diamonds in the trees pentagrams in the night sky

Part One: Like Caramel

Chapter 1: You were trying your best

Chapter 2: Godspeed to my enemies

Chapter 3: Sanctified by what's below

Chapter 4: Bursting colours

Chapter 5: Dangerous to me

Chapter 6: Something you say or something you do

Chapter 7: Take what you want

Part Two: Like The Rain

Chapter 8: More than just somebody I was destined to meet

Chapter 9: Frothing at the maw

Chapter 10: Something beneath

Chapter 11: Metaphors fall short

Chapter 12: Keep me sharp

Chapter 13: Oceans receed (soon)

Chapter 14: Pull at the chains (soon)

GOD OF THE GAPS [MASTERLIST] ↳ [Finished Series] Sleep Token x Fem!Reader

You wake in a world of dead gods, with no name and no past, only four masked men. You are pulled into a family not bound by blood, but by devotion. They are vessels of Sleep and they see something in you that keeps you alive. As you are kept within their crumbling world of rituals and whispers, their strange affection begins to warp you. What starts as fear turns into obsession, each of them pulling at something different inside you. The lines between love, worship, and possession blur. Their hands become your home, their violence your doctrine. And as each bond frays the edges of your mind, you start to forget you were ever anything but theirs.

LOOK TO WINDWARD [MASTERLIST] ↳ [Ongoing Series] Sleep Token x Fem!Reader

Free at last from Sleep’s curse, V wants only one thing, a long and peaceful life with the vessels she loves. But while she was gone, Arcadia changed. A false god, the Feathered Host, is rising, and the old balance of the realm is beginning to break, threatening to destroy everything left of the Seven Old Gods. Now returned to Arcadia as a goddess herself, V is forced into a new war. To save her lovers once again, she must learn to wield the dangerous magic within her, defy death, and stand against kings, armies, and fate itself. But as her power grows, so does the fear that divinity may consume her before she can save anyone at all.

SKIN OF THUNDER [MASTERLIST] ↳ [Ongoing Series] Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

Simon Riley lives like a storm on the edge of breaking. But then there is you. You pull at him like the soft drip of rain. And in the stillness between you, Ghost begins to realize that you are the calm he never knew he needed, an unexpected refuge in the tempest that has always defined him.

WHERE WE PART [MASTERLIST] ↳ [Finished Series] Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

Days pass. The sky remains dreary and grey. Vessel gave you his number now all you need is an excuse. What if that night didn't mean to him what it did to you? He wasn't healing from a mountain of heartbreak. What if it was just a one-night stand and that's all he wants, all he will ever want. He made it evident that he has certainly been with a woman before, or at least knows his way around one. What if he is alone on purpose? Or what if this is the start of something? What if he is pacing a rut in his dark, gloomy apartment, wishing for your light again? How would you know without making the first move? 

Your mind is plagued with thoughts of him. You stare down at your phone, willing it to light up. 

Douchebag: hey. Omw. 

Shit. You forgot that you had set up for your ex to pick up his stuff today. He is the last person that you want to see, especially after the stunt you pulled. He is going to do everything that he can to make this as painful as possible for you. Maybe you should cancel, but that’ll only move this problem to later in the week, and you don’t want to dread this moment any longer. 

You: Bet.

You reply before going into your conversation with Vessel. 

Lamp Post🕯️: Hey, I had a great night. Please let me know when you get home safe. 

You: I had a great night too. Don’t worry about me, I just got back to my apartment. 🫶

Lamp Post 🕯️: good 

That was Saturday morning, now it's Wednesday evening, and Vessel still captivates your every thought. You haven't wished for him more than in this moment, where you know your ex is on the way to start a fight. Maybe a fight will do you some good; it’ll feel like severance, like independence. You think back to kissing Vessel in the bar. It felt like freedom, it felt like sovereignty. You yearn for those feelings again; all you wish is that Vessel could be sitting on your couch waiting with you. You’d straddle him, make out, and pay your ex no mind as he grabs whatever he left in the apartment that feels worth fighting about.  Knowing how mad that would make him turns you on more than you would like to admit. Throughout the relationship, he reminded you that he could do without you, that he had options. He had made you feel like a placeholder. You brace for him to be at the door, holding on to the waist of a prettier woman. He wouldn’t care about her either; she would only be there to add salt to the wound. The anxiety is eating you up; you can’t take it anymore. 

You: Vessel? Are you busy? 

You stare at the phone, feeling pathetic. He's not going to respond; you don’t know what else he could be doing, but surely it's more important that the girl who imposed herself on his peaceful Friday night. You would give anything for Vessel to be here, but maybe if you could get him on the phone, then seeing your ex wouldn’t sting so bad. That's not the only reason, just like when you kissed him in the bar- you truly wanted to kiss him. But what if he would feel like you’re using him? Like you only reach out when you need to piss off your ex. Suddenly, your phone buzzes, and your stomach sinks. 

Lamp Post 🕯️: Never too busy for you. What's up?

You smile and you feel calm. But now what? You begin to type “Vessel, I’ve been missing you like crazy, and I'm ready to break the lease on this shitty apartment to move into your less shitty apartment because I just want to be with you, and you fixed me in ways I didn’t know I was broken. Please come to my house and fuck this pain away …

But you stop. Maybe that's a little too forward. 

You: I’ve been thinking about you a lot these past few days. 

About four minutes pass, and you know that it's only been four because you have watched each of them in agony. 

Lamp Post 🕯️: funny. I've been hard-pressed to think about anything but you. 

You: Can I call you? 

