moving his hips slightly, he leant down to press soft kisses across your chest once more. his tongue dragged over the blossoming marks as he made his way up your neck and over your chin. you could feel a slight trial of spit following his movements, but you couldn’t care less. he was inside of you, he was all around you and it was the best you’d felt all day.

“happy now?” he teased, whispering the words into your ear which made you shiver.

“yes, so good.” you praised in reply, one hand gripping the bedsheets as the other reached around to his back. the only grip you could get was on his denim jacket, but you didn’t care. his hips started to pick up pace, his face was squashed in the crook of your neck and you’d never felt more at peace.

at your words, driver shifted more. his hips started to move at a bruising pace as his cock dragged against your walls. you lifted your hips slightly and wrapped your legs around his hips, shifting his position and making him hit even harder and deeper inside of you.

as his tip started to hit your g-spot, both of you moaned in harmony. his was muffled by your skin, but yours was music to his ears. his hips snapped forward even faster than you thought possible, one of his hands creeping down your body to start rubbing your clit.

“fuck, right there.” you whimpered into his ear. the arm around his back tightened, holding onto him even more as he keep pounding into you. you could feel yourself dripping onto the clean sheets, driver’s fingers gliding over your clit expertly as he applied just the right amount of pressure.

the heels of your feet pressed harder into his lower back as your hand once wrapped in the sheets pulled his hair to get him to look at you.

“feels so good, baby,” you gazed into his eyes, your vision blurry. “fucking me so good, like always. always need you. only need you.”

at your words, driver growled once again. his hands moved to grip your thighs, pulling your legs from around his waist to push your knees up to your shoulders. his cock never left you, his hips still moving as he shifted you how he wanted and made you feel him even deeper.

“shit.” he groaned, his head now looking down between your legs as he watched his cock disappeared and reappear, completely covered and slick with your juices. the only sounds that could be heard were the slapping of skin, your laboured breathing and the squelching of your pussy.

driver was hitting so good and so deep inside of you, it didn’t take much longer for your orgasm to start to build in your stomach. he could feel you squeeze around him, hear your pathetic moans as he keep pounding into you.

“going to come f’me?” he asked sweetly, so innocently as if he hadn’t made a mess of you.

“yea,” you agreed, nodding your head as he looked at you. “yes, want to come for you. want you to come, too. need to feel you.” you tried to bargain with him, wanting him to fill you up as much as you wanted to come, maybe even more so.

“yeh? want me to fill you up? want my come inside of you?” he teased, looking up at you to see how fucked out you were. he had done that to you. “ask nicely.”

“yes, please,” you whimpered. “please, please come inside of me. fill me up.”

it didn’t take much longer of him rutting against you for you to come first. his fingers found your clit again and moved rapidly, white hot pleasure filling your fuzzy brain as you came hard on his cock. you squeezed him tightly, moans falling from your lips like a prayer as he kept his promise. ropes of warm come filled you as driver’s hips stuttered and they pressed into you one last time.

he dropped his head into your neck again, both of your chests heaving as you tried to catch your breath. his weight on you felt like a blanket, keeping you safe as you came back down while shifting your legs and hips to a more comfortable position. you wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss into his hairline.

after a few moments, driver pulled away from you. a hand gripped the base of his cock as he pulled out, watching his come slide out of you slowly. as he sat back on his feet, he traced a single finger around your pussy, collecting his come and yours before leaning towards you. your mouth opened instantly, welcoming his finger as you sucked off your mixed come, keeping eye contact the whole time.

when he was satisfied, driver climbed off the bed, heading towards the bathroom opposite you. you heard him shuffling about for a moment before the tap ran shortly and then turned off. he walked back out in nothing but his stained boxers, a wet towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

he placed the glass on your side of the bed before sitting in between your legs once more. you nodded as he held the towel up to show you, trusting him to be gentle as he wiped your thighs and sensitive pussy. when he was done, he threw the towel on his bedside table before leaning down to kiss you softly, a silent question of how you were that you knew all to well by now.

you just nodded as he merely pulled away, your noses still touching as you whispered, “i’m okay. you were so good.” he smiled at you shyly before pulling away fully, holding his hand out for you to take. he helped you off the bed and carefully guided you towards the bathroom, making sure that you didn’t even wobble as you walked across the room.

as you used the toilet and freshened up, you heard him stripping the bed, riffling through the clean bed sheets to find a matching set before remaking what you had already done that morning.

the sight before you as you walked out was something you would always be grateful for. the old bedsheets and towel were in the laundry basket, ready to throw on tomorrow when either of you woke up. driver was laid on his side of the bed, the glass of water in hand as he waited for you, the sheets pulled back inviting you in.

you walked over and sat on the bed facing him, never once taking your eyes off his own. he handed you the glass and you drank the whole thing, knowing he wouldn’t let you sleep without it. you placed the glass down exactly where he had earlier before shifting to lay down next to him and curl up into his side.

he wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as you got yourself comfortable and basked in his warmth.

“did so good for me.” he praised one last time, placing delicate kisses along your hairline and across your nose as he tangled your fingers together over his chest. “such a good girl.”

“jus’ wanted to look after you,” you replied sweetly, your voice quiet as you tried not to fall asleep. “wanted to make you feel better.”

“you did,” he promised, kissing you once more. “you always do.”

you hummed once more before letting sleep take you. you had driver in your arms and that’s all you needed. he laid awake a little while longer, listening to your relaxed breaths as you fell into a deep sleep. his thoughts were filled with you, of how you made him feel, of your future together. he never thought he’d be lucky enough to find someone like you, so he held you a little tighter as he fell asleep himself.

masterlist!

Home. What a word. What a feeling. Colt Seavers has had a home before, but home has never felt so warm, so kind, so welcoming as the one he shares with you. And his soul is at home wherever you are.

It’s been eighteen months since he confessed his love for you on the airport greenway, eighteen months since the two of you started a relationship that has weathered all sorts of trials. Lengthy separations, serious injuries, art-related frustrations, meddling outsiders — sometimes it seems like the whole world has conspired against the two of you.

And still, you are his. You choose to be his every day. Your love has never wavered, and his love for you has only grown stronger as you’ve shown him what it means to be beloved.

Colt still smiles to remember the night he proposed. The two of you had barely been officially dating for four months when he couldn’t stand it another minute and asked you to marry him. You were slightly less impulsive about the idea — you took a full two seconds to agree and ask how soon you could get married. Neither of you had ever been more sure about anything than knowing you wanted to spend the rest of your lives together.

Marriage hasn’t been easy all the time. Colt’s work takes him all over the world, and yours keeps you busy 24/7. Sometimes weeks will go by without you getting to spend time together, and sometimes the moments you can steal are spent simply falling asleep on each other’s shoulders. You and Colt have learned to treasure every second you get to spend together, hoping that one day, you’ll have all the time in the world to enjoy each other’s company. Colt feels a flutter of excitement knowing that time may come sooner than you think.

For now, though, both of you have a full two weeks off from your different jobs. Colt’s latest movie finished filming yesterday, and you’ve been done with your latest Broadway set design job for three days. Colt has been on a plane for the last fourteen hours and is bone-weary, but all he can think about right now is getting through that door and seeing your smile.

Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. Colt hits the top of the steps, and the hallway is flooded with soft golden light as you fling the door open, clearing the distance between you in half a second and throwing yourself into his arms with a beaming smile that makes his heart feel like it will burst with joy.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two hours later, the two of you are snuggled together under a blanket on your couch, listening to the gentle night rain outside. You’re both thoroughly worn out — you had three weeks’ worth of catching up to do — and now you’ve both settled in for the simple pleasure of basking in each other’s presence.

You sometimes catch yourself wondering if this could all be a dream. Is it possible that you could actually be married to Colt Seavers, world’s greatest stuntman and the kindest, most dedicated man you’ve ever met? The way he showers you with his attention, the way he is so intentional about demonstrating his love for you, all his unconventional ways of letting you know he’s thinking about you even when you’re hundreds of miles apart… sometimes, it feels too good to be true.

The past three weeks haven’t been easy. You always miss Colt when you’re both far from home on jobs, but this past separation has seemed to last an eternity. Every night, you fell asleep longing to be with him, and every phone call, every text message seemed so inadequate to express how much you missed him. You’ve found yourself craving a time when the two of you will be able to spend every evening this way, wrapped in each other’s arms and unworried about anything else in the world.

Like this moment. He’s almost asleep, his cheek resting against the top of your head while you’re curled up in his arms. In these quiet moments, listening to his steady heartbeat and enjoying the abundant amount of heat he manages to give off at all times, you’re tempted to wonder how any life could be this sweet.

The two of you have been good for each other in more ways than one. With you in his life, Colt has started showing more caution in the stunts he performs. He’s still the same fearless daredevil he’s always been, but now he takes a few extra minutes to make doubly sure he’s safe when he leaps off a building or dives straight into a pool of dark water. It’s amazing how a person starts caring about themselves a little more when they know someone else cares for them.

Colt isn’t the only one changed, either. Before, you never thought twice about staying awake for three days straight to finish an elaborate set piece, or going without meals for a full day, or obsessing over a job almost to the point of a nervous breakdown. Colt has made it his mission in life to check on you throughout the day and make sure you’re taking care of yourself, and somehow you’ve made it a habit, too.

With your head tucked under his chin, you feel Colt stir slightly out of his sleep. You start to shift away to give him more room to stretch out, but he just wraps his arms around you tighter and smiles down at you.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

Your heart swells with gratitude at his simple ways of saying I love you. “I missed you, too,” you reply, reaching up a hand to thread through his hair. He sighs and closes his eyes at your touch.

“So, what are we going to do with our two weeks off?”

You hum in answer to his question, pretending to think it over. “Actually, I was thinking about just getting a ton of work done in advance,” you tease him, grinning at the way his face warms into a smile. “Just locking myself in my studio, working all hours of the night…”

“That’s fine,” Colt tells you mildly, reaching one hand up to stroke down your arm. “I was actually planning to work, too. Your car is seriously lacking in scratches and dents. I thought I might borrow it to practice for a car chase through the neighborhood.”

You lean forward to press a kiss against his shoulder. “While you’re doing that, I could repaint your truck with some psychedelic decals.”

“I could also work on smashing through windows in the living room.”

“At least put down a tarp first,” you instruct him, your kisses gradually working up his shoulder to his neck.

Colt grins and tilts your head up with his fingertips. Your lips meet in a sweet, unhurried kiss that makes shivers travel the length of your spine. Even after all the kisses you’ve shared, the feeling never grows old for you. His lips are soft, gentle against yours, his arms holding you close to his chest.

“I don’t care what we do,” Colt whispers against your cheek. “As long as we have the chance to do this anytime we want to.”

You smile and nod in agreement, relaxing into his arms and letting your head fall onto his shoulder. The rain continues to fall steadily outside, the soft lamplight cascading through the windows and casting a golden shade over Colt’s skin. The contentment and warmth of this moment envelopes you, but something still tugs at the back of your mind.

“How long do you think this will last?” you ask softly, wondering if Colt is still awake to hear you. “Being apart so often for so long?”

Colt senses the hesitation in your voice and lifts his head to look down into your eyes. “Does it bother you?” he asks. You’re touched by how serious he sounds.

“Not terribly,” you answer honestly, not wanting to sound as forlorn as you’ve felt the last few weeks. “It’s hard sometimes, but it makes catching up even more fun.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Colt smiles. He doesn’t ignore your question, though, and he pushes himself up so he’s sitting up straight beside you, tugging you over so you can sit up on your knees and face him. He takes both your hands in his. “I don’t know how much longer,” he tells you. “Are you trying to say you’re ready for a change?”

“Not necessarily,” you say carefully, caught off guard by how serious he suddenly seems. “I don’t think either of us is ready for that. But to be honest, I’ve been thinking about it more and more lately. Being able to see you every day, both of us coming back to the same place every night…” You hear the wistful note in your voice and try to curb it, not wanting Colt to feel any pressure from you.

But he finishes your sentence for you. “...spending evenings together like this instead of with a goodnight text across the country.”

You nod, realizing that Colt has been feeling exactly what you’ve been feeling. “No matter how much I love designing sets, I get so tired of sleeping in hotels and only seeing you on video calls.”

“I know,” he says, reaching up to comb some stray hairs behind your ear. “Me, too. I thought about it more this last trip than ever before.”

You beam a relieved smile at him, suddenly feeling like you’ve released a huge burden just by sharing your feelings with him and knowing he's been going through the same thing. “Maybe we should start thinking about a new arrangement,” you reply softly.

“Are you suggesting divorce?”

You laugh out loud at his serious tone, and Colt laughs with you as he pulls you into a hug. “You are so ridiculous,” you say through a grin. You give him a peck on the cheek, thinking the conversation is over now that you’ve gotten that worry off your chest, but Colt surprises you by disentangling from your arms and launching into another serious tone.

“What do you say to this,” Colt proposes. “One more job each, and then we think about going into business together?”

You sit bolt upright at that. “Going into business together?” you echo in surprise. “What do you have up your sleeve?”

“What, you’ve never heard of married people going into business together?”

