Hearthlock

Lars was twitchy. Maybe it was the unremarkable fact that you were sitting on his bed. Unremarkable for most maybe, but this was even giving you butterflies. You supposed it was the excitement of being closer with him than you’d ever been, and how he seemed to want to rush you home far sooner than you’d expected him to. Or that he’d taken you home at all. And if you felt like this, you couldn’t imagine what it was doing to him.

It had only been a boring work party with people he spent most days around. Nothing out of his comfort zone. It was when you finished your last job for the day and joined in the tame festivities that you noticed Lars becoming uncomfortable. As you chatted to a colleague you could sense you were being watched and turned to see his eyes burning into you, dark and brooding. Another ten minutes, and he had dragged you away to his garage so fast that you’d been quite literally swept off your feet.

So here you found yourself. In the place you’d daydreamed about kissing him endlessly, despite never having been inside. You hoped he wanted to kiss you tonight. Your heart raced at the thought, butterflies exploding in your stomach when he led you to the bed.

Beside you, Lars’s trembling fingers ran through his soft, dirty blond hair as a shaky breath pushed through his lips. That same shaky hand landed abruptly on yours then, and you jumped a little, eyes widening as his handsomely huge hand and long elegant fingers covered yours. His touch was delightfully warm and his skin felt as soft as his hair looked. You bit your lip, wanting to close the gap between you but you managed to restrain yourself. Just.

His fingers threaded through yours quite forcefully and squeezed, and you swallowed hard, finally catching on to why he was so jittery. He really did want to kiss you… or so you hoped.

Then it finally happened.

It started out sweetly enough, his lips brushing softly against yours as you held hands, cautious, heavy breaths mingling as your eyes fluttered shut and you toyed with the idea of deepening the kiss. But you weren’t sure if he’d be ready for that yet, so it was probably better to let him take this at his own pace.

As if he read your mind, Lars forced his tongue into your mouth in a way that seemed so unlike him. You had wondered if Lars had ever even kissed anyone before you (other than Bianca of course). And more than wondering, you highly doubted it; yet here he was taking the lead. And doing incredibly well at it. There had been no fumbling, no nervous laughter, no running in the opposite direction. Just his lips closing over yours and his tongue sliding roughly into your mouth for dominance. You shivered.

You were more surprised, and pleasantly so, when his free hand found its way to your knee and pushed daringly up your thigh.

‘Lars-’ you breathed, muffled by his mouth, an exclamation filled with anticipation and longing.

He pulled back, breathing heavily, eyes wild, alight with a flame you’d never seen in them before.

‘Hey, I… I want to show you something.’

You weren’t sure how the next part happened. His hands were still on you, they never left, but they weren’t touching any more, they weren’t ghosting over your clothed legs in a soft glide, or caressing your palm, they were handling. Grabbing.

Lars was stronger than he looked you realised as you found yourself pinned to the mattress beneath him. You weren’t sure he even realised his own strength. His fingers slid around your wrists to position you how he wanted, sliding up to your shoulders and pushing down, letting you know you weren’t to budge.

There were so many conflicting thoughts swirling around Lars’s head, and suddenly they had all seemed to arrive at the same point. Everything he’d ever heard about sex was at the forefront of his mind and all at once he couldn’t seem to control his appetite for you. He needed you, and more, he needed to make you his. Only his.

You could barely breathe, the questions rushing through your dazed mind too hurried and hazy to translate into anything verbal, but the imagery of him furiously chopping wood flashed through your memory and you somehow managed to link that to how you should have known he could be this commanding. This possessive. You knew now why your core had ached when you’d seen him wielding that axe with furious abandon, why you’d wanted to explore that part of him.

You might have already known somewhere deep down, if it wasn’t for the one small technicality that he simply didn’t seem the type. Far from it. You’d expected Lars to be quiet, nervous, probably to cum before you even really touched him. Not this. Not dominating and forceful and commanding. But then, you supposed, it was always the quiet ones.

Heat rushed to your core and you clenched your thighs together instinctively. Whatever it was he was planning to give you, you needed it now.

Thankfully, he didn’t make you wait, far too caught up in the moment to play games like that. He just wanted you full of him, physically and mentally.

Lars dropped lower, his kiss swollen lips brushing against your ear and his raging erection nestling against your core through the layers of clothes you still wore.

Too many clothes, you mentally cursed.

‘Are you ok with this?’ he whispered, low and seductive, his breath shaking with arousal. ‘I need to know before I- before-’

You nodded desperately, pushing your hips up to grind against him.

‘Need to hear you.’ His whispered voice cracked as pleasure sparked though him at your heat pressing up against him.

‘Yes, Lars, please-’

He practically tore the clothes from your body then, clumsy and desperate, and forced his own trousers down, freeing his cock and immediately sliding it through your slick, using his knees to nudge your legs further apart so he could see you properly.

‘You’re so wet,’ he whined, rolling his hips to drag his length through your silky folds over and over. ‘Feels so- mmh!- so good-’

Fingertips found your hips, kneading roughly into the flesh, no doubt leaving bruises. You hoped they would. So did he.

As he gripped hard, he could feel you trembling each time he rocked back, every time his cock slid against your clit just right and you shuddered, and he grunted as a thick bead of precum leaked from his tip.

He smiled for the briefest of moments then, thrilled to be the one making you feel good, lost in how good it was making him feel — and then his thoughts snapped back to the point of all this.

‘Do you ever think about me?’ he asked plainly. It was a direct question, his voice dark, but somehow laced with a weakness you couldn’t place. ‘You know, in ways you shouldn’t. Like when you feel… too hot and tingly… like this-’

You felt the absence of his needy hands then, and a careful fingertip appeared between your legs instead, tracing your entrance, collecting your juices and gently exploring through your folds before slipping in so tantalisingly slowly that you couldn’t help but push your hips down for more.

He pumped slowly, feeling for the spot inside you that he knew he needed to find to keep this up, not realising he was already brushing against it with every thrust, making you tremble all the more.