No sooner than you press send, do you hear a knock at your door. Something in your heart hopes it's somehow Vessel, but you know it's not. You quickly put a pot of water on the stove to pretend that you were cooking, and answer the door while acting engrossed in your phone. 

“Hey” 

“Hey,” you respond, not looking up. You can tell by the shoes that it's not Vessel, so why would you bother making eye contact? You walk back to the kitchen,   stirring your pot of water. 

“Really?” 

“What?” 

“You’re just going to be cold and bitchy like you never liked me? You’re just going to act like I’m not here?” 

“That would be ideal.” 

“Look, I know that I fucked up. I get that. Now you got back at me, and we’re even. Can’t you just get over it?” 

“Get over it?” God, this man is good at pissing you off. “Getting back at you? Even? Please point to where I spent MONTHS texting him about how you’re never going to be good enough and I’m only with you because I feel bad for you and you’ll let me in your pants whenever I feel like it! Oh! You can’t! Because I would never do that to someone I love.” 

“And I would never whore myself out to the first loser that made eyes at me just because you pissed me off! I know you went home with him, and I’m willing to be the bigger person and get past that and make this work.”

“Being the bigger person!”

“Yeah! I’m not doing underhanded shit like you are!” 

“Except for the whole cheating on me thing? The destroying my self-esteem thing? You got that out of your system, so NOW you can be the bigger person? Get your shit and get out of my house.” 

“Fine. You're not ready to talk. I get it.” Even his tone is infuriating. “Whatever you're making, it'll boil faster if you turn the burner on.” 

Dammit. Before you can feel too embarrassed about that, your phone buzzes in your hand. 

Lamp Post 🕯️: I’d love to hear your voice. 

You: call me, please

And he does just that. 

“Hey, babe.” You try not to make your voice too flirty, but you can’t help yourself. Seeing your ex whip his head around like a meerkat is exhilarating. 

“Hello, my darling.” Oh, how that gentle guitar strum kisses your ear. 

“What are you up to tonight?”

“Same thing I do every night, which is not much.” 

“Well, I’d love to join you.” Douchebag is in the other room, and you can hear him slamming things, but you don’t care. Let him be mad. He deserves to be mad. 

“Are you sure? I don’t have much in my place. Have you eaten? Do you want dinner?” What a gentleman. 

“I’d love to do dinner.” 

“What sounds good to nourish my darling?” 

“Surprise me. Just let me know if I should bring a red or a white.” 

“You don’t need to bring anything but yourself, love.”

“Oh, you charmer.”

“I'll handle everything, just let me know if there's anything you don’t like. I'm heading to the store now <3” 

“I'm not picky, I just want to be with you.” 

“I can't wait. I'll see you soon. Do you think you'll find your way to me?” 

“Oh, I'll be there. See you soon.” 

Now, to address the commotion in the other room. You open your bedroom door to see that he is well on his way to destroying the entire place. He threw everything out of the dresser, unmade your bed,  and took the mirror off the wall. 

“WHAT THE HELL!”

“What? I was looking for my charger.” His smug feigned ignorance makes you see red. 

“Behind the mirror?!” 

“Yeah, I couldn't find it, so I figured you must be trying to hide my shit.”

Where you would typically start picking up handfuls of clothes and throwing them back at him, demanding that he put them away, something makes you swallow that anger. It's not worth it. Nothing in this apartment is worth suffering this dickhead’s presence for a moment longer than you have to. You can almost feel a hand on your shoulder. You take a deep breath. 

“Well, I'm going out, so just lock the door when you’re done.”

“I probably won't"

You don't respond. 

On the way to the cathedral, you stop at a liquor store. He told you not to bring anything, but it feels rude to show up with nothing. You try to guess what Vessel might want. He was drinking whiskey sours at the bar, but you know nothing about whiskey and don't think it's worth it to risk. He gives off red wine vibes, at least his apartment does, so that's what you go with. You pick something cheap and sweet, which are the only wines you’re familiar with. Sitting by the checkout is a vat of buzz balls. You know yourself, and you grab 2 of them. One to drink as soon as you park at the cathedral, and one to keep in your backpack in case you get anxious in a way that wine is not going to be fast enough to fix. As you get back into the car, you get another message. 

Lamp Post 🕯️: We’re doing pizza, what do you want on it?

You: Sausage, mushrooms, and olives, please

You: or we don’t have to do olives if you don't like olives

You: Or mushrooms

You: I'm cool with just cheese

You: Or anything, I'm not picky. 

You: Thank you for dinner on such short notice. I need to be out of the house. 

You: Let me know what it comes out to I’ll send you money. 

Lamp Post 🕯️: Its an honor to have you over. You need out of your house, and I need to be not alone. This works out beautifully, and I am thrilled to buy you dinner. <3 Please do not rob me of this honor. 

You: Oh dear you're making my teeth hurt. 

You spend the drive to the cathedral blaring music to drown out your anxiety. That drowning continues as you park and chug your first drink before ascending the stairs. 

Standing outside the door brings you right back to the weekend, but instead of feeling dread and anxiety that you’re going to be murdered, you’re scared that Vessel may not like you mostly-sober. At the bar, you were being someone you aren’t; you were flirty, sexy, and confident. Now, especially after talking to your ex again, you don’t think you could be those things even if you tried. What if he finds you boring? What if he asks you to leave? Something compels you to knock on the door.  

Vessel answers, and you are fascinated by seeing how he fills the doorway. He’s somehow taller than you remember. The candles are already lit, his smile is welcoming, and his space feels cozy. 

“Hello, Darling.” His voice is a gentle hum

“ Hi Vessel,” you’re smiling like a goober, and again under his gaze, you feel beautiful.