This is almost too much to process. “Colt, you’re a stuntman,” you remind him. “I’m a set designer. Those aren’t exactly compatible professions.”

“They could be very compatible if we started a joint venture as movie consultants,” he insists. His eyes are beaming with pride, and suddenly you realize that this isn’t a spur-of-the-moment suggestion from him. “That way, any company that hired us would put us on the same jobs, and we could each do our separate thing on the same sets. I could be a stunt consultant, and you’d be an art consultant. We could expand it as we needed to.”

Colt’s grin is infectious, and you impulsively reach out to frame his face in your hands. “Am I crazy, or does it sound like you’ve put some thought into this?” you ask in disbelief.

“I already told you, I missed you,” Colt shrugs. He takes your hands in his, then flips one over to kiss the inside of your wrist. But you’re not finished asking questions.

“What do you mean, ‘stunt consultant’? That sounds dangerously like you’re thinking about a career shift.”

“Not necessarily,” he continues, using his fingertips to trace the inside of your wrist now. “It’s more of a way I could pick the jobs I want instead of being Tom Ryder’s faithful shadow. Plus, I’d have the chance for more of a stunt coordinator job one day.”

You’re amazed at how much thought he has put into this idea, as well as how it so perfectly solves the problems you’ve been wrestling with for the last three weeks. “I thought you weren’t interested in climbing the ladder,” you counter with a smile.

“I never have been,” Colt admits, still swirling his fingertips over your inner forearm. “But if it means I have to be away from you all the time, I’m willing to take a little leap.”

“How long have you been thinking about all this?”

“Not long. I ran into Dan Tucker on this last set. He gave me the idea for the joint venture.”

“Remind me to send Dan a bouquet of flowers.”

Colt grins wide at that, and he leans forward to close the distance between you, pressing a gentle kiss into the corner of your mouth. “Does that mean you’re interested?” he murmurs.

“I might be,” you say, feeling your heartbeat speed up. “If I think I’d be compatible with my future business partner.”

“I can arrange for some compatibility exercises.”

You smile at his response, sliding your arms around his neck as he moves to pull you into his embrace again. “Will there be a fee for training?”

“No charge,” Colt mumbles against your jaw.

“Good benefits?”

“Lots and lots of benefits.” His lips are moving down to do something wicked to the skin of your neck, but you pause him briefly by lifting his head up to meet his gaze. His dark blue eyes are focused on you with the intensity that melts you every time you see it.

“Let’s do it,” you declare, hardly daring to believe that this perfect idea could become a reality. “I don’t know how, but let’s make it happen.”

Colt gives you a smile that seems to brighten the entire room. “You got it, da Vinci.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Believe me, it’s good to be home.”

Colt demonstrates his statement by pulling you into his arms and dipping you back so you’re laying across his lap. You laugh and pull him down to your level, resting one hand on the back of his neck while he kisses you. His kiss is gentle, almost mischievous somehow, as if he’s already planning his next move to surprise you.

“I suggest a two-week vacation right here,” you say breathlessly when he finally lifts his lips off yours. He kisses the tip of your nose as you continue, “I don’t care if we don’t do a single thing, as long as we’re together for all of it.”

“Mmmm, now you’re talking,” he tells you in the husky voice that always sends goosebumps over your skin. Another kiss, this one on your forehead. “But I bet we can think of lots of things to do.”

“You think?” you ask slyly, and your smirk prompts Colt to gather you up in his arms and stand, an impressive show of strength even from him. Your grin widens, and you capture his lips in a kiss that leaves you both heated and flushed. This is worth all of it, you think. All the lonely nights, all the uncertainty — it all fades in the heat of his gaze, this man you love with every fiber of your being.

Yesterday shook him up, in more ways than one. Staring down the headlights of a train while Elijah Gordon pushed him to stay a few more seconds was terrifying even for him. Seeing you engage in a showdown with Gordon himself in front of the entire crew was so completely unexpected and selfless that he hasn’t been able to get it out of his mind. No one has ever stood up for him like that.

The more he’s thought it over, the more he’s realized that he’s been blind. Blind to your feelings, blind to your sincerity, blind to the fact that he’s been on the verge of his sweetest dream come true. He’s been pushing you away because he thought he wasn’t good enough for you, but after what happened yesterday, he’s starting to realize that doesn’t matter.

He keeps remembering the look in your eyes when you were in the tent together. The gentle way your fingertips stroked his hair, the soft skin of your neck against his lips, the way you held him as if he were designed to fit in your arms. If your fierceness in defending him didn’t convince him that he needed to wake up and confess his love for you, the heated look in your eyes did. His plan upon finding you has been to simply pour out his heart and see if you’re still willing to accept him after everything that’s happened.

Colt finally finds an empty bench a few stations down from the camera crew, and he unfolds your note carefully. A gentle smile crosses his lips when he sees you’ve scribbled it by hand, your artistic handwriting scrawled in green ink across a piece of office paper. The smile slowly fades, though, as he scans the contents of your letter.

Dear Colt,

I’m sorry to leave without saying goodbye, but I figured we’ve already said a lot of things that are more important than goodbyes. I want you to know that I’m not leaving because you hurt me or because I’m angry with you. I just think it’s best this way, for both of us.

I quit my job last night as Gordon’s set director. After everything that’s happened, I just can’t work for him. I’ve already had a few offers back in L.A., so I’ll be fine. I wish you the best as you finish the movie. You really are the best stuntman in the business, and I hope you stay safe.

I’ve already told you most of what I feel, so I won’t beat a dead horse any more. Still, in case I haven’t told you enough, I want you to know that the time I’ve spent with you has been the happiest I’ve had in a long time. I don’t know why you’re so dead-set on believing you’re not good enough for me. That thought has never entered my mind and never will. You’re the best person I know. When I look back on my memories of love, I will always think of you. Whatever you think you’d be holding me back from, it doesn’t matter to me half as much as you do. Please believe that.

I wish you all the best, and I hope one day our paths might cross again. Until then, thumbs up and happy landings.

Colt squeezes his eyes shut once he’s finished reading the letter, fighting the urge to crumple the piece of paper into a ball. How could you have been so stupid? his inner monologue chides him. How could you not have recognized unconditional love when it was staring you in the face?

The memory of your touch hits him like a knockout punch. Suddenly, every moment the two of you have shared comes back to him in excruciating detail. Smudging paint on each other’s faces. Walking you back to your hotel room. Flirting with you at the club. The look in your eyes when you ran to him after the train stunt. Your hands on his face, in his hair.

Setting his jaw, Colt glances at his watch. 7:42 AM. If he can figure out where you’re leaving from, he can catch you in time. There are a lot of things he needs to say before it’s too late, and now, for the first time, he’s ready to say them.

He folds the paper, tucks it into his pocket, and starts running.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You grip your steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. The sun has already risen over the mountains in the distance, but the beauty of the landscape is the furthest thing from your mind.

You can’t believe you actually left. You’ve never quit a job before, especially one as high-profile as this one. But you just couldn’t take it. You couldn’t work for someone who would so carelessly risk the life of one of their employees. Especially when you happen to be in love with that employee.

You haven’t told anyone but Holly (and Gordon, of course), and she understood. She also promised to pass along your note to Colt.

Writing that note is the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. You wrote eight versions of it before settling on the one you passed to Holly. The most painful part was knowing that that note may be the last time you ever communicate with Colt. Saying exactly the right thing was vital, and you finally felt satisfied with the ninth version, which included a lot less poetic verse and a lot more explanations of why you were really leaving.

The airport is looming on the horizon, and a wave of emotion sweeps over you, biting at the backs of your eyes. What was the point of knowing him if this is how it has to end?

You can’t stop replaying your memories with him as you pull closer to the airport parking lot. Things started out so simple and easy between the two of you — making each other laugh, sitting together at lunch, cheering on each other’s projects — but once the tension between you started heating up, maintaining a friendship has seemed almost impossible. You thought you could handle it, but it turns out you’re not strong enough to face Colt every day if you can’t express your love for him openly.

You pull into a parking space, facing the vast grassy field that leads to the plane runway. A passenger jet soars into the air, leaving a trail of jet stream behind. You’ll be aboard one of those planes within the hour, and maybe when you get to L.A., you can leave all your sorrows behind you.

You’re still trying to muster the strength to climb out of the car and drag your suitcase to the airport, when something… odd catches your eye. On the busy street leading up to the airport entrance, a vehicle is moving too fast to be driven by a normal person. The truck rounds the corner to fly up the airport drive at top speed, and your heart constricts.

That’s Colt’s truck.

All your attention is suddenly laser-focused on that familiar GMC pickup, and before you know what you’re doing, you’ve leaped out of your car and started running as fast as you can towards the driveway. A few seconds later, Colt’s truck pulls to a stop on the side of the drive, and he jumps out without even bothering to turn the truck off.

The fifteen seconds it takes you to get halfway across the grassy field feels like an eternity, and by the time you’re halfway, Colt has already cleared the distance. He sweeps you into his arms, holding you off the ground as you try to catch your breath, completely overwhelmed by this grand gesture.

He came for me. He couldn’t let me leave without saying goodbye. It’s not over yet.

You’re content to stay like that, suspended off the ground and feeling his heartbeat pound against your chest, but Colt carefully sets you back on your feet and holds you at arm’s length. His face is a jumble of a thousand emotions, more than you’ve ever seen from him in all the time you’ve known him. He’s breathing hard from his enthusiastic sprint across the greenway, but his eyes are illuminated by his excitement at catching you in time.

“Colt—” you start, gripping his forearms as if he’s going to disappear.

He shakes his head, cutting off whatever you were about to ask. “I’ve been wrong. I’ve been so wrong.”

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief, trying to make sense of his words. “Colt, how did you find me here?” you ask.

“I got your note,” he tells you. “Holly told me how to find you.”

“Don’t you have to be on set?”

“Actually, I’m not filming anymore.”

You can’t hide your confusion. Colt isn’t working on the movie anymore? What kind of insane coincidence could this be? “What?” you squeak, gripping his arms even harder. “Please tell me you didn’t quit because I did!”

Colt shakes his head, which relieves you. “Tom quit the movie last night,” Colt explains, his eyes never leaving yours. “Called Gordon and told him he was sick of taking orders and wasn’t working for him anymore. I’d say it had something to do with you taking Gordon to task yesterday,” he adds with something that sounds a little like humor. “Tom doesn’t want something like that reflecting badly on him.”

You laugh in pure disbelief, amazed at the turn of events you could never have expected. “Well, I never thought I’d be grateful to Tom Ryder for anything,” you say honestly, and Colt laughs with you, genuine joy behind his eyes. You search his face for answers about why he has rushed to the airport to see you. You begin, “Listen, you didn’t have to come all this way just to tell me—”

“I did,” Colt says definitively. “Believe me, I did. Because what I have to say isn’t something that can be done long-distance.”

Your heart drops. This is it. After all this time, you’re about to hear the words that you know are true, the ones you’ve been waiting for, from his own lips.

“Colt…”

Colt takes a step backwards, his hands falling from your arms to hold your hands between the two of you. The look in his eyes can only be described as utter sincerity.

“I have been so wrong about selling you short,” he says softly, emotion threatening to break through his voice. “I keep putting you on this impossibly high pedestal and believing that you’re way too good for me. I thought you could never feel what I feel because I don’t see myself the way I see you. To me, you’re every wonderful thing that ever existed.”

Tears spring into your eyes at his words, so totally without guile. “Are you serious?” you whisper.

“Absolutely serious.” His eyes blaze with an intensity you haven’t seen before, and his grip on your hands grows tighter as he says, “Listen, I’ve never said this to anyone in my life, but… I love you.” Colt stops, his voice catching in his throat when he sees the tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you on set painting that triple-sized stop sign.” You both laugh at the memory, relieving some of the overwhelming emotion.

He keeps going. “I’m so in love with you it actually scares me,” he finishes, “because nothing has ever meant so much to me as getting this right. I can’t keep holding it back, and you deserve to know. It’s killing me.”

“Colt…” It’s as if you’ve forgotten every word but his name.

Still, Colt presses on, trying to get three months’ worth of communication out in three minutes. “I’m not asking anything in return,” he tells you insistently. “If you still want to go, I won’t stop you. You don’t need to say or do anything, but I just had to get this out. After yesterday, with the train stunt almost going wrong, and you telling Gordon off, and then when you told me you love me and want to be with me no matter what, I don’t know… it just sort of woke me up.”

Your eyes brim with tears again, and you squeeze his hands, giving him an encouraging smile to keep going. You can feel his pulse in his hands, flying as fast as the jet planes soaring over the nearby mountains.

“I’ve been holding back because I didn’t want you to be stuck with a guy like me.” Colt can’t seem to stop the avalanche of words spilling out of his mouth, every one as sweet as honey to your ears. “I keep imagining this amazing future for you and thinking that I’m only going to hold you back and get in the way. I’m still not sure it wouldn’t be that way, but… I’m not the only one who gets to make that decision.” His voice thickens with emotion again. “No one has ever cheered me on the way you do. No one has ever supported me with everything I do, and made me feel like I actually have a chance at real love. But you’re different. You make me feel like I can do anything, and if you still want me after all we’ve been through, I’m yours.”