‘Do you?’ he repeated the question, gaze so intense on you that you felt you might burn up beneath it.

You nodded. ‘Yes- I- I know I shouldn’t but, oh Lars, I imagine you touching me… just like that… yes! That’s it- oh!’

‘And it’s always me?’

That dark look in his eyes again.

You nodded, whining as his finger sped up. It was a reward for your earlier answer. He didn’t mean it to be, but your words pleased him and filled him with confidence.

‘Oh… uhm… good.’ Lars’s voice was still soft and gentle despite the way he was speaking to you. There was hesitancy now too, as he realised he didn’t really know where to take his line of questioning.

He just knew there was a burning sensation in his gut that had been quenched just a little when you’d admitted your desire for him, and when you’d moaned his name. And he craved more of that feeling. He needed to chase it.

He whisked his hand away and you whined in disappointment at how empty you suddenly felt. His fingers were thick, thicker than your own. And long. You vaguely wondered, going by the size of his hands, whether he’d actually be able to fit if he was going to fuck you.

You didn’t need to wonder for long. He lined himself up at your entrance, taking a steadying but shaky breath before slamming his cock into you, stretching you open with a burn that made your walls clench and your toes curl. The heavenly pleasure-pain made you cry out, grabbing fistfuls of the hair at the nape of his neck in an attempt to stay grounded while you adjusted to his size. You’d never felt so full, or so desperate.

The noise Lars made as he entered you in that one swift, rough thrust was one of utter relief; high pitched, whiny, breathy. Like he’d needed to claim you immediately or he’d simply perish, but once he was buried to the hilt in you, he was safe.

As he blinked open his eyes and slowly moved past the overwhelming and unimaginable sensation of your warmth enveloping him, his hips automatically began to snap hard, fast and unrelenting, and you could just about make out his heavy breathing over the rapid slapping of skin against skin.

The bed began to creak with the force of his thrusts, never having been subjected to such a strain. You were lost in him, filled, as he had wanted you to be, in every way, mind and body enveloped in his touch, his weight, his scent.

Lars needed something more. A burst of confidence had bloomed in his chest and he needed to act while it was present. His hand hovered by your hip, thoughts of rolling your bodies enough to spank you tearing through his overwhelmed mind. How would it feel? How would you sound? — but he wasn’t confident enough, not this time, and his fingers closed in a tight ring around your wrist instead, pinning it to the pillow above your head while his thrusts turned somehow rougher.

‘You’re mine,’ he growled quietly, his low voice vibrating through your body and settling at your twitching, overheated core. He paused his statement only to catch a breath and whine at how frustratingly close he was already before reaffirming, louder, ‘MINE- mmh!- Say it. Say it!’

‘I-I’m yours,’ you breathed weakly, ‘I’m- ah!- I’m all yours!’

Lars groaned, low and drawn out at your words. It was like music to his ears. He was finally satisfied, he thought, but needed you to cum first. He couldn’t do all of this only to finish early and disappoint you. That would do nothing at all to prove his point.

His free hand slipped between your flush bodies, over your belly and lower, to the apex of your thighs, where he fumbled for a moment before finding that sweet spot he’d heard more than enough about from his desk neighbour at work, stroking a finger over it so slowly that the contrast with his rough thrusts was deliciously jarring and you shuddered under him, sparks of pleasure and melting into a coil tightening in your belly. You sighed at how incredible it felt, back arching as you tried to chase the sensation.

Your fingernails scraped along his back, and he hissed. A thrill at your reaction spread through Lars and he dipped forward, lips ghosting against the crook of your neck. But not to kiss you. No. He was there to bite. Hard. Sharp, clean teeth close to piercing the skin. To mark you. To praise you for being so receptive to him. For giving him what he needed. He needed to consume you now. He sucked so hard that you yelped, the pleasure-pain mingling and coursing through your body, pooling at your core once again, and Lars’s cock throbbed inside you.

‘N-no one else c-can do this to you… oouuhhgh- do you- ahh- do you understand?’

‘Yes! N-no one else!’ you cried, strangled and desperate.

The finger massaging your throbbing clit so softly was about to tip you over the edge, but then he pressed it firmly to your nub, rubbing furiously, and you couldn’t hold off a second longer.

Your walls contracted, squeezing tight around him, and his hips stuttered wildly as you cried his name. He spilled inside you as you milked him of every last drop he had to offer.

A roar ripped from his chest as his release shook his entire body, a sensation he now understood was the reason people went nuts for sex. What could compare to this after years of excruciating pain at a simple brush of flesh against his own?

For the first time in his life, he didn’t even worry about the consequences. He just needed to fill you up, the ultimate way to make you his. He felt like a man alright. He felt like a god.

As the last of his release pumped from his tip in a thick, satisfying spurt, he collapsed on top of you, weight soothing yet almost unbearable as you tried desperately to catch your breath beneath him.

‘Lars… wow…’ you wheezed, daring to slide an arm around his back, soothing the scratches you’d left.

He snapped up then, realising that his twitching, softening cock was still buried inside you, and bit his lips together, wincing as he slowly pulled out and hovered above you, eyes wide, darting over every inch of your body.

‘Are you alright? Did I hurt you? Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry- are you-’

‘I’m alright, Lars, really,’ you breathed, cupping his soft cheek in your palm.

His eyes drifted closed at the tender touch; another sensation he’d discovered felt good with the right person at the right time, but he shook his head as he remembered himself.

‘No, I was too rough, I shouldn’t have… oh your neck, I’m so sorry-’ his fingers traced delicately over the purpling bruise on at the side of your throat.

‘No, Lars, that was so hot. I loved what you did,’ you gushed, pushing at him gently, encouraging him to lay beside you and relax.

He settled there, panting wildly, shaking, and suddenly very aware that his trousers were still pushed down around his knees. He scrambled almost comically to pull them up and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought that he felt a need to preserve a semblance of decency after what he’d just done.

When he laid back down he slipped the duvet up around your body carefully, pulling you to his chest and stroking your hair with tender fingertips.

