help me i’m an artist

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

The words tumble out of James’ mouth in a panicked rush, his chest heaving as he grips your shoulders. You know he doesn’t mean to be so rough as he looks you over, checking for any bites or significant wounds. You know he’s just scared.

You’ve seen him worried before. You’ve seen him concerned about the health and wellbeing of those in the town, you’ve watched him unravel over the possibility of his neighbors going without food or warmth. You’ve seen him angry, furious even, but you’ve never seen him quite this frantic.

Scared. He’s scared. No, terrified. He’s terrified that he almost just lost you, terrified because he didn’t get to you in time and if you hadn’t gotten the upper hand on that clicker you wouldn’t be standing right now. The thought of that thing ripping into you and stealing that spark of light in your eyes that never seems to go out even when everyone else is fucking miserable… that petrifies him.

“Why did you run off like that?”

“I was handling it!”

“Handling-” he scoffs, shaking his head as he releases his grip on your shoulders. “You agreed to listen to me if I brought you out here. It was far enough away you could have waited.”

“I was taking preemptive measures.”

Preemptive measures.

“You’re a brat, you know that? No one else would’ve done what you just fuckin’ did.”

“You would have.”

He stares at you, dumbfounded and completely still. You’re not wrong. Damn you for not being wrong about that, about him.

“I’m taking you home and we’re gonna get cleaned up and then we’re gonna talk.”

“Are you going to tell David?”

He shakes his head, guilt and shame sitting heavy on his shoulders. “I should. You know I should. But no, I’m not gonna tell David.”

“Thank you, I-”

He cuts you off again.

“Only if you promise me to never pull that shit again when you’re out here with me.”

“Yes sir.”

He’s struck by that, his heart hammering in his chest as he lets those two obedient little words sink in. Yes sir.

“Good girl. Now come on.”

-

The warmth of your house melts the tension and chill from your bones, your shoulders sagging with relief as you put your backpack down with a heavy thud. James goes straight to the bathroom, starting the shower, waiting for the pipes to warm up so there’s hot water.

“We should hire a plumber,” you tease, kicking your shoes off in the hallway. “Shouldn’t take so long to get warm.”

“Yeah, honey, I’ll make sure to call one tomorrow,” he plays along, though his tone is dry and humorless. “They’re probably closed for the evening.”

“Shame.”

He stifles a laugh, but you catch it. He smiles, his blue eyes glittering with amusement even as he pretends to hate your playful banter.

“We could always just… warm each other up in there,” you suggest. “Saves us time, and water.”

The mischief in your tone makes him shiver.

He watches as you begin to undress, tossing your clothes in a pile on the floor. His gaze is hungry, taking in every inch of your body as you expose it to him, yet greedy for more. When you’re down to nothing but your underclothes, he begins to follow your lead, stripping off his bloodstained sweater.

“I’ll get those stains out, I know that’s one of your favorite sweaters.”

He hardly registers your offer, he doesn’t give a damn about the sweater right now. His attention is fixed on you, his concern is all for you. He could have lost you today. He can replace a sweater, but he can’t replace you.

“Get in the shower, it’s warm now.”

You obey, letting your last scraps of clothing fall to the floor before stepping into the cascade of water. You moan as the warmth meets your skin, your eyes closing as you revel in the way your muscles begin to unwind.

James closes the shower door as he steps in behind you, his large hands finding your hips to pull you closer. You feel his broad chest pressed against your back, that nipple piercing you love so much cold against your skin.

“You know,” his voice is a deep rumble in your ear, “I… acted like I was mad at ya for running off half cocked, but… it was really hot seeing you take down that clicker all by yourself.”

“Really?”

He hums, hands smoothing over your body, appraising the curve of your waist. “Yeah, I was scared out of my mind, but seeing you like that… fierce, brutal… made me need you.”

You feel the proof of his need against your backside, his erection aching for your attention. He turns you to face him then, allowing it to rest against your thigh as he tilts your head back, wetting your hair beneath the running water.

“You looked so fuckin’ sexy losing yourself like that, all that pent up rage I had no idea you had in you.”

“Yeah, well, can’t exactly direct all that rage at the person it’s usually meant for,” you scoff. “I liked pretending that clicker’s ugly face was his.”

He shouldn’t laugh. Your hatred for David, your savior and leader, shouldn’t amuse him as much as it does. It’s cute, how worked up you get over it. Small, but fierce.

“It was more than that,” he insists, “I saw how terrified you were too. You thought you were gonna die. I still can’t figure out why you ran headfirst into that thing.”

“I wasn’t scared that I was going to die.”

“Oh, sure you weren’t,” he laughs, grinning from ear to ear.

“I was scared it was going to kill you.”

Your admission makes him pause. His hands go still in your hair, his smile fading. He meets your gaze, so many questions swirling in the depth of his.

“Now why would you be scared about that?”

“You were taking down that runner, you were already winded and on the ground. That son of a bitch was heading right towards you.”

Understanding dawns on him. He thinks about the way you bolted towards the clicker, your knife the only weapon on you. Your eyes had been lit up with a fire he had never seen in you, he had mistaken it for terror or rage… but it had been something more.