The look in Colt’s eyes is enough to make your knees feel weak, and you throw yourself forward to steady yourself, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. Colt’s instant embrace is more welcome than you could have imagined.

“Of course I want you,” you whisper in his ear. “Just you, no strings attached.”

Colt holds you against him for a few moments, long enough that a plane takes off from the landing strip and zooms far enough away that it doesn’t drown out his words. Finally, carefully, he pries himself out of your arms and holds you at arm’s length, his hands on your waist. “Look, I can’t promise that it’ll be easy,” he continues in a rush. “I’m a stuntman. Life is scary and dangerous and all that.”

“I don’t care about that,” you answer honestly, beaming through your tears. “If it’s what you love doing, there’s nothing I want more than for you to do it. I can handle it.”

“It’s not just that. I’ve never… I’ve never had a serious relationship before. Everything will be new for me, and I’m going to make a ton of mistakes.”

Colt’s eyes are misty, too, and your heart is so full of joy that it feels like it will burst. You know it must be radiating from your face, because Colt starts grinning back at you, seeming to sense how much you’ve been aching to hear these words from him.

“So am I,” you insist, your hands fluttering back and forth from his face to his shoulders over and over. “Mistakes are just part of a relationship. As long as we communicate and stay committed, we’re not going to fall apart just because of a few mistakes.”

Colt nods, flexing his fingers against your waist as his smile overtakes his entire face. Still, he doesn’t lose control: he seems to be holding back until he’s finished saying everything that’s been building up over the months. You’re more than happy to let your gaze wander over his wonderful face, to bask in the fact that Colt Seavers loves you back and isn’t going to let you go.

“There’s one more thing,” he says gingerly. “I… I don’t really have a lot of grand aspirations for the future. I’m a stuntman because that’s what I love doing, but there aren’t a lot of ways to move up the ladder. I’ll be doing stunts until I’m dead or until I can’t anymore, so basically, my future is just to be a working-class guy. I’ll just be an unknown stuntman.” He hesitates at the end of his speech, as if he honestly believes this could be a problem for you.

You want to laugh in sheer glee, but you hold back so Colt won’t think you’re taking his seriousness lightly. “If that bothered me,” you inform him, moving your thumbs lightly against the sides of his neck, “I would never have fallen in love with you in the first place. Colt, I’m not exactly shooting for the stars myself as a set decorator. Sure, I may have a chance to work on even bigger films, and it can always open up some new opportunities, but I’m not doing this to climb the ladder either. If we’re both working-class professionals for the rest of our lives, that’s fine with me. As long as I have you in my life, I don’t care what kind of life it is.”

Colt’s eyes finally brim over with the tears he has valiantly been holding back. His hands are trembling against your waist, and he ducks his head so you won’t see how much this confession has affected him. You pull him close to you again, resting your head just below his chin while he squeezes you tightly enough to take your breath away. This is what heaven must be like.

He’s whispering something against the top of your hair, so low you can barely hear it. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do,” Colt replies, the regret in his voice obvious. “I haven’t been able to make up my mind about what to do because all this has been in the back of my head. I should have just come clean with you the first time you ever let me know how you feel.” He lifts your head with his fingers under your chin, meeting your tear-stained gaze with one of his own. “It would have saved you all this heartbreak,” he whispers.

You smile up at him, resting your hand on his cheek. “What’s love without a little heartbreak?” you tease him. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

Colt finally returns your smile, his shoulders relaxing as if he suddenly believes that this is real. “I promise I won’t break your heart again,” he says solemnly.

“I believe that.” And you do.

Colt is looking into your eyes with all the passion of the ocean in a storm, and you can feel the blush in your cheeks building just from the way he’s looking at you. You’re suddenly hyper-conscious of his hand that’s still resting under your chin, tilting your head back to look deep in your eyes. The hand that is slowly, ever so slowly, bringing your face closer to his.

Colt hesitates for a moment when your lips are just inches apart. You’ve been here so many times, so close to a kiss, and have parted every time. This time, however, you know his heart is beating for you alone, and you feel like you have all the time in the world to savor this moment.

His gaze flickers down to your lips, and his breath seems to double its pace as he considers what he’s about to do. He lifts an eyebrow at you, as if asking, Are you ready? Your smile tells him all he needs to know, and finally, finally, Colt closes the endless distance between you.

The moment your lips meet his, your heart whispers, This is what you were made to do. Colt’s kiss is everything gentle and passionate, his lips moving slowly against yours in a rhythm that is so incredibly natural. His hands find landing spots on your back when you tighten your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him as he deepens the kiss.

Every last circuit in your brain is exploding in the sweetest way possible. Is this how it’s supposed to feel? you wonder, and Colt pulls away from your mouth at that exact moment, fixing his eyes on yours with an expression that tells you he’s wondering the same thing.

The separation only lasts a moment, though, because now that Colt has had a taste of your lips, he can’t get enough. He kisses you again, and again, and again, and again, until you’re both so out of breath you wonder if you’ll ever recover. His hands move up and down your back, clutching your body so tightly against his that you’ve started breathing in rhythm with each other. You can taste salt on his lips, and you have no idea if it’s from your tears or his.

Just when you think you’re about to drown in the sweetest possible way, Colt presses one more soft kiss against your lips, then pulls back so you can breathe. You find yourself gasping for air and aren’t surprised to see him doing the same. Your hands stay on his shoulders as they heave up and down, and he doesn’t loosen his hold on you for a second.

“Colt…” you sigh, your lips feeling like they’ve actually changed shape, “I’ve dreamed about this so many times. You have no idea.”

He inclines his head toward you, resting his cheek against yours. His beard scratches your skin in a way that sends a delightful shiver down your spine. “Me, too,” he whispers against your cheek.

“Promise me this is real.”

“It’s real,” Colt assures you, dipping his head so he can press a kiss against the skin right below your ear. “Realer than anything I’ve done in my life.”

You feel like your body is about to sail into orbit at the contact, and you grip Colt’s broad shoulders even harder as his lips move down your neck, across your throat, down to your collarbone. You know you’re making breathless sounds that betray how much he’s exciting you, but you are far past the point of caring.

With every kiss, it’s as if Colt is repeating the words he said just a few moments ago: I love you. I love you. I love you. One of his hands moves from your lower back to cradle your chin, tilting your head to the side to give him better access to your neck.

“I’ve been aching for you,” he murmurs close to your ear. “Burning for you.”

His words inspire an entirely new shiver down your spine, one that makes you stand on your toes and arch even further into his arms. All you can manage to choke out is, “I love you so much… so much…”

You slide one hand into his hair, remembering how he reacted the last time you did that. Right on cue, Colt lets out a soft sound that makes every inch of your skin erupt into goosebumps. He goes still in your arms, his mouth still on the curve where your shoulder meets your neck. You run your fingers through his hair with firm but gentle strokes, reveling in the way he seems to melt in your arms.

After a few moments of it, Colt finally straightens again, his intense gaze locked on your face. You leave one hand in his thick hair and let your other wander to his face. Using just your fingertips, you trace his forehead, his cheekbone, his nose, his lips, his jaw, everything you’ve been dying to touch. Colt’s eyes flutter closed at your touch, as if he’s about to come undone right before your eyes. Your heart leaps when he leans his head to the side, leaning in to your touch.

You choose to copy his actions, rising up to press your lips to his pulse point, right below his neck. The way Colt’s hands on your waist flex in response tells you you’ve found something he likes. You trail your way up until you’re peppering kisses behind his ear, then on his cheek, on his nose, on both his closed eyelids.

At the sensation of your kisses on his face, Colt opens his eyes and smiles at you. It’s a new smile this time, one that speaks of a new emotion he’s feeling for the first time. Peacefulness. Assurance.

Colt raises his hands to frame your face, tucking the strands of hair that he’s pulled loose back behind your ears. His voice breaks when he says softly, “I may never find the right words to tell you how I really feel about you, but I promise I’m going to take every opportunity to try.”

You rest your hands on his chest, grinning as you reply, “We’ve got the rest of our lives for you to think of the right words. I’ve heard all the ones I need to know what you mean.”

Colt’s eyes are brimming over with the love he’s been demonstrating, the adoration, the gratitude, the sheer bliss of sharing this moment with the one person he’s been waiting all his life for. “You’re everything to me…” he murmurs, lowering his lips to touch yours again. “I’ve never…” he restarts, only to interrupt himself with another kiss. “No one has ever…”

He doesn’t even try to finish the last sentence, and your lips are meeting in a gentler kiss, one that calms the fire you’ve been building for the last little eternity. His lips are so soft against yours, coaxing things from you but never demanding. Colt’s hands stroke through your hair and down your spine, holding you close against his chest protectively. You can feel every breath he takes, every movement that reveals how wrapped up he is in feeling you with him.

Another deafening jet plane roars over your heads, but neither of you take the slightest bit of notice.

Colt finally slows your kiss down, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth and leaving one of his hands to tangle in your hair. He doesn’t pull away, just lets his lips linger on your jaw, as he asks casually, “So, Sofonisba, are you still flying out?”

“Sofonisba?” you repeat, words slowly drifting back into your brain.

“I was running out of artist nicknames,” Colt explains, a husky edge still noticeable in his voice. “Had to look that one up.”

You grin at him, though he feels it rather than sees it. “I don’t have to fly out. I don’t exactly have somewhere to be.” You snuggle closer to him, not quite ready to leave his comforting embrace. “Haven’t even gotten my ticket yet.”

Colt hums in approval at that, the sound lingering on your skin. “In that case,” he suggests softly, “what do you say to some coffee?”

“Can’t think of anything I’d like better,” you say honestly.

Colt returns your smile, pulling you forward for one last, reverent kiss to your lips. Then he wraps his arm around your shoulder, and the two of you gaze off into the distance, where another plane soars into the sky over the mountains.

You don’t know what lies ahead for you, and you know Colt doesn’t either. But you are assured of one thing now, and that is that you’ve found the man you were made to be with. All it takes is one glance up into his eyes to know that he’s confident of the same thing.

That’s more than enough for you.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At the moment, Colt is standing on the other side of the train tracks, and you’re watching him from a considerable distance across the set. You have every reason to be there — this is the set you’ve been working on day and night for the last month, after all — but you’re not the least bit worried about any of your props or decorations. All you care about is making sure Colt pulls off one of his most dangerous stunts yet.

It’s been a strange week for you. On one hand, you’re glad that Colt knows you have some feelings for him, and that your friendship has been able to carry on without becoming awkward. His sincere, unexpected apology only made your feelings stronger, but you’re trying to ignore that.

All the same, being “just friends” is the slowest, most excruciating torture you’ve ever known. For one whole week, Colt has not done a single thing that could be interpreted as overly flirtatious, just as he promised he wouldn’t so you could be spared the pain. No subtle touches, no saucy looks, no double-edged words. It’s kind of him, really.

It also hurts like a razorblade on a third-degree burn.

Still, it’s better than nothing. As long as you can have him in your life in some way, you’re satisfied to try to quell these overwhelming feelings that threaten to break free at any moment. You’re in love with him — you know that now if you never knew it before — but you just have to be content knowing that he doesn’t feel the same way. That you have to love him as you’d love a friend.

So here you are, being a supportive friend as he casts himself headfirst into a dangerous situation. This stunt involves standing in for the film’s star, Tom Ryder, whose character is supposed to be shackled to a railroad track directly in the path of a moving train, only to break free just in time. Colt’s job is to pretend to be shackled down and jump up in plenty of time to clear the path of the moving train, which is, to your great dismay, not a prop in the slightest.

As the camera crew makes their last arrangements to start filming this shot, Colt turns from fiddling with a handcuff prop to catch your eyes in the crowd that has gathered to watch. He smiles when he sees you, lifting a hand in greeting and throwing his trademark thumbs-up high above his head.

Your heart speeds up at the sight of Colt’s smile, and you wave back at him in what you hope is an encouraging manner.

“Hey, relax,” a female voice says in your ear. You turn to see Holly grinning at you as she walks back to the cameras that are already in position. “He’s done this kind of thing a million times.”

You cut your eyes at her with a smirk. “I’m not worried,” you insist.

Holly lifts both eyebrows and laughs at you, always able to read what you’re really thinking. You laugh with her, glad to feel the knot in your stomach loosening a little. Holly gives your hand a quick squeeze in encouragement before taking her place at the lead camera station.

When you look back at the set, Colt is already in position, crouched down on one knee with his hands behind his back. You know he’s not actually tied down, but even seeing the fake handcuffs almost makes you wish you hadn’t come to watch.

Elijah Gordon, the director, is shouting some instructions at the crew as they make their last-minute preparations. He’s already cued the train to start moving, as it takes nearly half a mile to get the desired speed for the shot.

“One minute, people!” Gordon bellows, situating himself on a camera dolly high enough that he can see the action below. “We’re doing this in one take, or we’re not doing it at all. Colt, remember I want it to look real!”

Colt grins up at Gordon, his face smeared with fake dirt and his teeth shining like a white band through the grime. “It is real, Gordon!”