‘You’re really ok?’

‘Lars, I promise, I'm more than ok. In fact, if you don’t do that to me again I’d be disappointed. Where did it all come from?’

‘I saw you talking to Tim and… I… I-’

‘Tim?! Lars really, he’s nothing to worry about. It’s alright, though,’ you soothed, ‘I get it.’

‘You do?’

‘As much as we all loved Bianca, I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of her. Getting to be so close to you all the time, loved by you, cared for. I would have done anything to be in her shoes back in the day.’

Lars’s eyes widened again, glossy this time, as you continued, conflicting emotions swirling in his gut and his mind.

‘Bianca was a very lucky lady. And, sorry to be crude, but she certainly taught you well…’

‘Oh! No! No, we never- no! I only ever kissed her. We didn’t even use tongues!’

You smiled, half relieved, half sad, and a touch happy for him. Had this really been his first time? ‘Well then I’m very lucky.’

You shifted up to face him properly then, extremely aware that you were naked and filled to the brim with his seed beneath his thick duvet while he was still fully dressed, but you supposed with Lars nothing was ever quite conventional.

‘Kiss me again,’ you asked simply. ‘You’re the only one I ever want to kiss, if I didn’t already make that clear, by the way. I am yours.’

Lars’s lips pulled into a warm, broad smile and his cheeks turned crimson.

‘And I, yours,’ he beamed, voice cracking with joy.

By the fifth day, you couldn't take it anymore. It was almost one in the morning when you showed up at his apartment. You hadn't planned it and definitely hadn't thought it through. You'd simply been sitting on your couch, missing him so badly it felt physical, and suddenly you'd found yourself grabbing your keys.

You'd left exactly as you were, which meant you were a complete mess. The knock echoed through the hallway. You glanced around nervously, worried about one of the neighbors giving you a judgmental look. A few seconds later, footsteps approached and the door opened.

Ryland froze. For a moment neither of you spoke. You both just stared as if neither of you had expected to see the other, and Ryland certainly hadn't expected this. 

He looked exhausted. His hair was a mess, dark circles sat beneath his eyes, like he hadn't been sleeping much either. The realization made your chest ache. Though you figured you probably didn't look much better yourself.

"Hi." His voice came out rough.

You swallowed. "I'm sorry."

Something softened immediately in his expression, as if he'd been waiting to hear those words. "You don't have to apologize."

"Yes, I do." You shook your head. Your voice trembled. "I really do."

Ryland stepped aside automatically. "Come in."

A few minutes later, you were sitting on his couch. Ryland sat in the armchair opposite you, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced together. The silence wasn't angry anymore, but it was still fragile. You stared down at your hands.

"I hurt you," you said quietly, like you were confessing to something shameful.

"You didn't mean to," Ryland replied, just as softly.

"But I did."

Ryland sighed. This was hard and uncomfortable for both of you. Still, you had to keep going. There was no other way if you wanted this to stop.

"I wasn't thinking," you said. Ryland looked up at you. "I know how much teaching means to you."

He looked surprised. "You do?"

"Of course I do." Your laugh was shaky. "Ryland, one of my favorite things about you is the way you talk about your students. You light up every time you tell me about them. You're always so excited. Even when they're driving you crazy."

That earned a small laugh from both of you. You took a breath, your heart was pounding.

"I had no right to make it sound like that wasn't enough."

His jaw tightened, fingers clenched together. "You were just trying to help."

"Maybe." You shook your head. "But I don't want to hide behind that." You looked at him. "I care about you, Ryland."

The words hung between you, like a thin thread trying to connect you again.

"I care about you so much that sometimes I get frustrated when I think you're selling yourself short." You swallowed, nervously intertwining your fingers. "But that's not the same thing as wanting to change you."

Ryland looked away, as if those words were too intimate to meet your eyes through. For a long moment neither of you spoke. 

Then he said quietly, "I missed you."

The confession hit harder than you'd expected. Your throat tightened instantly. So you weren't the only one who felt it.  You weren't alone in this.

"I missed you too," you answered quickly.

He laughed softly. "I kept picking up my phone."

You blinked. "Me too."

"At one point I literally typed out a text."

Your eyes widened. "What happened?"

"I deleted it."

"Oh..." You groaned. "Ryland..."

"I know." A genuine smile finally appeared on his face. 

The smile disappeared almost immediately, because suddenly neither of you were joking anymore. The truth sat between you and neither of you could avoid it any longer.

You looked down. "I can't do this."

His brow furrowed. "Do what?"

"This." You gestured vaguely between the two of you. "Not talking." Your voice cracked, the tears surprised you as they rushed into your eyes. "I can't. It felt like somebody ripped something out of me.” You tried to laugh. “That's so damn dramatic."

"No." His voice was quiet, but clear. "It isn't."

You looked at him and the way he was staring at you made your heart stumble. He was right there, within reach and yet you were still so afraid.

"I felt the same way." Neither of you looked away, not this time. You stared at each other with quiet anticipation. "I regretted it the second you walked out the door."

Your pulse jumped. "Ryland..."

"I should've called."

"You could have. And I could have too."

"Yeah..."

Another silence, but this time, there wasn't any distance in it. You were both waiting for what might come next. Ryland rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He looked strangely nervous.

"I should probably tell you something."

Your stomach flipped. "What?"

He laughed once. A short, helpless sound. "God."

Now you were getting worried.

"I've been trying not to tell you for months."

Your heartbeat doubled. He looked terrified now and somehow that scared you even more. Like everything could fall apart at any second. Like there was a sword hanging over your head.

"Tell me, please."

His eyes met yours and there you saw every emotion he'd been carrying. Everything he'd been hiding. Every moment that suddenly made sense.

"You're important to me." You stopped breathing. His laugh was shaky. "Actually, that's not true." He shook his head. "You're a lot more important than that."

The room felt impossibly still, as if the world had stopped for a few seconds.

"Ryland..."