“You were protecting me.”

It’s not a question, he understands now, and he can’t shake the confusing mix of pride and shame that barrels into him. He should be protecting you, not the other way around.

Without another word, he surges forward, crashing his mouth into yours in a desperate kiss. His hands tighten in your hair, needing to have you as close as he can get you.

You moan into his searing kiss as he chases relief for the desire burning him up. He’s frantic, needy, and you’re all too willing to oblige him. With one hand on his shoulder and the other pressed flat against the shower door, you brace yourself for what you know is coming.

James lifts one of your legs, guiding you to hook your thigh around his hip. He presses your back against the shower wall, breaking the kiss only to watch the water cascading down your heaving chest.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters, moved to blasphemy by the sight of your breasts.

You’re about to call him out for it when he dives in, latching onto one of your nipples with an insatiable hunger. Anything you were going to say to him falls to the wayside.

He touches you with an urgency you don’t quite understand, like it’s the last time he’s ever going to be with you like this. You figure he’s still rattled by what happened earlier, still can’t quite shake the image of you tackling that clicker with nothing but your blade, but there’s more to it. There’s also reverence and gratitude, he’s in awe of you for saving his life.

His mouth releases your nipple with a wet pop only to move to the other one, not willing to let it go neglected. Your hand moves from his shoulder to his hair, stroking it soothingly as if to tame that fire threatening to consume him.

“I need you,” he groans against your breast, “I need to fuck your perfect cunt.”

You whine at his words, you can’t help it. You love when he gets like this, when he falls apart for you and says such dirty things that would make everyone else in the community shudder and blush.

“You can have me, James, I’m all yours.”

He groans at your permission, hand trailing down between your bodies. His long fingers skim over your slit, making you shiver. He’s teasing you, hardly touching you, wanting you as needy for him as he is for you. When he finally settles his calloused fingers over your aching clit, you give a soft hum of approval.

“It’s been a minute since I’ve been able to play with this pretty clit, hasn’t it?”

You nod, hips twitching in response to the stimulation. “You’ve been so busy, haven’t had a moment alone with you all week.”

“I know, baby girl,” he soothes, rubbing slow circles on your swollen bud. “I’m sorry. I’ve neglected my sweet girl.”

His tongue drags along the slender curve of your throat, his free hand wrapping around his thick shaft. He’s already achingly hard, but he gives it a few slow strokes for good measure.

“I need to be inside of you right now. That okay with you?”

You barely nod before he’s running his leaking tip through your arousal, getting you both nice and wet before pushing into you slowly. He stretches you open, inch by inch of his cock sinking into your tight warmth. A low growl bubbles up his throat, spilling from his lips as he bottoms out.

“Fuck, you always take me so well, honey.”

He doesn’t give you time to adjust like he usually does, setting a quick, rough rhythm, hips snapping against yours. His hands move to steady you, fingers sinking into your plush hips with a bruising force.

“My girl,” he snarls, nipping at your jaw. “It’s my job to take care of you… fuck… to provide for you… to protect you.”

Each pump of his cock in your wanting heat makes your head spin, cries of pleasure echoing in the confined space. Even over the sound of running water, you can hear the slick strokes and the obscene slap of skin against skin.

“It isn’t your job to protect me,” he continues breathlessly, “it’s not your place to go off and…. and get yourself killed for me.”

His hands move to your ass, kneading the globes of flesh with no regard to how hard he’s pawing at you. He’s completely unhinged in his pursuit to put you in your place.

“But fuck if it wasn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He lifts his head, placing an unsteady kiss against your cheek, panting hard against your skin. The mix of rough and tender touch is just as confusing for you as his whirlwind of emotions are for him. As much as he wants to be upset with you for almost getting yourself killed on his behalf, you know you’ve done something to him letting him see that ruthless side of you.

“I don’t want to ever see you running off into danger like that again,” he punctuates his words with a particularly forceful thrust into your tender cervix. “Do you understand me, baby girl?”

“Yes! Yes I understand,” you cry out, hands flying to his biceps, nails biting into his skin. “I understand!”

He groans, resting his head on your shoulder as his thrusts lose their rhythm, his movement erratic. You can tell he’s close.

“I was so… fuck, I was so scared. I thought I was gonna have to put you down.”

He holds you tighter, his grip nearly crushing you. You don’t mind the force of his hold- in fact, you pull him even closer, wrapping your arms tight around him.

“I’m here,” you whisper into his ear, hips pressing into his with each sloppy thrust he gives you. “You’ve got me now.”

He grinds against you just right, the friction on your most sensitive spots making you see stars. Your head tips back against the shower wall, chest heaving as your climax begins to build.

“Shit, just like that James.”

He obliges you, rocking his hips as his hands guide you to grind with him. He doesn’t stop until he feels your walls flutter around his aching shaft, your own blissful end luring him to his. Hips stuttering, he spills into you with a rough sigh of relief.

The two of you stay like that for quite some time, catching your breath as the water turns cold. Still basking in your afterglow, you feel him lower your leg, your muscles stiff.