Gordon gives a curt nod, then listens to a voice over the walkie-talkie. Though your mind is focused on watching Colt, you can’t help the creeping disdain that you always feel when it comes to Elijah Gordon. The man is a phenomenal director, but he’s also the most callous, self-centered, inconsiderate person you’ve ever known. Knowing Colt’s life is more or less in Gordon’s hands makes you feel queasy.

The train whistle pierces the echoey tunnel chamber, and Gordon lifts his megaphone to shout, “Roll cameras!”

You put both hands over your mouth, dreading having to watch the scene play out. Colt looks entirely confident where he kneels on the railroad track, but you can’t help wondering what he feels in moments like this. Does he get scared? Does he lose faith in his own abilities? Does he ever doubt that the stunt will work perfectly? Can he afford to think like that?

A second train whistle stabs your ears, and you can feel your heart beating faster than ever before. You feel like you’re the one lingering on the tracks.

You can see the train now, and your eyes flit back to Colt, whose face is mostly hidden by the bandanna tied around his forehead. His muscles are tensed, ready to spring away at the perfect second. Gordon is shouting directions, his voice barely audible above the racket of the approaching train. He holds up his hand high in the air, signaling to Colt to stay in position.

The train eats up another hundred feet. Two hundred. Three hundred. Five hundred. Gordon’s hand doesn’t budge, and Colt keeps his eyes on the director for his cue to move.

You can hear your heartbeat hammering in your ears, and it takes all your willpower not to screw your eyes shut. You keep them open as if caught in a trance, bouncing back and forth between Colt and the train as if you’re watching a tennis match.

The train rumbles closer and closer, now near enough that you can see the face of the man driving the engine. You hold your breath, waiting for Gordon to throw his hand down in a signal to Colt.

But Gordon’s hand doesn’t move. Another screeching whistle. The train is less than a hundred yards away now.

You know he should have given Colt the signal by now — you were there for the days of blocking and planning that went into this scene. Suddenly your lungs constrict as you realize Gordon is pushing Colt for a few more seconds on the tracks, long enough to make the film audiences gasp.

“Stop!” you scream at the top of your lungs, but your voice is drowned out by the roar of the train. Your feet are carrying you in a sprint before you even register your own movement. Two hundred feet away now.

“Gordon, stop it!” The director can’t hear you, but Holly does, whirling around and grabbing you by both arms to stop you from getting any closer to the set. You can see Colt’s eyes get wider as he realizes that Gordon isn’t lowering his arm.

Everything in your entire being is shuddering, wanting to shut down, wanting to scream, to explode into action, but Holly beckons for two other crew members to help hold you back. All you can do is watch as the train draws closer and Colt waits for Gordon’s signal. One hundred feet.

“Holly, make him stop!” you scream at your friend, whose distressed expression tells you you’re not alone in your confused panic.

At the last second, with the train less than fifty feet away, Gordon throws his hand down, and Colt is already in motion, somersaulting off the track and into the safety zone as the train — all forty tons of it — whizzes over the space that Colt occupied seconds ago.

Holly and her two crew members hold you back a second longer, and when the red light on the camera flickers off, you break past them and run as fast as you can onto the set. You can barely see where to step as you climb over the platform and down into the dingy, darkened train tunnel, tears blurring your vision and your pulse hammering in your ears.

Colt is leaning against the wall of the tunnel, his face as white as a ghost. Several crew members have already gathered around him, but you shove past them and throw your arms around his neck, uncaring of what anyone might think. You can feel Colt trembling in your arms even as his easygoing voice whispers in your ear, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Once you’re satisfied that he really is alive, you pull back, framing his face in your hands and searching his eyes with what you know must be a crazed look. Colt doesn’t say anything more; the color is slowly returning to his face, and his nerves are calming down now that the adrenaline wears off. He doesn’t, however, loosen his grip on you, betraying how shaken he still is.

“Nice work, Colt,” bellows a voice from the train platform. “That was just what we needed.”

At the sound of Gordon’s voice, all you can see is red.

Setting your jaw, you turn away from Colt and stride back to the platform with more rage than you can remember feeling in your entire life. Every muscle in your body is quaking visibly, and your voice rings out loud and clear over the chaos in the set when you shout, “How dare you?”

Gordon turns from his conversation with a cameraman and gives you a nonplussed glance. When he realizes that your yell and your power walk are directed at him, he dismisses the cameraman to deal with you head-on.

“Something you want to discuss?” Gordon asks you, condescension dripping from his voice.

Behind you, you hear Colt making his way onto the platform, his calm voice assuring you, “Hey, it’s okay—”

But you’re not in the mood to be comforted. “It is not okay, Colt,” you shout, your eyes still locked on Gordon. Every eye on the set is directed at you, now that you’ve chosen to make a huge scene with Elijah Gordon himself. Colt pulls to a stop beside you, but your words are still pointed at Gordon. “How could you make him do that? How dare you make him do that?”

“There wasn’t any real risk, kid,” Gordon says flippantly. “Keep your bonnet on.”

“No real risk?” you demand. “Did we just see the same scene? Colt was trying to get off the tracks to stay alive, and you forced him to stay on longer so you could get a ‘closer call’ on camera.”

Gordon’s brows lower at that. “Again, not life-threatening,” he snaps. “If it were, Colt wouldn’t have finished the stunt, and I wouldn’t have made him do it.”

“You weren’t the one staring down the headlights of a train!”

Colt rests his hand on your elbow in an attempt to get you to calm down, but Gordon fires back at you immediately, “He’s a stuntman, my dear. In case you folks in the set decorating department don’t know what that is, it means he does stunts. Sometimes those stunts are dangerous.”

Gordon’s arrogance only inflames your anger more. “I am completely aware that his job comes with risks,” you shout. “But those risks shouldn’t come from a toffee-nosed director who thinks human life is something to play with like a deck of cards.”

You feel Colt stiffen beside you, and his grip on your arm grows firmer. “Hey, it seriously is okay,” Colt assures you. “Just drop it.”

“I’m not dropping it, Colt. If that train had been a few seconds off count, you wouldn’t be part of this conversation. You’d be in pieces on the train tracks.”

Gordon raises his hands to cut in, replacing the harshness in his voice with honey. “Listen, my dear, let’s just keep a clear picture of who you are, all right? You’re here to make the sets look good. You do that very nicely, and I appreciate it. So why don’t you keep your little toffee-nosed opinions off the set where the actual movies are being made, okay?”

You feel a shift in Colt’s body language again, but this time, it’s directed towards Gordon. You stand your ground, shooting a steely-eyed stare at the director that would make any action star proud.

“I bet your producers wouldn’t appreciate hearing that you risked the life of their top stuntman,” you tell him softly.

Gordon laughs out loud at that, as do a few of the crew members standing around him. “Listen, sweetheart, the producers pay me to make their movies look good,” he informs you. His voice changes then, affecting a curious, offended tone. “Aren’t you the one who’s been on a little crusade lately about doing everything with practical effects? You want to change your stance and say I should do all the stunts in VFX? Your boyfriend will be out of a job if I do that.”

A few more crew members laugh, trying to reduce some of the tension that is radiating between you. You know you’re the only person who’s freaking out about Colt’s close call — it’s not like he hasn’t done this sort of thing before — but you can’t help feeling like this is important.

“You absolute scumbag,” you hiss at Gordon. “You seriously are going to play this off like it’s just part of the process? Colt almost died—”

Holly comes up on your other side now, setting a calming hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, just—”

“I bet your producers would have loved to hear about that—”

“You need to calm down—” Holly says more firmly.

“And don’t you dare try to throw my own words at me like I’ve supported you risking people’s lives for a cool shot—”

Colt’s voice now. “Look, it’s not a big deal—”

“It is a big deal!” you explode, your voice echoing through the train station. “I mean, am I seriously the only one who sees any value in your life?”

Your comment is heavy, and everyone seems to feel the weight of it. Gordon hesitates, his eyes flicking back and forth between you, Colt, and Holly as if to make sure he’s not about to be physically attacked. The usual buzz of the crew is dead silent.

Finally, Gordon clears his throat and says dismissively, “If you’ve got a problem with me, kid, talk to the studio and see if they care. I can promise you they won’t.” He takes one step closer to you, and in a lower voice adds, “And in the meantime, keep your mouth shut about my processes. You’re good at your job, and I’d hate for you to have to get kicked off set just because you can’t keep your personal life separate from your professional one.”

With that, Gordon whirls around and walks back to the cameras to review the shot.

You’re still trembling with anger, your voice drying up in your throat as you realize that everyone in the crowd is still staring at you. You’re not ashamed of what you said, but you’re embarrassed that everyone on set had to witness it.

Ducking your head, you pull away from Colt and Holly and start walking out of the train station set. Only when the warm afternoon air hits your face do you realize tears have been streaming down your cheeks.

Colt is just a few steps behind you, and you look at him wordlessly, trying to read his expression. There’s not a trace of anger or confusion in his eyes — just a deep gratitude and affection. He slings his arm around your shoulders and leads you away from the set.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

The irony of that question isn’t lost on you. “This isn’t about me, Colt,” you state bluntly. You raise questioning eyes to him. “Does it really not bother you that he jeopardized you? Completely unnecessarily?”

Colt shrugs, his brow furrowing as he thinks. He seems so calm now, no traces of the panicky fear he couldn’t hide immediately after the stunt. “If I felt like it was unsafe,” he says carefully, “I would have jumped off the track no matter what he said.”

Another second, and it would have been too late.

“I know,” you acknowledge, a hint of emotion creeping into your voice. “I just… I don’t know. Just… seeing everyone act like it’s so casual and not important. Like your life doesn’t even make that much of a difference—”

“Hey,” Colt murmurs, stopping and turning you to face him so he can put both hands on your shoulders. “You are reading way too far into this, Picasso. No one is trying to eradicate my existence here.”

His tone is light and his eyes twinkling, and you know he’s trying to get you to laugh this off. But you just can’t.

“I know,” you whisper. “I just hate that it seems like I’m the only one who cares if you live or die. Including you.”

Your last statement makes Colt pause. You see the hesitation in his eyes as he mulls over what you’re implying. “Not true,” he replies at last, pulling you back under one arm as you resume walking towards the tents that have been set up for the crew.

“Really? Because you act like you don’t care.” Your voice holds no edge, no accusation. “You get more and more reckless with every stunt, and it just… it kills me to watch.”

You know you’re saying too much. You know you’re pushing the “just friends” agreement. But you can’t stop.

Colt takes his time responding to that. Suddenly, he seems to be really listening to the hidden meanings in your words, realizing that your outburst toward Gordon was indicative of something a lot deeper, something that you’re trying to communicate to him now. You can feel his steady heartbeat against your side, the gentle pressure of his hand on your shoulder. His steps are perfectly synchronized with yours.

“Look, I don’t have a death wish,” Colt explains at last, a serious note in his voice. “This is my job; I love the danger that comes with it. It’s like I said, both of us do our jobs because it’s our passion, no matter the risks.”

You shake your head. “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I was mad at you.”

Colt genuinely chuckles at that. “Believe me, it was obvious who you were mad at.”

“I guess I overdid it, huh?” You can feel some of the intense anger in your chest melting, and you let yourself release a slight laugh as you realize just what a spectacle you made: screaming at one of the world’s top directors on his own set.

“Maybe a little,” Colt confirms kindly. Once the two of you step inside one of the empty tents, he lifts his arm off your shoulders, and you turn to lean back against one of the wooden tables so you can face him. His face is still smeared with grime, and it suddenly reminds you of the moment you shared a few weeks ago, marking each other’s faces with your oil paints.

“I shouldn’t have made such a big deal about it,” you concede, letting your gaze fall to the ground. “I just… felt like it needed to be said after literally everyone on set witnessed it.”

Colt nods, smirking at you and crossing his arms to lean against one of the structure beams. “Hey, I appreciated it,” he says with a wink. “No one’s ever challenged a director to demand safer working conditions for me.”

“Maybe it’s about time,” you shoot back, your heart speeding up.

“Maybe.”

The moment falls quiet. The tent is empty besides the two of you, and all you can hear is the sound of each other’s breathing and the gentle rustling of the wind against the flaps of the tent. Colt tilts his head back against the beam he’s leaning on, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. You can tell that this stunt took a toll on him, even if he’s not showing it.

Without warning, all the feelings you’ve been hiding for the last few months threaten to spill out of your lips. Maybe it was seeing him so close to death; maybe it was your impassioned rant; maybe it’s just what happens when you love someone with the desperation of a drowning person reaching for air.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you blurt out, “I really do care about you, you know.”

Colt doesn’t open his eyes or lift his head back up. “Well, if I didn’t, I certainly do now.”

His tone is humorous, but you’re not letting it go now that you’re committed. It’s now or never. “No, I’m serious,” you insist. “I know we’re just doing the friendship thing, but either way, I really care about you.” Colt lifts his head to fix his eyes on you, and you choose your next words carefully so he won’t misunderstand your meaning. “If you ever think that no one cares if you survive the stunts or not, I hope you know it’s not true. There’s one person in the world who would probably go insane without you around.”