"When you said those things... it hurt because it was you." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Because your opinion matters more than anybody else's. And I think that's because… I'm in love with you." His eyes never left yours. "And I have been for a very long time."

Silence. Complete silence. Ryland immediately regretted everything, panic appeared in his eyes.

"Oh God."

You still hadn't spoken. The words had completely stolen your voice.

"Oh no."

His face turned bright red. You were still staring at him. Speechless.

"Okay." He stood abruptly. "That's bad."

"Ryland..." you managed.

His panic only grew. "Nope." He pointed toward the door. "I get it. I just destroyed our friendship."

"W-What? No. You didn't."

"I absolutely did."

You almost laughed despite yourself. A smile tugged at your lips, feeling how tense your face had become. "Ryland."

"Oh my God." He dragged both hands over his face. "What a complete disaster. I'm never being emotionally honest again."

You stood up suddenly, he didn't notice. Too lost in the chaos of his own thoughts. 

"I should probably let you leave before I make this worse."

You crossed the room and in a few quick steps, you were standing right in front of him.

"Wait, what are you…"

You grabbed the front of his T-shirt and kissed him. Hard. For about three full seconds, Ryland completely forgot how human beings worked. His brain simply stopped functioning. When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard. He stared at you. Speechless, for once in his life. A few more seconds passed before you managed to catch your breath too.

"You idiot," you whispered.

Ryland blinked. "You kissed me."

You rolled your eyes. "Excellent observation."

"You kissed me." He repeated it like he still couldn't believe it.

A smile spread across your face. "Yes."

"You actually kissed me."

You laughed. And suddenly he was laughing too, with relief. Completely overwhelmed, because this wasn't what he'd expected. But it was what he'd been hoping for. For so long.

"Wow."

"Wow?"

"Yeah." He shook his head. "That worked out significantly better than I expected."

You snorted. "Your expectations were low."

"Probably."

For a moment neither of you moved. You just stood there smiling at each other like idiots. Finally seeing what had been within reach all along. The thing you'd both been waiting for. Then Ryland cleared his throat. Trying to look casual. As if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. Your hands were still gripping his shirt. His rested on your hips, as if he was afraid you might disappear.

"So..." he said, suddenly uncertain. "Would you allow me to take you on an actual date?"

Your smile appeared instantly. "A real date?"

"A proper one."

You didn't hesitate. "Yes. I would love to"

The grin that spread across Ryland's face was so bright it looked almost boyish. "Good."

He leaned down, pulling you a little closer, and kissed you again. And for the first time in five very miserable days, everything felt right.

It’s happened before, it does from time to time, especially at the quieter times of year when the bars aren’t filled with potential matches for him.

But it’s not quiet right now. The bars are bustling, and he’s had plenty of chances. He just hasn’t actually managed to impress a single person he’s tried to chat up for almost a week.

And when going home alone bleeds into the second week, he wonders if he’s lost his charm, or his skill or — whatever that perfect combination of elements is that he’s spent years perfecting and has down to a fine art. Or, he thought he did.

He gives the bars a miss for a couple of nights. Maybe he’s just burnt out? But even his sex toys are boring him now, and the ache between his thighs is becoming unbearable. But he doesn't bother even trying tonight.

Laid in bed, lazily stroking his throbbing cock for the third night in a row, he feels a tear trickle down his cheek.

Enough is enough. Is this what he’s been reduced to? A sad, sobbing mess, jerking off alone on a Friday night?

He can't have that.

And so an hour later, he’s marching into the bar, the one he always starts at, and strides right up to you.

‘Hey,’ he nods, eyeing you. ‘You were here last week. You turned me down, remember?’

This time, he’s taking a more direct approach. He doesn’t have time to waste if he's going to change his luck.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I want you to come home with me,’ he says, plain, and then a little more seductive, 'I... I haven't stopped thinking about you.' It's a lie and you both know it.

‘No, thanks.’

‘A-alright. May I ask why?’ He might as well try and figure it out at the source since he’s dragged himself all the way here.

‘I don’t do one night stands. Not my thing. You seem very…’ your eyes drag up and down his body and he notices the way your lip curls at one side, ‘nice, but, no, thank you.’

They rarely do until they meet me, he thinks, but instead he says, ‘What if we don’t call it that?’

He turns to the bartender and gestures something, and you guess he must come here a lot because the man not only recognises him but immediately begins work on mixing two drinks.

Unfortunately, he’s so hot your general rule of no one night stands suddenly seems a stupid guideline to have placed on yourself. You begin to wonder, what if?

‘What are we supposed to call it then?’ you ask, with a sigh of resignation and a curiosity that slips though just enough to set excitement bubbling in his gut. ‘You won't call me after. I'll never see you again. Or, if I do, you'll pretend you don't know me. What can we call that?’

‘An adventure? Having fun? Whatever you want,’ he says eagerly, leaning in to follow up with a whisper. ‘One thing I can guarantee.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘Orgasms like you’ve never experienced.’ His voice has dropped low, breath hot against your ear, and your core clenches.

You didn't realise one night stands cared about a single orgasm let alone the plural. Fuck. You want him.

‘But I don’t even know your-’

‘Jacob.’ Wow that was too fast.

‘Okay, Jacob. Let’s say I come home with you. Hypothetically. What then?’

He’s never had to play desperate before, but your response to it is making his blood run hot. For the first time in his adult life he’s not sure what to say, dazed by his bodies reaction to you. Is he playing desperate or just plain pathetic? His cock twitches and he grips the edge of the bar, not going unnoticed by you.

The cocktails he ordered are placed on the bar in front of you and you turn to take yours, delighted at the taste. He has good taste. You could tell that a mile off, but feeling it against your tongue hits different.

‘Oh, this is good!’ you exclaim, wondering why he hasn’t picked up his drink. When you turn back, ready to accept his invitation after all, he’s not there.

Well, he is there. Just not where you left him.

He’s knelt at your feet, gazing up at you, and suddenly you understand the true meaning of the phrase puppy dog eyes. And it makes your heart race. You suddenly feel the need to slam him against a wall, strip him bare and watch him tremble.