“Come on in, I'm just finished shredding the cheese.”

 Snooping around the apartment, you see the familiar candles, the bed and dresser, a small keyboard, and in the warm glow of his stove light, you see a loaf of French bread, a can of tomato sauce, plates of shredded cheese, and, to your surprise, mushrooms, olives, and Italian sausage. You are beaming. Douchebag never really planned dates, and certainly never cooked for you. 

“Let me take your bag. Feel free to set your coat where you’d like.” 

Staring at the array in the kitchen, you can feel the tears begin to collect in your eyes. It's the effort of it all. You’re not used to effort anymore. Knowing that this man is about to treat you so good, and then you’re going to have to go back to your house to clean up after a grown man's temper tantrum. You’re frozen, staring at the food.

“Are you okay?” Vessel puts a hand on your shoulder, no longer scared to touch you. The tears flow over your cheeks. 

“This is all so sweet.” Your voice is trembling. 

“Is it too much? We don’t have to do all of this if you’re not feeling up for it. I can put this all away, and we can get takeout. I don’t mind at all.” He wraps his arms around you, causing you to slip into that full chest-heaving cry that you’ve been holding back all week. 

“It's not too much, no, it's perfect. I just don’t know what to say.” 

Vessel rests his head on top of yours and pulls you into his chest. His aroma is just as heavenly as you remember, and you breathe deeper, partly because his arms bring you an innate sense of calm and partly to fill your lungs with sacred vapor. 

“Not used to someone being sweet to you?” 

“ I suppose not.” You wipe your tears. “He wasn’t much of a romantic.” 

Vessel takes your chin in his thumb and forefinger and tips your head up to look at him. 

“Well, if you’ll have me, I’d love to show you love.” 

“I’d very much love that.” 

Over French bread pizza and red wine, standing in the kitchen, you talk about your interests and histories. You wince at hearing that he's a gamer, so was your ex, but a familiarly strange force unties the knot in your stomach. Vessel differs from your ex in every way that two men can differ. Vessel is soft and comforting, like the glow of the candles around you. Upon the slightest prying, you learn that he is into the same games you like. Every word out of this man’s mouth draws you further and further into him. 

Once the buzzball and the first glass of wine hit your head, all you can think about is burying your face in Vessel’s chest. You kiss him on the cheek and blush like a middle schooler. You want to hand him a note and have him circle yes or no to see if he likes you. You want him to like you. You want him to like-like you. 

“Vessel?” 

“Yes, darling?” 

“This might be moving a little fast, but...” but what? “You are the only thing that has made my mind go quiet in God only knows how long, and I can’t bear to think that I am going to be without you for even a moment when I leave, so can I move in with you?” Don’t fuckin say that. “Would you. . . want to be. . . serious with me? I've never really done the whole one-night stand thing, and the thought of being just fuck buddies is really depressing, and I feel a lot for you. In a deep way, in a special way. I know we just met, but the thought of you being with anyone else is eating me alive.”  JESUS CHRIST BITCH DID YOU JUST DRINK FUCKING TRUTH SERUM??

He chuckles, and for a moment, you think he is laughing at you; a blistering hot flush races to your cheeks.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?” 

“I….suppose” 

He pulls you in. His kisses are passionate, and his hands trace your curves. If all he wants is sex, you would be at his beck and call, waiting for him. In this moment, you would take any degree of closeness that he would give you. You brace for a no,

“You want to be mine?” He taunts between kisses

“Yes,” you beg in breathless response. 

“Then say it.” He commands

“Vessel.” You say in your only break from his fervent tongue in your mouth. “I,” He cuts you off again with intoxicating kisses, and his hands have begun to explore under your shirt, still too respectful to start undressing you without your permission. “Want,” you are choosing words over breath in the small breaks he gives you. You feel like you’re being challenged, and you’re desperate to prove yourself. You trace his lean body with your hands, remembering how the candles highlighted his small muscles. “To be” you are out of air, and as soon as you manage a sharp intake of breath, he is back on your lips, holding your head in one hand and your waist in the other.  You rock your body into his, and your eyes roll back into your head. “Yours” 

He stares down at you, candlelight reflecting in his eyes. Your chest heaves as you try to make up for missed breaths, your eyes pleading to him for what feels like an eternity. He smirks. He looks proud, and for a moment, he lets you wonder if he is proud of you, or proud of himself for the mess he's managed to make of you.  

He clasps your hand in his, interlocking your fingers. “I want to ask you. . .”

The silence he leaves you in lasts only one breath, but it is agony. 

“Do you really love me?”

“Vessel, I haven’t been able to think about anything but you for the past 4 days.”

“And I’m sure you have, but you just got out of a relationship. You can forgive me for worrying that you may not really love me, and you might be scared to be alone.” 

“How can I prove it?”

“I’d never make you prove it, I'm just used to taking it a little slower, I guess. You’ll have to forgive my hesitance.” 

“Are you scared that if I see more of you, I’ll like you less? I know it's fast, it's fast for me too, but something is pulling me to you in a way that I don't understand, and I don’t want to question something that feels so correct. So good. So perfect. I just want to be yours. I don’t think I can handle being apart from you for long.” It's as if the words are being pulled directly from your heart without you getting a chance to stop them, as if something knows what you want to say and is puppeting you to say it. Vessel softly trails a finger up your torso, between your breasts, up your throat, and to your lips.  

“This is…just…delicate” 

“It doesn’t have to be.” you plead. “You won't break me.” A smile spreads across Vessel’s face; his canines glint in a way that is both threatening and irresistibly sexy. You lean in to kiss you and he offers you his cheek. 