Colt doesn’t laugh, but he doesn’t sound completely serious either when he responds, “Ah, you’d be fine.”

“Please tell me you don’t honestly think that.”

“Look, Picasso, I’m just one guy in the world,” Colt reminds you, shaking his head as if he’s explaining something very simple. “You’re going to meet thousands in your career, which I know is going to be super long and super star-studded. You’ve got everything in your life to look forward to.”

You frown at him, caught off guard by his seemingly off-topic response. “Colt, what are you even talking about?”

He swallows hard, looking off to the side and trying to disguise the emotion tinging his voice. “I’m just… trying to tell you not to put so many big expectations on me. I’m the kind of guy who can only let you down.”

Your heart plummets at his words, and suddenly everything falls into place in your mind. He does care. He’s always cared. He just won’t show it because he thinks he isn’t good enough. The most wonderful man in the world thinks he isn’t good enough.

“That is not true,” you declare, standing up straight for emphasis. “You’re the kindest person I know, and the smartest, and the bravest, and the funniest—”

“I think you’re confusing me with Keanu Reeves.”

“I’m not joking around, Colt. When I’m with you, I can just be myself, and I know you’re going to be there for me. You’ve seen me at my worst, but you act like you only remember me at my best. I know it sounds crazy, but I keep getting this feeling that everything in my life has led up to meeting you. Everything you do means so much to me. Every word you say, every minute we spend together is so, so precious to me. You are so precious to me.”

Your speech seems to stun Colt senseless. You have no idea where all that came from — you just knew that you wouldn’t be able to breathe until you had told him what you were feeling. Colt stands still as he processes your words, and you don’t regret a single one.

“Wow,” he finally whispers. “I have no follow-up for that.”

You shake your head, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t need one,” you tell him. “I just… felt like I should say it.”

Colt mulls over your words again. You wonder if anyone has ever talked to him like this, if you’re really the first one who has ever looked at him like he hung the moon in the sky. How could I be? How is it possible that no one else has ever recognized you for the treasure that you are?

“It means a lot,” Colt replies softly. “Seriously, you… you have no idea. Thank you.”

You just nod in response, not sure where to go from here. Colt isn’t acting like himself, overcome by some emotion that you’re not sure of. You don’t know whether to reiterate your statements, or to wait for him to say something, or to just stand in silence together for awhile.

Colt finally breaks the silence. “You sure you’re okay?”

You almost laugh at that, some of the tension sliding out of the atmosphere. “Yeah,” you assure him with a smile. “As long as you are.”

He nods at you, his own smile returning in a quiet sort of way. You’re transfixed by the gentle light reflecting in his eyes, the relaxed slope of his shoulders, when he holds out both arms to you, lifting an eyebrow as an invitation.

You don’t hesitate for a second. Why should you, after you just confessed every secret thought in your heart?

You step into the warm circle of his arms, and he immediately lowers his forehead to rest in the curve of your neck. Colt seems so unsure of himself in this moment, in a way that you’ve never known him to be. He’s trembling slightly again the way he was after he had just leaped off the railroad tracks. You grip your arms around his neck even tighter, and Colt wraps his arms around you so tightly you can barely breathe.

In that moment, you know your assumption was correct. He does care about you as deeply as you do about him. You can feel it in his embrace, in his very heartbeat. Every time you move to pull him closer, he mirrors your movements, closing every inch of space that has ever separated you. The grimy film makeup on his face rubs off on your neck, but it’s the sweetest touch you ever felt.

Colt catches you off guard when he tilts his head just slightly to the side, just enough that his lips are resting on the side of your neck. His manner isn’t seductive or suggestive: it’s as if he’s just breathing you in, trying to memorize the feel of you in his arms. Your sensitive skin prickles at the sensation, and one of your hands finds its way up to thread in the ragged-cut hair at the base of his neck.

You can feel his impressive strength just by the way he holds you, but you can’t help marveling at the gentleness of his hands when he reaches up to stroke the back of your head, once, twice. When he cradles the base of your neck with all the tenderness of an old lover, your stomach twists itself into a knot. He’s killing you. It’s magnificent.

Colt finally lifts his head from your shoulder, his hand still resting at the back of your head. His thumb moves in lazy circles, as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and his eyes drag up your face slowly until they meet your own in a gaze that burns hotter than a supernova.

“I’ve never told you,” you whisper, your breath filling the few inches between your faces, “and I know I probably shouldn’t, but I’m in love with you.”

The words are hardly out of your mouth when Colt squeezes his eyes closed, a look of pain crossing his face. “Don’t. It’s not worth it,” he whispers back.

“It’s too late for that,” you tell him, tears choking your voice. “You don’t have to feel the same way. I just needed you to know.”

Colt doesn’t open his eyes, just shakes his head. “You don’t want to be in love with me,” he says softly, heartbreakingly. “My destination is a dead-end, and you deserve better than that.”

“Colt, I—”

“It’s better if we don’t go this route,” he tells you, opening his eyes so you can read the seriousness in his words. “You’ve got the most amazing future ahead of you. You’re going to be a lot better off without me dragging you down.”

Your heart constricts at his words. “Don’t you dare try to be noble about this,” you murmur, lifting your hands to frame his face. “You could never drag me down, and I couldn’t care less about what you think I ‘deserve.’ All I care about is you. All I want to do is love you, no matter what happens. If you really don’t feel that way about me, just say so. But if you feel as strongly for me as I do for you, please tell me. Please don’t break this off before we have a chance to even try it.”

The look that wells up in Colt’s eyes speaks to you in a language you’ve never understood before. His eyes roam your face, as if he’s searching for some hint that your words aren’t true, some way he can talk you out of your feelings. Realization dawns in his eyes as he reads the message you’re saying in everything but your words. I love you. I’ve loved you this whole time. You will always be enough for me. My heart is so full of you it barely even feels like it’s mine anymore.

He doesn’t kiss you — the distance between your lips and his feels like an interminable distance — but he lowers his face to yours in a way that is so tender, so intimate that all the breath leaves your body at once. He lets his cheek rest against yours, his beard brushing your skin softly, gently. You let your arms wrap around his neck again to pull him closer, nuzzling the side of his face with yours so he feels your meaning: I don’t ever want to let you go.

When his lips brush against your jaw, right below your ear, you can’t suppress your sharp intake of breath. You feel his hands resting on your waist, pulling you close against him, and you can hear his breath coming raggedly. He’s so different when he’s like this — no false confidence, no alleviating jokes, just the passion he keeps hidden from the rest of the world.

You slide your fingers into his hair, and you can feel him react to your touch instantly. He raises his face from where he’s been resting it against yours, savoring in the contact every slow inch he moves. His eyes are closed when he brings his face level with yours again, his breath ghosting over your lips in a way that is so effortlessly tantalizing. It takes all your strength not to tip your head back and drown in his kiss.

With his hand still resting on the back of your neck, Colt pulls you in close one more time, letting his forehead touch yours gently. You close your eyes, breathing in the scent that envelops him — pine needles, cinnamon, and something salty. One moment more, just enough to savor how it feels to be wrapped up in the very essence of him, and Colt pulls back, releasing you from his hold.

“I just can’t do it to you, Picasso,” Colt says, his voice hoarse and strained. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart plummets at his words. It wasn’t enough. All of it wasn’t enough to convince him of your love. Your words are the opposite of what you want to say, but you know there can be no other response. “If that’s what you want,” you answer quietly. “I’ll respect it.”

“I know.”

You take a few steps back, trying to ignore the agony that is so obvious is his voice. Colt still looks like he wants to snatch you back into his arms and beg you to repeat the confession you just laid at his feet, but he doesn’t. He’s too strong, too stubborn, too sure he’s truly doing the right thing by letting you go. You don’t try to talk him out of it. You love him too much to try to change his mind.

You take a deep, steadying breath. “You take care of yourself,” you murmur with a sad smile. “I mean it.”

“I will.” Colt doesn’t even attempt a smile back, the ache in his heart obvious on his face. His gaze wanders over your face for a moment longer, and then he turns and ducks out of the tent.

Once he’s gone, all you can do is bury your face in your hands and weep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The last twelve hours have been absolute torture for him. One minute, he was walking into the crowded club to drop off some equipment with the stunt coordinator; the next, he was sharing space at the bar with you, trapped under your spell despite all his vows that he wouldn’t keep pushing this flirty thing you’ve been sharing.

He’s been conflicted for months now, knowing that his feelings for you are only getting deeper but also knowing that a relationship with him is the last thing you need. No matter how hard he tries to be noble for you, he just can’t get free from the way you enrapture him so completely — the way he thinks of you every moment of the day, dreams of a future where you could feel about him the way he feels about you.

And he honestly thought you didn’t — that you couldn’t — until last night. When he completely wrecked everything, including your heart.

Colt squeezes his eyes shut again, remembering the way he pulled back from you just a few seconds before your lips would have met. In the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do: cut it off, laugh it off, let it go before he betrayed how absolutely captivated he is by everything you do.

He keeps telling himself that he did the right thing. That he’s no good for you, and you’re better off not getting confused by his overwhelming feelings for you. But he keeps seeing your face — the way all the light in your eyes vanished, the way your shoulders slumped and your expression wilted. He had no idea there were actual, genuine feelings on your part. And for him?

Colt has spent the last twelve hours deliberating how to handle this situation. He knows he has to make it right with you, but the question is how. His inner monologue has quite the speech ready for him. You can’t even THINK about confessing your feelings. You’re the one who has no future, no big dreams, maybe not even much longer to live! You have no right to force that kind of life on anyone. Especially if you really care.

After hours of tormented decision-making, Colt has come to the same conclusion he always does: he can’t let you know how he feels about you. He’s got to apologize, make sure you know he didn’t mean to hurt you, let you think he’s just been flirting for fun, maybe even rekindle your injured friendship. But he absolutely cannot let you know he’s in love with you.

And he is, isn’t he? He wouldn’t have waited with bated breath in the parking lot for two hours if he wasn’t madly, hopelessly, irremediably in love with you.

Colt has planned this conversation thousands of times since last night, but the only thing he can choke out when you climb out of your car and start toward the studio is, “Hey.”

You glance up at him in surprise, clearly less than pleased to find him hanging around the parking lot so early. His heart tightens at the sight of your pale face, the dark circles under your eyes betraying what was probably a sleepless night. “Hey,” you respond emotionlessly.

“Do you have a second?” Colt asks. His voice isn’t quite as strong as he hoped, but the sight of you is sending jolts of electricity through his veins.

You look to the side, pursing your lips and injecting a hint of coldness into your voice that he has never heard before. “Honestly, Colt, no offense,” you say plainly, “but I don’t really want to talk right now.”

Colt presses his lips together, knowing he’s the reason for this uncharacteristic coldness. “Believe me, I understand,” he blurts out, “but I’ve got to talk to you about last night.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you shoot back, fixing your stare on him again. Behind the coldness in your eyes is a deep sorrow that twists his heart. “I misread the signals, I overthought it, it’s not a big deal. You don’t need to explain anything.”

“Yes, I do,” he insists. “I messed up big time. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since last night, and I have to get this off my chest, okay? You don’t have to say anything.” He knows he sounds desperate, but he’s past caring. “Please, just hear me out and let me explain.”

You hold his stare, unrelenting, unforgiving. He loves you for it. “Fine.”

Colt releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, overwhelmed with relief that you’re even willing to listen to him. His biggest worry all night was that you wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t let him make things right.

He plunges right in, knowing it will be messy but not caring. “Listen, I’m really bad at this, but I’m going to give it my best go. These past few months that I’ve known you… it’s been really nice. You’re amazing to be around, and I always feel better after I’ve hung out with you. You’ve honestly been the best thing about this shoot.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but Colt can feel the iciness in your gaze softening ever so slightly. It gives him the courage to press on, even though he knows what he’s about to say is going to devastate himself.

“The thing is,” he continues, heart in his throat, “I’ve been so caught up in just… flirting and messing around, that I haven’t paid attention to how it might affect you. I haven’t been paying attention to the signals either.”

You furrow your brow at him. “What are you saying?”

Colt, you are the worst at this, man.

“I’m saying… I’m really sorry that I hurt your feelings last night. I’ve been replaying it over and over in my mind, and I can’t get past the way you looked at me when I pulled away and laughed everything off. Just, the look in your eyes and the way you looked like I had let you down — it’s been killing me.”

Your expression finally softens, and Colt hates himself for the words that are coming out of his mouth. “I thought this was just a fun flirtation between friends and that it would be better to keep any physical stuff out of it. I didn’t know there was anything on your side. Honestly. Not until I saw how much it hurt you for me to just… act like it meant nothing.”

There it is again — that hint of betrayal in your eyes. Now that Colt knows you care for him, his decision to “do the right thing” suddenly seems like the most gut-wrenching, agonizing thing he’s ever done.

It’s all I can do. I have nothing to offer, nothing to make a relationship worth the pain it would cause. I love you, and that’s why I won’t tell you.

Your brow is still lined with confusion, trying to parse out his real meaning among the confusion of words. “But you’re still saying… it didn’t mean anything to you.”