‘I’ll do whatever you want me too,’ he promises. ‘Give you whatever you need. Thats what’ll happen if you come home with me.’

‘Anything?’ you ask, knees turning weak at how utterly needy he looks down there.

‘Anything.’

"What? You plannin to throw money at me or something?" He flashes you an smirk, unaware of the confusion on your face.

"Not throw but- politely leave on your bedside table preferably," you reply, assuming he was kidding.

"Hold on," He slows the car down at a red light- looks down, and grips the steering wheel, "…Do you think I'm.. an escort?"

"..are you not?" your heart drops to your stomach, voice coming out nervous now.

"No! I'm not a— oh my god. Oh my god. I- It's like- people can't imagine a well dressed, nice, young man-" he covers his face with his hands and continues muttering.

Your entire body is tense, you can hear your heart beating against your chest- you think you're gonna be sick.

"The um the light.." you choke out when he doesn't look up.

He quiets, taking a breath before taking his head out of his hand and driving forward, surprisingly not stopping at the nearest curb and kicking you out.

"I feel like I should go," your hands squeeze into fits in your lap.

"You think?" His voice cracks a bit at the end.

"No- yeah I'm just gonna—" you fling open the car door before you can think better of it, unbuckling your seatbelt and unceremoniously tumbling out of the NOT male escort's car.

Wow. That was easier than expected. Although you're sure it helped that there were no other cars on the road and he wasn't going that fast.

You stand on wobbly legs and dust yourself off- doing your best to ignore the sound of the car screching to a halt and another door swinging open.

"Are you insane? What the hell did you do that for?!" He runs over to you- voice high and eyes wide.

"Wh- I thought we agreed I should go?" you reply, slightly dazed, but still cognizent enough to take a step back when he reaches a hand out to touch your upper arm.

"Yeah- as in I'll drop you off someplace not let's all jump outta the car like psychos!"

"Oh," you can't think of a more dignified response, blinking up at him sheepishly.

His eyes scan your body, searching for any injuries, "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Jesus Christ- okay- can you please just get back in the car." he gestures to the still running car, hands open and out as if he wanted you to know he wasn't going to hurt you.

"I thought-"

"Well now I want you back in, yeah?"

"But I don't have any money.."

"Jesus- I don't want y— okay you know what- you can pay me back by getting in the car," he sounds exasperated, maybe it'd be best just to listen to him.

You begin to trudge back to the car, much to his relief.

"And by not doing anything else that will give me a heart attack," he says under his breath as he turns around to follow you.

The rest of the drive is in silence.. as expected. His house- cause of course he has a house not some bachelor pad or rental- is just as big as expected too. Wait. Shit. Probably not the best time for dick jokes.

His house was reasonably sized based on how expensive his suit and watch looked.

He leads you to an open living room, ceiling to floor windows lining the walls. If this were under any other circumstance you'd go up to them and take in the view.

Sitting down, at his request, you wrap your arms around yourself and try not to think about the dirt you're getting all over his very nice couch.

He looks at you for a moment, hands on his hips, as if he were looking at a stray animal he picked up after realizing no vet was open to take it. After another second of deliberation, he sighs and jerks his head motioning for you to come with him.

You follow him (something you notice you're doing a lot with him.. you're really leaning into the stray animal thing aren't you?) to a bedroom- small and off to the side, probably for guests. Those drinks must really be getting to you because what he's doing only clicks when he opens a closet and pulls out a blanket.

"You want me to stay here?"

"Wow Jacob, you're so kind, letting me stay in your house even though I thought you slept with people for money," he ignores your question, spreading the blanket over the bed. You open your mouth, then close it. You kind of deserved that. Or at least he deserved to be sassy about this whole ordeal.

"Just to be clear- we're not having sex still, right?"

"Well you thought I was a sex worker and jumped out of my car upon realizing I wasn't so I'd say you've had enough excitment for one night," he turns back to you, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah. Okay. That's fair," you sit on the edge of the newly made bed, fidgeting with the corner of the blanket under you.

"Why? Don't tell me you're still horny after all that."

You're suddenly very aware of his honey smooth voice and that smug smirk that had initially enticed you at the bar and was now decorating his face.

"What? No! I'm not- I just.. I expected to be.." Heat rises to your face at his accusation.

"Getting fucked into next week by now?"

"Yes- well no… sorta.." his floor is suddenly the most interesting thing in the room, "More like the other way around actually."

It takes his brain a second to catch up and make sure you actaully said what he thougth you said. But then he laughs- loud and genuine.

"You thought you were gonna top?" he asks between giggles.

"What's so funny about that??" you're sitting up straight now, looking at him challangingly. "Nothing- nothing, it's just- w- you're so.." his hand is covering his mouth now, intended but not doing a very good job at disguising his very clear amusment.

You huff, a frown on your face brodcasting your disaproval.

"Okay- how about this?" he says, his laughter dying down, "Give me a kiss." "What?!"

"Kiss me. If you wanted to top so bad you should at least be able to give me a good kiss, right?"

"Okay. Fine."

You stand, it takes three steps to get to him, your hands cup his face as your lips meet his. You took him by suprise, if his small squeak and the way he has to steady himself at how much you were leaning into him was to go by.

He kisses you back with just as much passion while still letting you take initiative.

When he pulls back he fully expect you to be staring- lips opening and closing like a fish but instead he's greeted by laden eyes and perfectly kiss bitten lips.

"Why'd you pull back? I thought you wanted me to kiss you?" you whisper, frown back across your features.

"I think that was good enough of a kiss," he brings his thumb up to wipe spit off your lips.

"Was it?" "Yeah," he laughs again, you smile back shyly.

"Okay. You. Need to sleep this off," he tilts his head down to look you in the eyes, "Goodnight trouble."