“I can compromise.” He purrs, “You can be mine, and I will be yours. But … for a time, things will still be delicate…slow. Does that please you?”

“Vessel, I will take every inch that you will give.” 

“Would you like to lie on the bed for me, darling?” his voice is almost creamy. “We’ll see how many inches I can give you.” You cross the small room in a few long strides and throw yourself against the mattress. You put a palm against the mattress beside your head and arch your back. You try to make yourself look like a whole meal, and when you look at his cock straining against the seam of his jeans, you are proud of your work. 

He stands at the side of the bed, towering over you. Lit from behind, he is no longer lanky; he is imposing. He gazes down, ready to devour you. He climbs on the bed between your legs and grinds against you. You press your hips into his desperately and try your best to stifle your moans, letting him set the pace even if that pace is going to be torturously slow. You drink him in with your eyes, and when you go to move your hands, you find that same familiar force pinning them into the quilt, your palms on either side of your head. You bite your lip, straining against the invisible restraint and gasping for more breaths of Vessel’s air. Your eyes roll back at the delicious friction against your sensitive clit. Vessel hooks a thumb under the bottom hem of your top and pulls it over your head and past your elbows. 

“V-Vessel, I can’t move my hands.” Your voice is desperate and breathy, and your hips don’t stop rocking. 

“I,” he stops, and backs his hips away from the burning heat between your legs. “I’m not holding you down. You can move your hands if you’d like.” He shows you his hands like a magician, and you struggle against the restraint to demonstrate. His eyes widen as he leans in to examine closely. You shudder as the scent of his cologne grows stronger with proximity. He sees your blinding horniness and offers his thigh to grind on as he stares at your hands. 

“I’m weird about being touched … during. Is that okay?” 

You nod in response, continuing to rock your aching pussy against his thigh. 

“Are you uncomfortable with your hands like that?” His eyes are burning and intense. You shake your head no,  practically foaming at the mouth for his cock. He grabs your wrists and moves them together over your head. 

“Is that better?” he asks, eyes boring into you. 

“Yeah, that's better. I still can't move them myself. But this is comfy.” Which isn't a lie, though you would let this man fold you into a pretzel if it meant that you could feel his dick inside of you again. 

He hovers his palm over the center of your chest, grazing you with only his middle finger, dragging a path down to the button of your jeans, which he undoes with one hand, gripping your thigh with the other. He slowly rocks his head to the side, examining you as if something is different. 

The room is warm from the candles and the oven, still, goosebumps blossom all over your skin. His body sheens lightly with sweat. His chest heaves up and down as he breathes, the ebb and flow in perfect unison with the aching between your hips.  Everything about this moment is warm, soft, gentle, and slow. Tormentingly slow. 

“Ves-vessel, please touch me.” You shudder, desperate and craving. 

“You want to be mine, don’t you?”

“Yes, Vessel, please make me yours.” 

“Give me your patience.” He coos as he grabs the waistband of your jeans, sliding them down at an undemanding pace. You arch your back to help him disrobe you, and he palms your throbbing heat. You buck your hips into his soft hand. Your breaths are ragged, and no matter how many you try and take, your lungs are starved for more air. 

“Good girl… breathe for me…show me how you breathe.” You count in your head, hoping and praying that if you breathe well enough, Vessel will finally fill you again. You hold pleading eye contact and breathe in for a count of four, hold for a count of two, and out for a count of four. 

“Very good, give me three of those and I can give you what you want.” His voice is a cello. He traces a soft circle around your clit. His fingers have no trouble finding your most sensitive spot and touching it exactly how you need. It's as if you had been lovers for a lifetime- like he has a perfect map of your body and has studied it for years. His touch is more than welcome, as your body surges in rejoice at any ounce of stimulation that he will give you. 

“Breathe.” He guides, and you breathe with every intent to please him. Laid upon the altar that is his bed, you breathe as an offering and pray for the blessing of pleasure you know awaits you. Vessel looks at you with pain behind his eyes. After three deep breaths, you are rewarded with two fingers in your unbelievably wet and needy pussy. You grit your teeth and groan in pleasure. 

“Say my name.” He commands

“Ves-” You try, but another moan captures your voice as the pressure on your G-spot puts fireworks where your thoughts should be. 

“Say my name again.” He growls. You are so sensitive that you could draw this man's fingerprints. Rocking your hips harder into his arched fingers and gritting your teeth, you start to climb towards an orgasm. He swipes a finger across your clit, and you grip the pillows. 

“Vessel, dear God fuck me please.” Your abs are already beginning to tighten. Vessel pulls his fingers out of you and drags them across your inner thigh, leaving a soft, wet path behind them. You are practically an earthquake under his touch. You are an orchestra, he is your conductor, and with every fibre of your being, you plead to play something faster than this aching ballad. 

The fist in your loins loosens as you are denied the stimulation you would need to continue your ascent. 

Vessel runs his unused hand up the side of your body to your breast. Pressing his fingers into your soft body, he begins to grind his erection into you again. 

“Do you need my cock, love?” His hands are softly kneading your body. 

“Yes, Vessel.” 

“You need me, darling?” 

“Terribly, Vessel please.”

“Say my name again.” he growls.

“Ves-” you are cut off by him, roughly flipping you over onto your stomach. He chuckles at his work, tossing you as easy as turning a page in a book. You feel dainty, small, vulnerable. Vessel runs his hands from the backs of your knees up to your plush ass, pressing his thumbs underneath it in admiration. You raise it and wiggle it slightly, wishing you could use a hand to play with it, but alas, your hands are firmly held in place above your head. Vessel’s hands are trembling as he explores you from this angle, and you look at him over your shoulder. 