This is killing him. “Of course it meant something to me,” Colt blurts out before he can stop himself completely. He tries to amend it. “Man, I am so bad at this. What I’m trying to say is… I would never have even started a flirtation with you if I knew it would hurt you. Please believe me when I say I would never, ever, in a gazillion years want to do anything to hurt you or make you feel like I don’t care about your feelings. I should have been more sensitive and realized that I can’t just… lead you on without it mattering.”

Lead you on. As if I didn’t mean every word I’ve ever said to you. As if I wouldn’t die for you right now.

You nod, pursing your lips again with a clearer, more determined look in your eyes. “So, just so we’re clear,” you say slowly, “there’s nothing going on? All this flirting and hanging out and almost-kissing — it’s just been for kicks?”

“No, no, not just for kicks,” he backtracks immediately. Even when he’s trying to be noble, he can’t betray your trust that far. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What did you mean, Colt?” He can hear the genuine confusion in your voice. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

Colt takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he tries to focus on the right thing to say. “I’m just trying to tell you that I am so, so sorry for anything I’ve done to hurt you. I’ve been stupid and insensitive and awful, and I wish there was a way I could make it up to you. I just…” He opens his eyes, fixes them on yours so you know he’s telling the truth. “I couldn’t let this go without making it right with you. No matter what, you mean a lot to me, and the thought of losing your friendship honestly makes me miserable. Please just tell me I haven’t messed this up beyond repair.”

Please tell me I haven’t lost your trust completely. Please tell me I haven’t damaged the person I love most beyond repair.

You stare him down for what feels like an eternity, your discerning gaze burning holes into him. Finally, you sigh, seeming to come to a decision. “No, you haven’t,” you tell him at last. “I mean, I’m still trying to process everything and sort it all out, but… it means a lot that you wanted to have this conversation.” A note of humor slips into your voice, and the twinkle in your eyes makes a very welcome reappearance. “I mean, you waited for me in the parking lot like a stalker, so that says something. Not sure what.”

Colt laughs out loud at that, all the intense pressure of the night lessening with your words. “I thought about camping outside your hotel, but I thought it might be a little much.”

“Yeah, it would have been,” you agree, scuffing your shoes on the pavement.

Colt feels like the weight of the entire world has been lifted off his shoulders, but he knows he has to keep handling this the right way if he doesn’t want to risk hurting you again.

“So, are we okay?” he asks sincerely.

You nod, smoothing your hair back and closing your eyes while you think about your response. “Yeah. Yeah, we are. Just… getting some closure and some straight-shooting takes a lot of stress out of this.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Colt agrees. “I’m just sorry it took me so long to shoot it straight with you.”

If you can really call this shooting straight.

You shake your head, raising your eyes to meet his again. “No, I should have been more upfront, too,” you admit. “It would have saved me a lot of trouble.”

Colt’s first reaction is to argue, to insist that you haven’t done a single thing wrong, that this whole tangle has been caused by his inability to let go of the feelings he has for you, but he knows it’s best to let that go. Better to end on a positive note.

“Friends?” he asks tentatively.

“Friends.” You grin at him, obviously as relieved as he is to have mended your relationship.

Great, just friends again. Exactly what we wanted. Colt elects to ignore his inner monologue this time.

With the tension lifted at last, you heave a grand sigh and nudge his shoulder in the old familiar way, heading in the direction of the studio.

“So, where are you off to?” Colt asks you, falling in step beside you.

“Train station set,” you reply lightly. “Filming for that scene is supposed to start next week, so I’m scrambling trying to get everything finished. It’s the biggest set I’ve ever created from scratch, so it’s been a serious challenge.”

Colt grins down at you, nudging your shoulder with his the same way you just did. “I’m sure it’ll be amazing,” he assures you, meaning every word of it. “Your sets always are.”

You grin back up at him, your cheerfulness infectious. “What about you? Any big stunts today?”

“Nah, just rehearsing some choreography for a fight scene. Easier schedule for the rest of this week.”

“That’s good,” you respond. The art trailer, empty in these early morning hours, is coming into sight now. “Maybe you can stop throwing yourself off moving vehicles for awhile.”

Colt smirks. “Yeah, that’s the plan. Unless something crazy happens on my way to the gas station or something.”

“Oh, sure. You never know with a Citgo.”

The two of you share a laugh, and suddenly everything feels back to normal. Maybe it can never be completely normal again, but after the fears that kept Colt awake all night, this feels like he’s just stepped into paradise after being cast out.

“Hey, bad guys come in all shapes and sizes,” Colt informs you, feeling his sense of humor coming back full force. “Sometimes it’s a hard-boiled gangster chasing you on top of a transfer truck; sometimes it’s a plastic bag flying off the pavement and around your head.”

“Maybe that’s the real reason why recycling is so important,” you quip. A few more steps, and the two of you are standing at the door to the art trailer, the pink rays of sunrise beginning to touch the tops of your heads. “Well, here’s my stop. Thanks again for talking with me. It really means a lot.”

Colt nods, a genuine smile crossing his face. “I couldn’t let things be strained between us. Who would patch together the props I destroy in every take?” he teases you.

“Who would destroy the handmade props I painstakingly create every day?”

“Publicity stunts wouldn’t have been the same without you to critique my color coordinating choices.”

“I was really going to miss you sneaking me a packet of Mini Muffins every morning.”

“Consider the Mini Muffins sneaked.”

You grin at that, and Colt’s heart speeds up a few beats just at the sight. He’s glad to have this image — your captivating smile, framed by the pastel light of the sunrise, happiness sparkling in your eyes — to replace the one from last night.

You don’t say a word before turning to open the door to the art trailer, clearly needing some space, so Colt turns to walk away, but the door doesn’t close behind you. When he turns back to face you, you’re lingering in the doorway, an unreadable expression on your face. Colt hesitates, not sure what you expect from him, but he’s cut off by you closing the distance between the two of you and wrapping your arms around his neck.

What what what what what what WHAT WHAT WHAT—

Colt isn’t sure this is the best idea, but he certainly isn’t going to make the mistake of pushing you away again. Instead, he lets his arms fold around your waist, pulling you close against him. Every muscle in his body aches to hold you as tight as he can, and it takes all his self-control not to lift his head up a few inches, to whisper in your ear, You’re every sweet dream I’ve ever had. You’re everything I hoped love would turn out to be.

You don’t make a move to release him, and suddenly Colt realizes: this is your way of letting go of him. You’re taking one last moment to savor this closeness before you resign yourself to a simple friendship and an inevitable goodbye. With that realization, Colt grips you tighter, lets his face rest in the crook of your neck while he breathes you in.

The sun keeps rising, and still you hold onto each other as if this is the last time you’ll ever see each other.

Colt feels your arms loosen their hold around his neck slightly, and he takes that as a cue to release the death-grip he has around your waist. He didn’t realize he could feel your pounding heart against his chest until you’ve pulled back a few inches.

He’s surprised, though, when you don’t get go of him completely. You let your hands rest on his broad shoulders, your eyes searching his own for some answer that you can’t quite grasp. It’s as if you know he’s holding something back — as if you can tell how deeply he feels for you just by the way he stays absorbed in the warmth of your gaze.

A sad smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you lift one hand to rest on the side of Colt’s face. His heart instantly starts rocketing again, and all he can imagine is that you’re finally going to go for the kiss that has almost happened three times now. He holds his breath, knowing that he can’t trust himself not to seize you and kiss you with all the passion he’s holding inside.

Your fingertips trace the side of his face slowly, intimately, traveling over his cheekbone, down his jaw, right under his lips. His skin feels like it’s burning from the inside, incinerating him with heat. He knows he’s still holding your waist too tight for someone who is “just a friend,” but holding you is the only thing keeping him sane right now.

Your gaze slips down for a fraction of a second, landing on the spot where your fingers are resting tenderly. Colt’s hands are shaking from the tension. All he can think of is how close your lips are to his, how effortless it would be to lean forward a few inches and live out the daydream he’s had a thousand times before. He doesn’t even blink, unwilling to miss a second of being this close to you again.

Finally, finally, you take mercy on him and lift your fingers from his face, your own expression betraying the level of affection you feel. Right now, all Colt wants to do is close his eyes and let you trail your fingers over his face for the rest of his life, but your touch is already gone, and he finally feels like he can breathe again.

You take an unhurried step back, your eyes never leaving his. Your hands slowly slide down from his shoulders, his letting go of your waist at the same time. The distance between you suddenly feels miles wide, and it’s quite obvious that both of you want to close it again.

But neither of you does.

“Okay,” you murmur, eyes drifting across his face. The early morning sunlight is dancing through the strands of your hair, alighting on the dust particles in the air to create a mystical glow around your face. “I should go.”

Colt barely even registers his own response, still so dazed from the past few moments. “Me, too.”

You take a step inside the art trailer door, eyes hazy. “See you later?”

“Of course.”

You give him one last soft smile and walk into the art trailer. But Colt stands in the light of the rising sun for a long time after you’ve gone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

You can’t get him out of your head. You’ve spent the last three days doing everything in your power to avoid him on set, from locking yourself in the art trailer to conveniently arranging to work on the still-in-progress train station set. You had entertained the idea that if you could just keep from seeing him for a few days, you could stop replaying every moment of that night in your head.

But even when you’re knee-deep in epoxy or hyper-focused on scoring holes in iron beams, you’re envisioning the way the lamplight accentuated Colt’s features and reflected in his dark blue eyes that night. Try as you may, you can’t forget how absorbed he was in studying your face, or the way he wrapped his arm around your shoulders to escort you to your hotel, or the way he lingered at the doorway as if he wanted to say something.

And you especially can’t forget the way you thought he was going to kiss you.

But then, of course, you had to ruin it. You obviously came on too strong. You physically cringe every time you remember some of the things you said to Colt that night while you were so delirious you couldn’t even stand up straight.

“I bet the desk clerk thought I was drunk and bringing you home with me.”

“I couldn’t have made it without you.”

The fact that Colt has been avoiding you just as hard as you’ve been avoiding him only confirms your anxieties. In the past three days, you’ve only seen him twice, and both times he’s ducked away before you had to have a conversation. It’s not like anything shameful or immodest happened between you — it’s just that you made your crush on him so painfully obvious that you’re sure he’s trying to spare your feelings. The thought makes your heart ache, but it’s ultimately for the best. You’re not about to make a move when it’s so obvious that he’s not interested in anything serious with you.

However, the fact that you’ve been sleeping curled up with his jacket — the one that has his musky smell embedded into its very essence — has not helped matters in the slightest.

You shake your head as you glance around the dark room and wave at your friend Holly across the bar. You’re honestly an embarrassment to yourself. All your life, you’ve had an iron will that bends to your intelligence, not your emotions. Why does that have to change now, all of a sudden?

Holly makes her way around the bar, a drink in her hand and the evidence of more on her breath. You reach out a hand to steady her before she spills her drink all over herself, and she giggles uncontrollably. She’s a talented cinematographer and a dedicated weekend partier.

“Where have you been the last few days?” Holly asks dramatically, as if you’ve committed an atrocity against your friendship. “I haven’t seen you anywhere.”

“Just working on getting the sets perfect,” you shrug, trying not to give anything away. “Besides, I’ve never been one to hang around the cameras too much anyway. That’s your department.”

Holly gives you a mischievous smile and takes another sip of her drink, peering over the edge of the glass at you knowingly. “You certainly seemed to find ways to be near the cameras when a certain stuntman was on set.”

You stiffen immediately, doing your best to paint an unaffected smile on your face and failing miserably. “That’s all over, Hol. Not a thing anymore.”

Holly raises her eyebrows skeptically, and you know she sees right through you. “What a shame,” she grins. “He certainly only had eyes for you.”

That comment sends a stab of pain through your heart, but you ignore it. “It’s fine. Nothing weird, I’m just keeping my distance. Just trying to avoid a heartbreak, that’s all.” The words are technically true.

“Got it,” Holly nods conspiratorially. She takes another sip of her drink and glances around the room. “Well, he didn’t show up here tonight, so you don’t have to worry about him. You can just have fun!”

The words have barely left Holly’s mouth before her eyes widen to a comical size at something behind you. Somehow, you already know who just walked in the door, and your heart gives another spectacular lurch.

Knowing you need to get this over with, you turn to face him, your heart in your throat. Sure enough, Colt slips through the club door, glancing around the room intently, as if he’s looking for something. Or someone, you can’t help thinking.

His eyes land on you, and he freezes in his tracks. A mixture of emotions — nervousness, embarrassment, surprise — crosses his face. You know it’s going to be awkward after all that’s happened, so you try to break the ice. “Hey, fall guy,” you greet him, instantly regretting it. Too flirtatious, stop it right now.

Colt smiles, something like relief crossing his tense features. “Hey, da Vinci,” he responds over the boom of the club’s music, closing the door behind him and taking a single step in your direction. He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets, and you suddenly notice that he’s not dressed for a company party.

“What brings you here?” you ask, trying to ignore the way Holly is pressing into your side and doing a horrible job of hiding her elbowing. “I thought you weren’t a fan of these company parties.”