Running on autopilot, you somehow survived until Friday. Each day had been harder than the last, but the masks you wore fooled everyone around you. They kept people from asking uncomfortable questions. From noticing that something inside you had cracked. You just wanted the day to be over. You wanted to disappear into your apartment, lock the door behind you, and let the rest of the world exist without you for a while.

Your grip tightened around your car keys as you crossed the parking lot with quick, determined steps. Then a familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts.

"Hey."

You froze. Your body recognized him before your mind had the chance to. Slowly, you turned around. Jacob stood a few parking spaces away from your car, both hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. And for the first time since you'd met him, he looked different. Smaller and uncertain. 

You looked at him for a moment before turning back toward your car. "I don't think there's anything left that needs to be said."

"I do." His voice wasn't loud. A second later, you heard his footsteps following behind you. "Please."

You stopped beside your car, his reflection appeared in the driver's side window. Closing your eyes, you felt exhaustion settle over every inch of your body. Exhaustion from this situation, from replaying that conversation over and over in your head, as though it wasn't already painful enough. You rubbed your temple and let out a tired sigh.

"What do you want, Jacob?"

"To apologize." He swallowed. "I really screwed this up."

He tried to smile, but the corners of his mouth barely moved. Somewhere behind you, coworkers laughed as they walked toward their own cars, conversations blending into the warm evening air. Life kept moving. Only between the two of you had time decided to stop.

"Listen..." Jacob began. He didn't move any closer. He didn't dare. "I'm not asking you to forgive me. I just... I want to explain."

You rolled your keys between your fingers. "Is there anything left you want to tell me?" you asked quietly. "I thought I already knew exactly what you think of me."

Jacob's face fell.

“I've had a lot of time to think about it these past few days. You don't have to explain anything." You shook your head. "You know what? You don't even have to feel obligated to talk to me."

He shook his head immediately. "You heard the worst possible version of what I was trying to say."

A quiet, bitter laugh escaped you. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

"No." He looked down for a second. "It makes it worse. Because I'm the one who did this to you."

You stared at him for a long moment. Part of you wanted to hear him out, the other part wanted him to disappear. Wanted those blue eyes to stop looking at you so intensely, as though they could see straight through every wall you'd built. See you exposed, emotional, completely defenseless in front of him.

You took a slow breath. "So?" You gave a small shrug. "If you want to explain… I'm listening."

Jacob nodded. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. As though the words had suddenly abandoned him. He tried again. Nothing. Finally, he let out a disbelieving laugh at himself and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I've been preparing for this conversation for five days." A humorless smile tugged at his lips. "I thought I knew exactly what I wanted to say… But... I don't."

You looked at him without any expression. "That's not my problem."

"No." He nodded once. "It isn't. I made it yours."

Silence settled between you again. You lowered your eyes for a moment, unable to withstand his gaze much longer. Another second, and he'd see the tears threatening to spill over.

"I didn't know Daniel wanted to ask you out," he said quietly. "If I had... I would've talked him out of it."

"Oh." Your jaw tightened. "Great."

"But that's not what you think it is. It never was." His voice cracked almost imperceptibly. "You have to believe me."

You looked up. The moment your eyes met his, Jacob caught something he'd never seen there before. Anger, but beneath it, hurt. The kind that came from trusting someone completely.

"No, Jacob." Your voice was calm, but it carried every ounce of exhaustion you'd been hiding. "I don't have to believe you anymore. I trusted you. You were the one person whose opinion actually mattered to me. God... I told you everything."

Jacob closed his eyes.

"And you..." Your voice began to tremble. “You told some guy how to get me. And then you decided I wasn't good enough after all... so you tried to take it back."

He opened his mouth to answer, but you lifted a hand ever so slightly. Not to stop him, just to keep yourself from falling apart.

"I was actually excited about that date." Your eyes drifted somewhere past him. "I wore that pretty dress. I did my makeup. And then..." A tear finally escaped, tracing a warm line down your cheek, you wiped it away almost immediately.  "When I looked in the mirror do you know what I saw? A fraud. Someone pathetic enough to believe that maybe..." Your voice broke. "Maybe someone could actually find her interesting. Maybe even pretty enough to ask out. Because..." You let out a hollow laugh. "What was it you said?" Your eyes met his one more time. "I fall for every smile someone gives me."

Jacob's lips parted. No words came.

"I canceled the date.” Another tear rolled down your cheek. "Not because I didn't want to go. I just…couldn't believe anyone would actually want me." 

Jacob looked away. He nodded once. A small, defeated movement. When he finally looked back at you, his eyes glistened.

"I did that." His voice was barely above a whisper. "And I've never hated myself more than I do right now."

You didn't answer. You'd said everything you had left. Now it was his turn. He took a slow breath.

"You know..." He looked down at the pavement. "I've spent the last five days trying to figure out when all of this started."

His hands slipped back into his pockets, almost like he was afraid they'd reach for yours on their own.

"I thought it started when Daniel told me..." He stopped himself. "It doesn't matter. It wasn't then. It started months ago."

Your brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

A quiet laugh escaped him. "The first time I realized I was in trouble...was the night you fell asleep on my couch. You'd had a horrible week. You were exhausted." The corners of his mouth lifted just enough to soften his face. "We ordered takeout. We were supposed to watch a movie. And you were out before the opening credits. You don't remember?"

You searched your memory. "I woke up covered with a blanket."

Jacob nodded. "Yeah. And I spent ten minutes standing there trying to decide whether kissing you while you were asleep would really be such a terrible idea." A blush crept across his face. "Yeah. I knew I was in trouble. And it scared the hell out of me."

"What?"

"Because I knew what would happen if you said no." He shrugged lightly. "I've been rejected before. It never mattered. I never took it personally. But you..." His voice softened. "You mattered. I never had to impress you. You never made me feel like I wasn't enough." His eyes never left yours. "You were the one person I could just... stop with. For the first time in a long time, I didn't have to perform. I could just be. And that terrified me."

He took a careful step closer. You were too overwhelmed by his words to even notice.

"So I convinced myself it would be better if we stayed friends. But then Daniel showed up..." He grimaced. "He wanted a moment with you. And you deserve someone who appreciates every single day they get with you."