Vessel looks down at you, almost terrified. Is he worried that he overstepped?

You wiggle your ass at him

“Play with me, Vessy,” you tease. 

He presses his palm into your lower back, glides it up your spine to the nape of your neck, and makes a fist in your hair. His eyebrows knit together, soft and worried. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t. Please, you can go as slow as you need.” You press your ass into his hips, and he releases a moan that sounds like he is holding back tears. He positions his cock between your thighs and rocks with his signature steady pace, each thrust grazing the head against your clit. Instinctively, you flex your abs and thighs, point your toes, and try to climb to an orgasm before a familiar force brushes over you and relaxes you back into the bed. 

“Be still. It will be okay”

The voice is not Vessel, and if you were not blinded in horniness lying in a puddle of your own drool, maybe you would question it, but instead, thoughtlessly, your body obeys. 

As Vessel pumps between your legs, you can feel his cock get wetter and wetter, sliding easier and easier. The gentle pace is no longer excruciating but meditative. Instead of racing to release, you are floating in peace, marveling at the sensation of Vessel's thick cock as it grows harder, admiring the shape, and rolling your hips in unison. You reangle your hips, and on the next thrust, the swollen head of his manhood presses at your entrance. 

“Fuck” Vessel shudders through gritted teeth. He presses the head into your drooling pussy and then completely out again, like a wave cresting on the sand and retreating into the ocean. The next thrust pushes slightly deeper, giving you another inch of delectable thickness between his soft grunts, and again, he backs all the way out, leaving you empty. You are not climbing the lift of a roller coaster; you are lying on the beach as the waves wash over you. Each thrust he offers you another bit of what you’ve craved. 

He puts a hand on your wrists and another on your hips, pinning you to the mattress, growling as he presses his hips into you. 

“Fuck…thank you…good girl…take it…right there… don't…move…. don't….leave…..please….god you’re so wet…..so…good for me..” He practically brands his praise into your cervix as you relish in the decadence of his length.  

“Ves-vessel, please m-make me yours,” you beg between mind emptyingly deep plunges. 

“You’re fucking mine.” His growls bounce off the walls, and his pace remains steady as the toll of a church bell. 

Naturally, without you having to think about it, your abs begin to tighten. 

“Say my name again.” His voice is ragged and breathy. 

“Vessel,” Your toes point as you draw closer to orgasm

“Again,” he folds over into your ear, the change of angle pushing his cock harder into your G-spot with each thrust. 

“Vessel,” You struggle to breathe enough to speak

“Again,” he presses a kiss into your shoulder. 

“Ves-OH GOD,” his teeth sink into you as you come, gripping the mattress. 

“Again.” he says without releasing the mouthful of your shoulder. Your eyes roll back as you feel the honed edge of his incisors and the apex of his canines. 

“Vessel, I’m coming, oh dear god Vessel, thank you, please don't stop FU-U-UCK” as your loins relent, you can take in a full breath of air, and Vessel relaxes the grip of his teeth but does not stop the ebb and flow of his hips. As you settle down from your orgasm, your brain is numb as saliva drips from your open mouth.  Vessel fills you again, and your body grips him back. As he removes himself, you wince at the lack of him. 

“Thank you,” You cry into the pillows.

“Are you all done, darling?” he teases.

“Mm-mm.” you pout, shaking your head no and raising your hips to meet his pelvis. 

“I can keep going for you. I can keep going for you all night long, baby.” His words are threatening in their undertone, and the bite he left where your shoulder meets your neck throbs as your pulse quickens. You are limp beneath him, subject to the pleasure he provides. 

“Is this what you want, baby? …huh…to be used? …does it feel good to be mine?” he taunts you, knowing that the only thing occupying your mind is his swollen cock. Your body has memorized its shape, and you can practically taste him as you take him to the hilt. 

“Make…me…yours.” you pray into the pillows. Vessel hears you and grabs a handful of your hair to slightly lift your head.

“Say that again.” He commands

“I need to be yours.” You obey. He drops your head, and it falls to the mattress. You grip the bedding as his pace finally quickens,  even by only a few pumps per minute. In response, your body begins to climb to another orgasm. Vessel grips your hips and, between soft moans, seems to be talking to himself. 

“God, thank you….thank you…my hands…my hands are…not worthy….thank you god…..fuck you feel so good….a blessing….my hands are not worthy….i can taste…..fuck so good….”

Your eyes are crossed in pleasure, and your mind is completely vacant. Suddenly, Vessel changes his grip and digs his nails into your flesh. 

“FUCK can I cum, darling..please..” he cries.

“No….more…Vessel more….”

“Fuuuuuuuck,” his moan morphs into a primal growl as he pulls out of you, spilling his cum onto your back. The room goes dark and fills with the scent of smoke as the candles are extinguished. 

“Baby.” he whimpers, folding over and resting his weight on your back. You wiggle your hips and whine. 

“Put it back.” You are so pathetically lustful. 

“What?” he gasps

“I want it back inside me.” 

“Baby, I'm a mess.” 

“I want your mess.” 

He shudders and rubs his dripping cock against you. You can’t see anything, but you can feel everything. Electricity races up your spine, and every inch of your skin is alive as he fills you again. His dick had barely begun to soften, and his growl reverberates from your ear clear down to your clit. He sits up back on his knees and pulls you to yours, putting his legs on either side of yours to fuck you deeper. Your hands remain clasped together above your head as you back into him. He is still, as you rock back and forth on his, still impressive, velvet length. His hands glide across the round shape of your ass, and his moans are a pipe organ filling the small, dark room. You are determined to make him come again, and you can feel his head begin to swell. You can feel the trail of cum connecting your bodies as you sway back and forth. Once your eyes adjust to the moonlight pouring in through the few windows, you shoot a glance over your shoulder and see Vessel fully engrossed in the ripple of your ass at each contact with his hips. 