Colt shrugs, looking past you into the crowd. “Yeah, not really. Just came to drop some stuff off with George for tomorrow’s session.” He swallows hard, as if he’s pondering something, then lets his eyes fall back on you. “What about you? I thought you didn’t like the company parties either.”

I don’t. I came to try to forget about you.

“Oh,” you say casually, “just dropping by. Holly asked me to come.” You squeeze Holly’s hand to signal her for backup, and, intoxicated as she is, she immediately jumps in to help.

“I did!” she exclaims, a little too enthusiastic. “We were actually just talking about — ah, we were just talking about…” Holly hesitates way too long, and you cringe inwardly. “Your stunt!” she recovers. “Your transfer truck stunt!”

“Your what?” Your curiosity is instantly piqued, along with your worry. “I don’t remember a transfer truck stunt in the script.”

Colt smiles a little, the first one you’ve seen since he walked in. “Gordon decided to try it out today. He thought it would spice up the car chase scene.”

Holly jumps in with gusto, clearly excited to have turned you onto a better topic. “Yeah! Gordon came up with it at the last minute. The stunt was originally supposed to just be VFX, but Colt said he could do it.”

“Do what?” you ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Colt shrugs. “Just a jump. One transfer truck to another.”

“The top of one transfer truck to another!” Holly adds for emphasis, sloshing a bit of drink over the edge of her cup. “At top speed, while the trucks are rounding a hairpin turn in the canyon!”

Your eyes widen, and you turn your shocked expression on Colt. “Tell me you’re joking,” you manage.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he amends, obviously embarrassed by Holly’s dramatic retelling. “It’s not like Gordon forced me to do anything. I volunteered and said I could do it.”

“You could have gotten killed!” You’re not sure why you feel so passionately about this; he is a stuntman, after all. But something about knowing that you’ve been avoiding him for three days while he’s been performing death-defying stunts rattles you in a way you can’t ignore. While you’re gathering fire for a rant, Holly backs away into the crowd, an impish smile on her face.

Colt’s smile comes more easily this time, and he takes another step closer to you, ducking his head to look more squarely into your eyes. “Hey, calm down,” he reassures you. “No major injuries. No brushes with death. Just a cool shot.”

You press your lips together, still bubbling over with an emotion you can’t name. “Risking your life for a cool shot isn’t something to laugh about,” you tell him, though there’s no real edge to your voice. You glance down at his hand that’s resting on the bar beside you. “What happened to your hands?” you demand.

Both Colt’s hands are wrapped in bandages that you hadn’t even noticed until he pulled them out of his pockets. His expression shifts again, this time to a kind of bemused concern. “Just a little friction burn, that’s all,” he assures you. He brings one of his hands up to rest on your right shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze that makes your stomach flip in response. “Don’t waste your worries on me, Picasso. I’m a stuntman, remember? Taking risks is what I do.”

Colt’s laid-back tone does calm you a little, and you fight the urge to shake your head at yourself again. What are you thinking? Why are you getting so emotional about this in front of him? Play it cool, explain it logically, don’t make the same mistake you did before.

“Yeah, I know,” you admit, shrugging. “It just seems like Gordon is pushing you harder than he was before. It’s like he’s getting too comfortable putting you in more and more danger for the sake of impressive shots.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Colt tells you. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he cocks his head as his gaze flits over your face. “And it’s no different than you going without sleep for three days to finish a setpiece.”

“It is not the same thing,” you begin, but he shakes his head, leaning one elbow on the bar to tilt his head closer to you. You despise yourself for weakening your resolve, but you can’t resist leaning closer to him, too — so close you can feel yourself getting lost in the dark blue of his eyes.

“Sure it is,” he said softly, his husky voice carrying over the short space between you even with the loud music playing in the background. “I do stunts because it’s what I love to do, even if they’re dangerous. You make the sets look amazing because it’s your passion, even when it means you have to go without sleep. I guess we’re both just too dedicated to our crafts, huh?”

You’re finding it difficult to think of a response, your eyes locked on his. All the resolve you’ve been building for the last three days melts under the heat of his gaze. Something like a magnet is pulling you even closer to him. Your mind unhelpfully flashes back to the night you were wrapped under his arm while walking to your hotel room, his warmth enveloping you.

“Well,” you murmur, trying desperately not to look at his lips, “my dedication won’t result in a broken neck.”

Colt lifts one eyebrow in response, leaning a hairsbreadth forward. “Neither will mine,” he whispers.

You mirror his quirked eyebrow, lowering your voice to match his. “How do you know?”

Colt keeps his eyes locked on yours, but one of his hands reaches up to the side of your face unnoticed. His palms are bandaged, but he uses his fingertips to twirl a strand of your hair. Your breath catches when he tucks the strand behind your ear, his touch searing your skin even in the brief contact, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m the best in the business,” he tells you as he finally pulls his hand away from your temple.

You smile at his teasing tone. The distance between you keeps closing, a quarter of an inch at a time, and you can feel the burning heat of his skin the closer you get. His eyes don’t drift from yours, but the tension is so potent that you can barely take a breath.

“The best in the business,” you repeat, a coy smile edging the corners of your lips. “Haven’t you heard that pride comes before the fall?”

“Mmm hmm,” Colt hums, and you feel the sound reverberate in your very bones. Your faces are only a few inches apart now. Everything — the music, the crowd, the flashing lights — is forgotten, consumed by the fire blazing in his eyes. His gaze finally tears off your eyes and slowly, so slowly, steals down to your lips. His own lips part slightly, as if he’s finally about to lean forward and close the tantalizing distance between you.

Suddenly you couldn’t care less about all the reasons why you shouldn’t.

But then, your heart still hammering against your ribs, your skin prickling, your lungs strangled into stillness, Colt pulls away from you.

The abrupt distance feels like a cold bucket of water on your head after the heat of what you just shared. Colt seems to feel the shock too, rubbing both hands over his face and letting out a shaky breath before his casual smirk returns.

“Wow,” he half laughs, shaking out his arms and shoulders dramatically. “Nothing like a club’s vibe to muddy the waters, right?”

His careless comment stuns you even more than his quick withdrawal did. You suddenly realize how much every moment with him means to you, and the stinging pain of rejection is amplified a thousand times by his casual attitude.

He doesn’t care. He seriously doesn’t care at all.

You try to recover some dignity, but you know you’ve already blown that more times than you can count. All you can choke out is, “Yeah,” and then a listless, “See you around,” before you slip past his shoulder and head for the door. You can already feel the hot tears threatening to spill down your cheeks, and you’re not going to embarrass yourself further by letting him see you cry. You throw up a hand at Holly as you hurry out the club door into the chilly evening air, barely registering her questioning look.

What you don’t notice is the way Colt clenches his hands into fists against the pain of his burns, or the way he squeezes his eyes shut to block out the memory of your devastated expression.

All you know is the pain of the rejection, the bitterness of your tears, and the smell of his jacket as you fall asleep that night.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

As he leans against the hood of his truck after filming, one leg propped on the fender as he takes a deep breath of the midnight air, Colt can’t stop replaying the events of the day before. You painting a prop sign, you laughing at his dumb jokes, you smearing red paint across his face. The steadiness of your hands, the smile crinkling the corners of your eyes. The sunbeams luminescent in your hair. The way your hand felt for the few seconds it lingered on his cheek.

Get it together, man, his inner monologue scolds him.

Colt can’t deny that he has feelings for you. You’ve been on set together for about two months now, and he sees you practically every day. Every time he performs a stunt, you’re always there adjusting the furniture, dabbing color onto the walls, rearranging props with that magnificent touch that brings every setpiece to life. Colt is amazed by your talent in your job as a set decorator, and your skill pushes him to try harder stunts each time, to try to impress you with his own skills.

But there’s one major problem that he can’t get past — he’s just not good enough for you. Sure, Colt has all the confidence in the world when it comes to throwing himself from a moving car or flashing a dazzling smile at you across the set, but he’s destined to be an unknown stuntman for the rest of his career. Your talent and dedication promises great things for your future, and Colt has already made up his mind that he’s not going to stand in your way by coming on too strong.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. Even when he’s trying to be noble and keep himself from getting you distracted from your career, he’s replaying the way your eyes fluttered shut for a moment when his thumb brushed your jaw.

I’m so screwed.

Colt has just agreed with his inner monologue that he will keep his distance from you and turn all his unfulfilled feelings into protein powder when you step out of a nearby trailer, one arm over your eyes as if you’ve been crying.

All thoughts of noble detachments shatter instantly, and Colt pushes off his truck to make his way toward you. He’s relieved when you lower your arm from your face and he can tell that you weren’t crying — just so dead tired that you can barely keep your eyes open.

“Hey, Van Gogh,” he calls to you, keeping a distance of about six feet as he reverts to his usual habit of artist-nicknames. Too familiar, too familiar, abort, abort. “Too much moonshine?”

Your eyes pop open in surprise to see him standing there, but a wearied smile crosses your face nonetheless. “Too much moonlighting,” you correct him, leaning back against the art trailer with a sigh. “Gordon has been on my back all day about the props for the train station scene. I got wooden benches for a rustic vibe, but he wants metal for a grittier vibe. I painted the graffiti mural in multi-colors, but he wants it red for a sharper contrast. I spent the last week distressing the station floor so it would look lived-in, but now he wants it clean. Clean, cold, and clinical.” You bury your face in your hands, rubbing your red-rimmed eyes. “I just finished making twenty neon signs for the depot, but I don’t know if he’ll even still want them by tomorrow.”

Colt’s heart tugs seeing you so exhausted and discouraged, and he elects to ignore his previous inner monologue and take a few steps in your direction. “Sounds like Gordon is trying to direct a hospital soap opera instead of an action thriller.”

“Exactly!” You throw your hands up in frustration, letting your head loll to the side as you look at him through half-opened eyes. “I never want to see another paint roller again. Or at least not until tomorrow.”

Colt chuckles at that, taking another step closer. “It is tomorrow. It’s past midnight.” His brow furrows in concern as he watches your eyelids drift closed again. You look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet.

“Right. I knew that,” you mumble. “I need some sleep.”

“I’d say you need a hibernation,” Colt says gently, cursing himself for the way he feels the urge to reach out and touch you. “When’s the last time you got any winks?”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you try to recall. “Uhhh… Tuesday?”

Colt shakes his head. “Come on, I’ll drive you back.”

Your eyes open at that, and you automatically shake your head, swaying a little as you do so. “No, you don’t need to do that! I’ll be fine. My hotel is just a few blocks from here.”

“Good,” Colt agrees, reaching out to put his arm around your shoulders. “Then you won’t have to pay me back for gas money.”

You sigh in mock frustration but give in when he starts leading you to his truck. He can feel you leaning on him, drawing from his strength when he knows yours is depleted. Colt has to force himself to focus on the task at hand and not get distracted by the intoxicating smell of oil paints and charcoal and wood chips emanating off your skin. He especially tries not to notice the way your head naturally falls against his shoulder while he leads you to the passenger door.

Once you’ve climbed into the seat, you immediately droop forward and rest your forehead on your knees. On an impulse, Colt pulls off his jacket — his most comfortable one: the brown one with the drawstrings — and drapes it across your shoulders. He suppresses a grin when you mumble something that sounds like “hmmk hmum” but probably was supposed to be “thank you.”

The drive to your hotel lasts all of three minutes, and he parks his truck under the portico so you’ll be closer to the door. Against the pitch black of the midnight sky, the hotel looks cozy and welcoming, street lamps bathing the sidewalk in a halo of golden light.

Colt opens the door to the passenger side, a smile crossing his lips when you turn your head from where it’s resting on your knees to peek up at him.

“Are we there yet?” you mumble, eyes fluttering between open and closed.

“Just a rest stop,” he informs you jokingly, holding out a hand to help you out of the truck. You gladly accept it, so exhausted that you can barely stand up straight. Colt feels another shimmer of worry at seeing you so worn out.

With his arm around your shoulder again, Colt walks you to the hotel door, which opens automatically to let you in. His thoughts are a jumble of worry, consternation, and elation at this situation, but he breaks out of his reverie halfway to the elevator, when you start giggling uncontrollably.

“What?” he asks, basking in the way your musical laugh wraps around him like a melody. Colt, get it together. Stop romanticizing this.

You snicker again, pressing the elevator button to your floor. “I bet the desk clerk thought I was drunk and bringing you home with me.”

Colt goes stock-still at that comment, only moving again when the elevator door opens and you enter the compartment together. Your sleep-deprived brain is so addled that you barely even register the implications of your remark, but Colt’s mind instantly starts racing with his own thoughts. Be professional, don’t make a saucy joke, just play it cool, play it cool, change the subject, change the SUBJECT—

“You should call Gordon,” he suggests, so enthralled with the feel of your head resting on his shoulder that he can barely get the sentence out. “Tell him you can’t make it tomorrow. You seriously need to get some sleep.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, one that flutters across his collarbone like an autumn breeze. He swallows and turns his head the other way, using all his willpower not to completely come undone right in front of you. You have no idea the effect you’re having on him, so sleep-deprived that you’re missing any cues that would clue you in normally.

“I have to be there tomorrow,” you insist drowsily. The elevator door dings open, and Colt leads you through the opening, his arm still tight around your shoulders as you point him in the right direction. “We’re filming the train station scene, and it has to be perfect.”