You folded your arms across your chest and drew in a slow breath. "You've always been good with words..." you said quietly.

Jacob let out a soft, almost breathless laugh. "Funny thing is..." He shook his head. "I lose every single one of them when I'm talking to you. They always disappear. Because I never looked at you like you weren't enough."

His expression softened.

"If anything… I kept wondering what someone like you could possibly see in someone like me."

You blinked quickly, fighting back another wave of tears. Jacob continued before you could respond.

"I was afraid you'd see me as the guy who's all style and no substance. The guy who flirts. The guy who always knows the right thing to say. The guy who's just having fun." A small, self-deprecating smile crossed his face. "Even though you never once made me feel like that's all I was."

He looked away for only a second. "I kept thinking… What if one day you tell me you'd never be able to love someone like me? That it was impossible."

Silence settled between you once again. You stared at Jacob as though you were seeing him for the first time. Your mind had gone completely blank. Your heart pounded so hard against your ribs it was a miracle he couldn't hear it. When you finally found your voice, it barely came out above a whisper.

"I'm supposed to believe all of this?"

Jacob gave a helpless shrug. "I wouldn't believe me either." A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "But… If all I wanted was your forgiveness would I really be standing here telling you all this?" 

You couldn't stop the dry laugh that escaped you. "That would be a spectacularly bad strategy."

He huffed out a quiet laugh. "Right." He took another cautious step toward you. "Listen… I'm not expecting you to forgive me today. Or next week. I want to earn it."

Your eyes searched his. "You made me feel so...small."

His face crumpled. "I'm sorry. I never wanted to be the man who made you question who you are. I wish… I wish you could see yourself the way I see you." His eyes held yours with complete honesty. "Because all I see is someone I don't deserve, because I'm just an idiot."

For the first time in days a tiny smile found its way onto your lips. It was small and fragile. Like the first ray of sunlight breaking through heavy storm clouds. Jacob saw it instantly.

"There she is." His own smile appeared in response. "Can I take that as a good sign?"

You wiped the tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand. Your shoulders slowly relaxed. The tight knot that had lived inside your chest for days finally loosened. Not completely. The pain was still there, but it no longer felt impossible to breathe.

"Listen..." you began softly. "I'm still hurt."

Jacob nodded without looking away. "I know. And I don't expect a few words to fix that."

There wasn't a trace of defensiveness in his voice. Only honesty.

You nodded once. "Good. Because things aren't going back to the way they were."

He waited. Didn't interrupt.

"If this is ever going to work you have to promise me something."

"Anything."

"When things get hard you don't run. Don't try to protect me from the truth, even if it's ugly. And don't make decisions for me."

His answer came without hesitation. "I can do that."

You held his gaze for another moment. "Good." A tiny smile returned. "Because… I really missed you."

For the first time since he'd called your name Jacob smiled without restraint. His shoulders sagged with relief. "God… I missed you too. Every single day. It's crazy."

"A little." You looked down at the keys still resting in your hand, then at your car. "I should probably go."

"Right."

You nodded once. "I'll call."

"I'll be waiting."

"I don't know when."

His smile didn't fade. "I'll still be waiting."

You smiled back. This one came a little easier. You opened the driver's door and placed your bag inside. For a second, you looked at Jacob as though you wanted to say something else.

He spoke first. "Thank you."

You frowned slightly. "For what?"

"For giving me the chance to fix this."

There was nothing manipulative about it, just gratitude. You climbed into the car, and Jacob gently closed the door for you.

"See you around," he said as the engine came to life.

You looked at him through the open window. "See you, Jacob."

And somehow, those three words filled him with something he was afraid to think about, hope. Because you were worth every risk he'd ever tried to avoid. He knew that now, and he also knew that he would take as much time as it took to rebuild everything he'd destroyed.

Because despite everything life was simply better with you in it.

Luke smiled. The same smile that had stolen your heart two or three years ago, only to leave it behind in the empty parking lot of the local supermarket. He was more built now. Muscular arms stuck out from beneath a faded T-shirt that had definitely seen better days. His sun-kissed skin was decorated with a few new tattoos, and his hair had clearly come into contact with some seriously cheap bleach. His eyes, however, were the same blue eyes you knew so well. The same ones that sometimes appeared in your dreams at night.

A trail of smoke casually escaped between his lips. “You’re prettier.” He noticed you roll your eyes. “What? I’m lying?”

“I think you have a problem with your memory, and you’ve also run out of original lines. Do girls really fall for that?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“You did.”

Yes, he was right. You lowered your gaze. A couple of cars passed between you, followed by a group of loud teenagers. Finally, Luke pushed himself away from his motorcycle, against which he had been leaning, and tossed his cigarette butt aside.

“You changed job?” he asked.

You nodded.

“I was at Morris’s, but they said you haven’t worked there in a long time. Here now?” He pointed toward the building.

“Yeah. For a while now.”

“Good. You were always smart.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “So… How’s life treating you?”

“You’re really asking me that?” You shook your head in disbelief. You sighed. “I heard the carnival was coming to town. I just didn’t expect you to come with it.”

Luke spread his hands. “And here I am. I missed you...”

“Jesus…” you groaned, rubbing your temple, but you couldn’t hide your smile. “You had almost three years to reach out if you really missed me, you know. Come on, Luke.”

The smile on his lips faded a little, but giving up so easily was never Luke Glanton’s style. He walked toward you slowly. The laces of his boots dragged along the asphalt behind him. You thought that sooner or later he was going to lose a tooth if he didn’t start tying them. He rarely did.

“You seeing anyone?”

A strange shiver ran through your body. As if this man radiated some kind of energy your body could sense but didn’t know how to react to. You dug your nails into your arms, trying to calm yourself down.

“Why do you care? What for?”

He shrugged. “You’re my girl, right?”

You chuckled. “You wanted me. You got me.”

“I wanted more.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left.”