“Darling…you’re going to make me lose my mind.” he grips your hips in an attempt to control your pace. You flip your hair over your shoulder to get a better look, admiring the mess that you have made of the once-imposing figure. You catch a sheen of cum on his stomach. He stares through you and grabs onto the sheets on either side as you milk him dry of another load. As you continue, you can feel the slick liquid run down his cock and thighs.

“Darling…” he begs weakly, as you chug to a halt, holding him fully inside of you. 

“Yes, my love?’ you say in a sing-songy voice, clenching around his softening dick. 

“Thank you…. Can I hold you?” 

“Vessel, please hold me.” He pulls out, and you both shiver. 

You can feel the release of your invisible shackles, and once settled into his chest, you run your hands down to the smear of ejaculate on his tummy, and you can hear his heartbeat, his breathing, and the dripping of candle wax onto the floor. He is tensing his muscles as your hands explore his bare chest. 

“Vessel?”

“Yes, darling?” 

“Would you be mine?” 

You always learn how drunk you are as soon as you shut a bathroom door behind you, and hot damn, you are drunk. While you don’t regret your decisions, as you look up at the disheveled, smudged forfeiture of the woman you were when you walked out of the house, two thoughts occupy your mind:

1) This mascara is your new favorite

2) It is not safe to be this drunk in public as a woman

You straighten your jewelry, clean up your makeup as best as you can manage, and square your shoulders. It's true, this isn't an area of town you want to be alone in, much less drunk, but you have been around these parts before and may be able to hold your own. You straighten your back and glide back into the small, dimly lit bar. The place might as well be a candlelit alleyway, and those vibes are not helping your anxiety. You hold your head up and focus on looking people in the eyes and walking straight. Most of the patrons are men old enough to be your dad nursing various brown drinks in short glasses, and holding on to the waists of their inappropriately young girlfriends- the kinds of guys you'd expect to find in a bar situated literally under the street.

You see a light at the end of the tunnel, the fluorescent glow of the streetlights above, and steadily trot up the stairs, holding the handrail and looking down at your feet to make sure they hit the steps. No sooner than you feel the cool autumn air kiss your face, do you almost collide into a 6-foot-tall lamppost wearing a black hoodie. You lose your footing and fall forward onto the pavement.

"OH my god, I'm so sorry."  The lampost's voice is deeper than you would have thought, and he reaches out to pull you up. Once you're on your feet, he quickly dusts off the knee of your jeans. It's a degree of touching that should earn him a knee to the face, but his chivalry catches you off guard. You cock your head and catch a glimpse of the light post's face. He's pale with an oval-shaped face, shaggy hair that's definitely longer than he usually wears it, and eyes that glow with an inexplicable kindness. He looks at you like he knows you from somewhere.  

"Are you OK?" He asks, putting one hand on your back and looking around like he's searching for your parents. "Your friends must be looking for you."

"That's not your problem," you say with a sassy wiggle.

He presses you closer to him as a group of people passes behind you, and the motion is enough to make you almost vomit. You steady yourself against him, and when you take a deep breath, you inhale the sultry smell of his cologne, fresh with lemon and bergamot but with a smoky amber musk beneath it. It takes all of your willpower not to bury your face in his hoodie and take a drag of him like a cigarette.

"I'm going to make it my problem." he says, putting his hands on your bare shoulders and looking you square in the face, the streetlight behind him lights him like a portrait of a saint. Heavenly ambiance or not, this stranger has no business touching you like he is, and you brush him off of you.

"I'm not anyone's problem tonight."

"Oh yeah? You're out alone? Yeah, right."

"What if I am?" you taunt

"No girl as pretty as you is drinking by herself in some seedy bar, now where are your friends?"

"At home"

"Right then, what's your boyfriend look like before he charges up here ready to beat my ass just for talking to you?"

"I don't have one." The words fall out of your mouth before you can think about them. This guy, whom you do not know, now knows that you're alone, and nobody is waiting up for you. He looks you up and down and holds his gaze on your lips for a moment too long. You turn to walk away, and before you can even take a step

"Wait! . . . Let me go with you."

This is a trap; the sober parts of your brain try to sound off alarm bells, yet a smile spreads across your lips regardless.

"OK then." Your voice is coy and sultry, and you giggle at the thought of showing this loser a good time. Who knows, maybe you'll run into your ex and he'll see that you've got options, plus this guy would probably have a panic attack if he saw a naked woman in the flesh– he seems harmless.

You take a step away and reach your hand behind you to guide him through the crowd. You have no idea where you're going, but dutifully, your lamppost trails behind you. The cold air feels good on your flushed face, but less good on your bare shoulders. You feel like you're walking straight, but a glance down at your feet proves otherwise. You need to be on a barstool immediately. Out of the corner of your eye, you see pink neon lights and dash across the street towards them. He grips your hand tightly as you cross the street, and for a moment, you think of him as a cute little boy, even though it was definitely so that he could pull you out of traffic. Before you know it, you're in the bar, the pink lights and disco ball make you feel a little less vulnerable than the smoky, low-lit whiskey alley you just left. You lean on the bar and hop up onto the stool. Your friendly lamppost stands behind you, and you tap the empty spot of the bar beside you. He fills in the space as you directed. The bartender makes her way over, and you hand over your ID and card to start a tab.

"So what's your name?" You say over your shoulder

"What?" He cups a hand around his ear

You turn your back to him and lean back, he puts a hand around your waist, and leans his ear close to your mouth.