“What, at the cost of your health and sanity?” Colt quips, though he can’t deny that there’s a note of seriousness in his tone.

You shake your head stubbornly. “I’m fine. This is my job. I just have to do it.” You yawn widely, stumbling a little as you get closer to your hotel door. “I just need a few hours and I’ll be good as new.”

Colt lifts his eyebrows skeptically but doesn’t argue with you. You’re pulling your room key out of your pocket, and he’s suddenly torn between the desire to run before he violates his vow of noble detachment, and the need to confess every passionate feeling coursing through his veins right now. He knows this isn’t the right time, though, and that there may never be a right time at all.

You unlock your door with a swipe but pause before going inside, leaning your back against the doorframe so you can look at Colt squarely. “Thank you for bringing me back.” Your smile steals his breath, makes him imagine a halo of stars around your face. “I couldn’t have made it without you.”

Every muscle in his body is urging him to lean forward, to close the distance between you, to capture your lips against his so he can whisper every unconfessed feeling, every gentle passion, every overwhelming longing in this silent, dimly-lit hallway. His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that he thinks you must be able to hear it.

“Anytime,” Colt manages, his throat so tight that can barely rasp out the word. He has to clench his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out to you.

You reach up to shed his brown jacket and hand it back to him, but Colt stops you by holding up his hand. “Keep it,” he tells you. Shut up, shut up, shut UP— “It looks better on you anyway.”

The golden light from the street lamps outside must be playing tricks on his eyes, because he could swear that your eyes brighten at his words. Your fingers tighten around his jacket, and all he can imagine is your fingers entwined with his, your head on his shoulder again. The way it should be.

Your eyes flicker closed for a moment, and you sway against the doorway. Colt instinctively reaches out to steady you, his hand landing on your arm and holding you up for the moment it takes you to regain your balance. His skin feels like it’s on fire from this close proximity. He releases your arm so he doesn’t lose his sanity, but the touch lingers on his palm, making his heart race and his mouth go dry. His eyes flit down to glance at your lips again before he can stop them. Another moment, and he won’t have any self-control left.

You seem to feel the tension, too, lingering in the doorway when you should have said goodnight by now. He knows you’re struggling with it, and he knows it’s his responsibility as the clear-headed one to end this before it starts. His breath is rattling in his throat as he says, “Get some rest. Let me know if you need a ride over tomorrow morning.”

His voice seems to break the spell over you, and you give him a sleepy smile as you nod. “Thanks, Colt.” Your eyes linger on him for a moment more, and then you disappear behind the heavy hotel door.

Once you’re gone, Colt turns and leans heavily against the hallway wall, suddenly feeling breathless and exhausted from the intensity of what he just felt. He can’t believe he even let himself think about kissing you when you’re so dazed, but surely he wasn’t misreading those signals? Surely he felt the heat of your own gaze meeting his?

Colt sighs, trying to clear his head while he catches his breath. He can’t even entertain the idea of starting a fling with you, because his feelings have gone way too deep for a fling. He just needs to keep his distance and stop overanalyzing every moment he shares with you. He needs to get a grip on reality so he doesn’t completely ruin your friendship and burden you with any guilt. This has to stop. I’m going to stop right now, and I’m not going to think about it anymore, and I’m going to get hold of myself before it’s too late.

He hopes his inner monologue is right this time, because he knows he’s only falling harder for you.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You’ve been on set for about two months now, and your job as set decorator for the biggest action thriller of the decade has ended up being way more challenging than you expected. Every day, it’s a new demand from the director — more realistic graffiti, more subtle light fixtures, more beat-up furniture. It’s going to look amazing, but you’re exhausted just thinking about another day of smearing grime on the set walls by hand.

The one bright spot of every day is Colt Seavers. He’s the best stuntman in Hollywood, so naturally he’s been recruited to perform stunts for almost every scene in the movie. Watching him get thrown against walls, riddled with bullets, and dropped from dizzying heights is heart-pounding for you, but nothing gets your heart pounding as hard as when he leans a little too close to you, so close you can see the dusty brown of his eyelashes against his soot-stained skin.

“Nice sign,” Colt quips, dropping onto the picnic table seat next to you. You’re hand-painting a bright-red Do Not Disturb sign for the next scene, and you barely manage to keep from smearing the paint when you whirl to face him. “Is it for your trailer door?”

You give him a mock glare, laughter slipping through the edges. “Very funny. It just so happens that you’ll be kicking this sign in half in tomorrow’s scene, so show a little respect.”

Colt’s eyes sparkle at your words, all his attention focused on you. He leans forward on one elbow, the other reaching up to ruffle the dust out of his hair. “Wow, a handmade prop just for me to kick in half?” He grins, inclining his head in a mock bow. “I’m honored.”

You can’t hide your return grin, or the blush rising under your skin at his close proximity. Colt always has this effect on you — never pushing the limits to make you uncomfortable, just taking up space with you in a way that steals your breath.

“What’s this?” you ask, using your free hand to tug on the shoulder of his fireproof vest. One side is seriously singed, close enough to his skin to set you to worrying.

Colt shrugs, flashing you a crooked smile that makes his left eye crinkle. “Little pyrotechnics mishap,” he informs you casually, brushing imaginary dust off his arm and onto you. You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Ray got a little overexcited with the stun grenades.”

“What?” You can’t keep the concern from slipping into your voice, even though you try to disguise it behind a joking tone. “You’re working with real stun grenades now?”

“Well, yeah,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “It’s only a stunt if it’s real, you know?”

You narrow your eyes, cocking your head to one side. “I think that’s the opposite of how it works, actually.”

Colt just laughs at that, the golden rays of the setting sun turning his tanned skin golden. His smile is warm and directed entirely at you, heating up the blush in your cheeks again. You turn your eyes back to your painting to keep from completely giving yourself away.

These past few months have been both paradise and torture for you. You thought you could hide your crush easily enough — it’s not like you haven’t done that before. But with Colt, it’s different. He sees through your stoic facades and teases out your laughter, searches for ways to make you smile even on your bad days. Whether it’s pulling a goofy face at you from his rig or remembering that you like sour cream in your soup, Colt has found some new way to surprise you every day that you’ve known him.

The thing is, you’re not sure if he’s actually interested in you or just being flirtatious. Misinterpreting the signals would be awkward and painful for you at this point, so you’ve decided that he’s just going to have to make the first move. You’re too old to play middle-school games with him.

Even if he does give you middle-school butterflies all over again.

You don’t realize that you’ve been lost in your thoughts until you notice that Colt has imperceptibly moved closer to your side, peering over your shoulder as you put the finishing touches on the purposely-sloppy sign.

“So I kick the sign in half tomorrow,” he says softly, his husky voice in your ear sending goosebumps over your skin. “What happens if we have to do another take?”

You risk a glance over your shoulder at him, letting a coy smile slip. “Do you really think this is the only one I’ve done?”

Colt just lifts his eyebrows at you and smiles, returning his eyes to the sign in your hands. Colt has a way of burning you up just with his gaze, and you can’t help breathing an inner sigh of relief every time he focuses his attention elsewhere. Concentrating on anything when he’s looking at you is impossible.

“You know, I could definitely give you some pointers on set design sometime,” he mutters, as if he’s genuinely musing on the thought. You know he’s warming up for a joke, so you let him continue, hiding your smile while he watches over your shoulder. “I have tons of experience in your department.”

“Oh, really?” You grab your black paint and begin the focused task of sprinkling the sign with the darker color for a realistic touch. Realism is the key to making memorable set designs, and you’ve mastered the technique.

“Mm-hmm.” You feel the murmur reverberate in his throat when he leans forward, resting his chin on your shoulder while you lightly dab your paintbrush in your paint bottle. Your heart skips at least three beats when you feel his hair tickling the side of your neck, his eyes still locked on the sign as if he’s studying it. Does he really not know what he’s doing to you, or is he doing it on purpose?

You try to keep your hands steady while you feel his chest rise and fall against your shoulder. Struggling to hide the tremor in your voice, you tease, “What could I improve about this piece, then? I can always use an expert opinion.”

He tilts his head to the side, his chin still resting on your shoulder. You can feel the bristly stubble on his cheeks now. It’s an oddly comforting sensation, one that forces every bit of your self-control to the brink in order to keep yourself from moving your face to the side and nuzzling your cheek against his. You feel his face move slightly as his mouth turns up into a smile.

“If you really want some advice…” he begins, lifting one hand up to trace the edge of your sign.

“Careful,” you warn him, “that’s wet paint.”

Colt doesn’t even get close to smudging your paint, but that doesn’t stop you from lifting your free hand to rest on his wrist, holding it in place while you set your paint bottle down. Colt stills at your touch, and your heart accelerates again at the gentle way his fingertips rest on the edge of your sign.

He lets the moment hang in the air between you for a moment, then comments, “I was just going to suggest a nice artist’s signature. See this big gap right here between Not and Disturb? Your name should go there in big red letters.” You’re already swatting his hand away playfully as his serious tone devolves into snickers. “Just like Bob Ross does on TV.”

“You are so ridiculous,” you laugh, glad to feel the tension slipping out of the atmosphere. Colt lifts his chin off your shoulder now, his hair brushing your earlobe as he does.

“No, it would look perfect,” he insists, his eyes sparkling as his smirk widens. “And then I can aim right for your name when I kick it in half tomorrow.”

He laughs out loud when you slam the sign down on the picnic table surface in mock irritation, your grin making your amusement at his joke obvious. The slam sends a few drops of the black paint from your brush flying up, spattering your jawline.

You reach for a dry rag nearby, still grinning as you prepare to respond, but Colt stops you with a hand on your arm. “Allow me,” he says seriously, placing your hand back into your lap and raising his other hand to the side of your face. You freeze in place, unprepared for the wave of emotion that washes over you when Colt touches the side of your jaw softly.

His eyes are still sparkling with humor, and you know he’s about to do something to make you laugh, but you can’t help the feeling that sweeps through your heart when you’re face to face with him, one of his hands holding yours on your lap and the other just beginning to cradle your face. It feels so gentle, so intimate, so right, and your heart aches as you realize that there is no going back from the feelings you’re developing for Colt Seavers.

He hesitates for a split second, his hand hoving on your jaw for practically no time at all, but it feels like a lifetime to you. You watch his dark blue eyes as they dart down to look at your lips, flitting back up just as quickly to latch onto your eyes with a stare that could melt diamonds.

Then the corner of his mouth turns up again into his usual smirk, and he strokes his thumb across your jaw to smear the black paint up the side of your face.

“Now,” he offers, “don’t you think you look more realistic?”

He dissolves into laughter as you reach up and feel the streaks of black now smudged across your face. You immediately reach past him to dip your fingers in your bottle of red paint, giving him a mischievous grin as you slather three fingers’ worth of paint across his nose and cheeks. The combination of his semi-shocked expression and the ridiculousness of his painted face pushes you over the edge into another fit of laughter.

“You’re the one who will be on camera,” you retort, smiling wider than you can remember doing in a long time. “Shouldn’t you be the one who’s realistic?”

“Touché,” he acknowledges playfully, rubbing his face and only succeeded in smearing the red paint further across his face. “Though I doubt Tom Ryder is going to accept any glimpses of my face on camera, so I won’t even have to wash this off.”

You impulsively reach up and drag your fingertip through the splotch of paint on his cheek, resisting the urge to draw a heart and settling on a simple smiley face instead. His own smile resurfaces at that, eyes twinkling as they stay locked on yours.

“If you keep it until tomorrow, you’ll match my sign,” you muse, trying to lighten the atmosphere, which has suddenly grown a bit more intense now that Colt’s gaze is focused on you again.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t play it off, doesn’t do anything that you expect from him. His breathing seems to slow down, while yours feels like it takes off in a flurry of movement. Colt doesn’t make a move to touch you, but you can feel the distance between the two of you closing infinitesimally.

You’ve never noticed the flecks of silver-gray in his eyes, or the almost-invisible smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, or the ragged cut of his hair right beside his ears. Even the brilliant red streak only serves to bring out the golden tones of his skin, the swirls of blonde in his hair. Every detail of his face seems vivid, as if you’re seeing him for the first time.

His eyes seem to drink you in, too, traveling over every inch of your face before stopping on your lips again. This time, though, he doesn’t flick his eyes back up. Words escape you, as do any coherent thoughts. This is it. He’s actually going to kiss me. This is real.

“Seavers, on set, ASAP.”

The squawk of his walkie-talkie shatters the intense moment, and both of you release a breath that felt like it had been held for an hour. Colt swallows, smoothes his hand over his beard, turns to slip the walkie back into his pocket. You turn back to your painted sign quickly, trying to regain some composure.

Uncharacteristically, Colt doesn’t speak as he stands and turns to walk back to the filming set. He does, however, glance back at you the moment you lift your eyes to watch him walk away. Your heart is still hammering, recovering from his closeness to you.

With a wordless smile, he reaches up, swipes a bit of red paint off his face, and presses it onto the tip of your nose in the shape of his fingerprint. Then he walks away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

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