He lowered his gaze. You knew why he had left, even though you had tried so hard not to understand it. If the two of you wanted to build a life together, you needed more than hot feelings and plans. Money. Back then, you worked as a waitress and barely made anything. Luke, as a motorcycle stuntman, wasn’t exactly making a fortune either. And although you loved him, although you believed that what existed between you made sense, he saw things differently. And he was probably right. You were young, in love… It was only after he left, after you cried through enough nights, that you started changing your life. Without him.

Luke scraped his boot against the ground, then looked at you.

“You coming by tonight? I’ve got a show, but afterward we could talk.”

You shrugged slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe I have other plans?”

That smile again. It was going to be your curse for the rest of your life.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I’ll be washing my hair.”

Now you smiled too. Your answer was so irrational that neither of you could stop yourselves from laughing. Your laughter echoed through the quiet neighborhood. Luke hesitantly reached out his hand. His long fingers brushed your arm, and it felt like a tiny electric shock. Your heart sped up.

“Come, please…” he murmured quietly. “I missed you, sweetheart…”

You already knew you had lost.

You didn’t know why you had agreed, but you showed up where he expected you to. You were lost to the world. Whenever Luke appeared on the horizon, your brain seemed to automatically focus on him, even though you knew perfectly well it was nothing good.

The place was packed with people. Children ran between the stalls. Music played in the background. The smell of popcorn hung in the air.

You spotted him only after a while. He was looking for you, standing not far from where the other stuntmen kept their motorcycles. The ever-present cigarette between his lips trembled slightly as he talked to one of his friends. When he noticed you and your eyes met, the expression on his face changed immediately.

He didn’t even get a chance to make a gesture before someone called your name from somewhere behind you. Some young man, someone he vaguely recognized from around town, was already walking toward you. You started talking. You laughed, and he visibly grew more confident. It didn’t last long. It was completely innocent, but Luke still felt irritation building inside him.

You had come there for him. He knew that perfectly well. And yet that guy… Luke put out his cigarette and headed your way. You noticed him from the corner of your eye.

“Hi. Can I steal you?” 

Before you could answer, he gently took your arm and led you toward his motorcycle.

“You said you weren’t seeing anyone,” he muttered.

The amusement on your face was obvious.

“Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Good.”

You stopped, and Luke glanced toward the man you had left behind. He was slowly disappearing into the crowd.

“Maybe I like nice guys?”

Blue eyes immediately settled on your face. “I’m nice.”

“Oh, please!” You laughed. “You, Luke, are trouble.”

“And yet you came anyway,” he pointed out with irritating accuracy. “Maybe you like complicated things.”

“Maybe I like you.”

You failed to stop those words from escaping, and the moment they left your lips, Luke’s face softened. You had confirmed what he already knew. You lowered your gaze. To ease the tension a little, you glanced at the motorcycle beside which you were standing. You knew it very well. Luke had taken you for rides on it many times.

“Want to go for a ride?” he asked, as if he could read your mind.

You shrugged. “I’m sure plenty of your fans are waiting in line for you to take them.”

“I’m asking you.”

His eyes lingered on your lips for a moment before lazily moving back to your eyes.  Dangerous. Very dangerous.

“So?”

You nodded.

The sky was scattered with stars as you rode down the empty road. Just you and Luke. Like before. You could feel the warmth of his body as you wrapped your arms around his waist. There wasn’t a single thought in your head, as if the wind messing up your hair had taken all your thoughts with it.

You didn’t protest when he turned onto a side road and then into the empty parking lot beneath the supermarket. The exact same one where everything had once ended. The engine died, and you slid off the motorcycle.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I missed you.” His voice broke the silence. “Every day. Every night.”

You stood with your back to him. He guessed that you were afraid to look at him because then you would have to face what you were feeling. He understood. So he stepped closer.

“I fucked it up. I know,” he continued. “But I wanted to give you what you deserved. The life you deserved.”

“So you decided for me.” Your voice was slightly trembling, but clear. “You hurt me. More than anyone ever has.”

He took a breath. The air smelled of the nearby forest, and he could also catch the faint scent of your perfume.

“I am a trouble. You’re right.” He sighed. “But I care about you. I always have.”

You turned around. Something heavy dropped into his stomach when he saw your wet eyes. You weren’t crying. Not yet.

“You shouldn’t have decided for me.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t even give us a chance.”

“I know.”

“I thought I was just a toy to you… A summer fling, one of dozens you have while traveling between states.”

His jaw tightened. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled something out. He handed it to you, and you realized it was a folded photograph. A picture of the two of you. Luke had his arm around you, kissing your temple. You were laughing as if there would never be a tomorrow, because only that moment mattered.

That summer appeared before your eyes again. Warm and humid. Evening meetings and morning kisses over cups of coffee. The way he used to pick you up after work. The sound of his motorcycle engine. His hands wandering over your body. Tender kisses. Hot nights. The plans you had made together. A house. A future. A swing in the garden. Everything you could have.

“You were with me everywhere. Always.” His voice was quiet. “I didn’t come here just to mess with your head. I fucked it up. I know that. If you don’t want me, I’ll pack up with the guys in a week and you’ll never see me again. But if there’s hope…”

You looked at him.

“If there’s hope, I don’t want to spend another second wondering whether I should have kissed you. Because that’s all I’ve been wanting to do. Unless you won’t let me.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks. Emotions you weren’t even sure you could name filled every part of you, and your heart was pounding so hard that Luke had to hear it. Still, you took an uncertain step toward him.

“That’s not a no,” Luke said quietly.

“I missed you…” you whispered. “Every day.”

“I know, sweetheart…”

He cupped your face in his hands. He wiped away your tears with his thumbs, and a moment later, he kissed you. At first, slowly, as if he wanted to give you a chance to pull away. But when you kissed him back, he didn’t hesitate. His lips stole your breath. You pressed yourself against his solid body, afraid your legs would give out beneath you.

Luke Glanton was trouble. Trouble that had found you again. Had you done the right thing by letting him back in? You didn’t know. Time would tell…