"What do I call you, hot-stuff?" You giggle

"You can call me whatever you want."  His voice is gravely in your ear, and his breath his hot against your chilled skin. The sensation of his skin so tantalizingly close to your neck sends a shiver down your spine that causes your hips to rock forward and your knees to part slightly. As you revel in the flirting, the bartender sets down your vodka cranberry and his whiskey sour. You pick up your drink and spin around on your stool to face him. Touching your tongue to your canine, you give him a flirty wink and take a big sip. This bartender pours heavy, and you don't regret settling in here for a while. You set your drink down without breaking eye contact with your little nameless plaything, keeping one hand on top of it. You motion for him to lean back into you, and he does so. "What do you want me to call you?" You try to make your voice smoky and sexy

"I don't know." His response is odd, but innocent and genuine. His face is tinged with sadness.

"Well, you have to have a name, or a nickname at least, I'm not gonna call you John Doe, what can I call you?"

"I answer to Vessel," he says, looking in your eyes, searching desperately for a reaction. The name has a strange submissive quality to it that feels like an intimate thing to call someone, especially in public and doubly especially when that someone is a stranger. He looks at you like he is trying not to scare away a baby bunny, like he knows that was an unnerving response and only a partial answer to your question. You get the sense that he chose his words incredibly deliberately. “I answer to Vessel”. Not "my name is Vessel", not "you can call me Vessel". You decide to ask for clarification.

"You want me to call you Vessel?"

You can see fireworks in his eyes as the name falls from your lips.

"I'd love that," he coos. When he says it, the whites of his eyes brighten and seem to almost glow. You can’t stop the smile from spreading across your lips. You raise your glass and he raises his in return. You tap them together, and while he takes a modest sip, you down the rest of your drink without coming up for air. 

“I wanna go dance,” you say, mostly to check if you’re slurring your words, which you’re not. Vessel nods, takes a step to the side to give you space, and offers his forearm for you to steady yourself as you hop off the barstool. 

As you dance to the next 3 or 4 songs, Vessel stands beside you, not touching you but offering a soft and comforting presence. His gaze makes you feel oddly … safe. He looks at you differently than other men do; he’s not undressing you with his eyes, but he’s marveling at you. The way he looks at you makes you feel like a Botticelli in a museum. He nurses his drink, and once he is finished, he gestures back towards the bar and raises an eyebrow. You put out your hand, and he takes it to guide you back to the barstool. It feels good to sit, and you’re starting to get dizzy again. He assumes his position again beside you at a slight distance, and you find yourself craving his closeness and touch again. 

“Vessel?”

“Yes?” 

“Could you come behind me?” 

“Of course.” He moves behind you and rests a hand on your shoulder, just to let you know he’s there. Without thinking, you lean your face into his hand, relishing in the warmth. The moment feels soft and heavenly, and for just a couple of breaths bathed in the heavenly pink glow, everything feels ok. 

That is, until your phone buzzes. Dammit. You look down at the texts 

-What the fuck are you up to

-Snuggling up to any rando who will pay attention to you? 

-Miss me that bad 

It’s your ex, and for a moment, you scan the bar to look for him, but when you don’t see him, you decide to settle back into your heavenly moment. You lean back on Vessel and move his hand from your shoulder to your waist. In turn, he sets his head on top of yours. Feeling desired again brings tears to your eyes. You try your best to hide it since you know you're being watched - but Vessel notices. 

“Something wrong?” His voice wraps around you, and the tightness in your chest loosens. This stranger, who won't even give you his actual name, has given you more comfort and made you feel more loved than the asshole in your phone managed to in a year and a half. You rest all of your weight into him, and he holds you. His breath washes over your skin, and you are floating in fascination. Though you only met him a little while ago, you trust him implicitly. Maybe you've just drunk enough to lose any instinct of self-preservation, or maybe the universe is finally throwing you a bone and putting you right where you're meant to be. So you step out on a limb, you open up. You tell this perfect stranger about your shitty ex and everything he did right before the breakup, and you show him the text. 

“He’s stalking you.” 

“I know, and if he had just put this kind of effort into our relationship, maybe it wouldn’t have turned out how it did. And the fucking nerve to text me and ruin my night like this UGH.”

 Instead of downtrodden and mopey, you are in a rush of anger. Vessel being able to understand what a dick your ex was and listening to you effortlessly only stokes those fires. If this recluse can treat you better than a man who knew you so much better, why did you waste all of that time with someone who was never going to work out, and now you just want to forget him- to have him off your back and be washed clean of him. You have an idea to show him that you’re better off without him. 

“Would you be down to help me with something?” just starting to ask fills you with anticipation, and you take a large swig of your drink to calm your nerves. 

“Of course,” his voice is a gentle guitar strum in your ear that sends a surge through your spine. 

“Can I send him a picture of us kissing?”

“You want to kiss me?” The embers glow in his throat, and his fingers press firmer into your waist. Instead of answering, you turn in your chair, move your legs to put one on either side of him, and take in the specimen before you. He's not bad looking at all. You walk your fingers up his torso and pull him by the collar of his hoodie into a deep kiss. With your off hand, you reach to the back of his head and massage his scalp, and slip your tongue into his resulting moan. You’d expect his hands to be manic, but instead of groping you feverishly, he simply grips your waist, keeping them right where you put them- where you permitted him to have them. When you pull back, he looks at you in pure bliss, lips slightly parted as if you are a glowing angel in front of him. 

“You didn't take the picture.”

“Oh, I couldn’t make our first kiss an act of spite, plus- I'm a little out of practice” 

“Didn’t seem like it,” he leans in and steadies himself on the bar behind you. You lean into him and wrap a leg around him. He kisses you again, and you relax from the tension you didn’t even realize you were holding. Your head rolls back, and you are smiling ear to ear. Vessel takes a hand off your waist and slides it around to the nape of your neck, and slips his fingers into your hair. A deep breath passes your lips 

“Do you like this?” he asks as if it isn't obvious. 

“Yes,” you giggle

You start to wiggle your hips, desperate for even a little bit of friction. 

“Pose me for your picture, baby,” he hums. Oh, yeah, you had completely forgotten that this didn't start as an excuse to make out with a stranger. 

You pull his hand from your waist and rest it gently on your throat. He uses his thumb and forefinger to tilt your chin up. In his gaze is the most beautiful thing that you have ever felt. You reach back and grab your phone off the bar to see that your little plan is already working.

-YOU FUCKING BITCH

-COULDN'T EVEN WAIT A WEEK

-DONT MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE I WILL DRAG YOU OUT OF THAT FUCKIN BAR YOU LITTLE WHORE. 

Oh, he's mad-mad. But he's also not downtown; he's just got a fly on the wall. Sending him this picture is a bad idea, but so was drinking alone, and sticking with Vessel and that seems to be working out fantastically. You wiggle your shoulders at Vessel, and he kisses you again. You snap the photo and send it. 

You watch as the status changes from sending, to delivered, to read. Just like that, your phone is buzzing like a hornet’s nest. 

Vessel traces his finger along your jawline, his touch gentle, timid. He looks at you like you’re about to jump off the barstool and run away, and he doesn't want to scare you. There's a sadness in his eyes, as if he thinks that now that he has served his purpose to you, you're going to discard him and go on about your life. As if these could be his last moments with you, he basks in your presence.  You reach back and set your phone on the bar top. Taking Vessel's head in both of your hands, you kiss him feverishly, desperately. You notice he’s only putting his hands in places they have already been, not daring to explore your skin, refusing  to take more than you have already given. He seems terrified of overstepping a line, and remembering how uncomfortably touchy your ex would get- especially after a drink or two- the restraint is charming. 

You don’t want to sound desperate, but you are dying for his touch for more than one reason. Not only are you so horny you could bite a chunk out of his flesh just to taste more of him, but you are freezing. When you break for air, you all but collapse against his chest and shiver. Goosebumps blossom down your back and arms. Vessel moves his hand to your bicep and grips it softly, brushing his thumb up and down.

“Do you want to finish these drinks and get out of here?” He purrs. You are enveloped in the sweet, fresh smell of his cologne, and if you weren't in public, you would be moaning. You feel whole. You can't bear to break away from his chest and can only muster a soft nod in response. He presses a gentle kiss on the top of your head. He puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you around. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, and without thinking, you bury your nose into the crook of his elbow. Looking at your drink, you see that he had at some point set a napkin and his wallet on top of your half-finished vodka cranberry. He moves his makeshift lid and raises your drink to inspect it. He looks at it, sniffs it, and tastes it himself before spinning the glass over and offering you the other side of the rim as if you didn't have your tongue shoved in his mouth only a moment ago. 

“If you’d rather, I can get you a fresh one.” Before he can finish his sentence, you have set your mind on draining this drink. The sooner you're done, the sooner you can kiss him again. The drink is still cold enough to make you shudder before the vodka can warm your chest. As he finishes his you marvel at his jawline and the room behind him starts to spin. Everything starts to spin. You feel your head rock back. He catches your head before it hits the wooden bar counter. 

“Are you okay?”

“I need to go home.” 

“Can you sit up?” You nod and do your best. He grabs his hoodie by the back of the collar and pulls it over his head, exposing the bottom of his torso for just a moment. You drool at the sight of even another inch of his flesh. Under the hoodie, he is wearing a similarly non-descript black waffle knit thermal undershirt. 

“Put this on, can't have you freezing.”  You do as he asks, and he picks you up off the seat, puts a hand over your shoulder, and weaves you through the crowd. You tuck your nose into his jacket- partly because it has gone numb, and partly to drink in any essence of your sweet, sweet lamppost. When you’re out on the street, Vessel walks at your speed, keeping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him to dodge passers-by. After a moment, you close your eyes and trust him to guide the way. The citrus smell in his perfume calms your nausea, and you are in bliss, shuddering and softly moaning into the soft inner lining of his hoodie. 

When the sidewalk is more bare, he puts your back against the nearest wall and you reach your face out of its soft knit sanctuary, your lips searching for his. He kisses you gently and pulls away, brushes a lock of hair from your face. 

“You said you took the bus to this side of town, but they are not going to let you on the bus this drunk.” 

“It's ok, I can go home with you.” Excuse you? Are you trying to get yourself killed? You can’t be that stupid. Vessel laughs. 

“I don’t have much of a home to take you back to.” You had already made terms with the fact that he lives in a basement, and at this moment, it didn't matter. You yearned for navy blue bed sheets and a mattress on the floor as long as it was with him. 

“I’ll go anywhere with you.” You say, giving him the softest doe eyes that you can muster. You are talking like you don’t spend your evenings watching Dateline, like you aren't aware of the bad- very bad- things that can happen to women in your position. The sky is dark grey without a single star, as if it is threatening to rain- an omen in itself. 

Vessel smiles down at you, his canines looking especially sharp- all you can imagine is having his mouth on you again. 

“What do I look like, dragging a drunk, stumbling little mess back into my apartment?” he teases. 

“Please?” you beg.

“When was the last time you ate?” he says, tucking your hair behind your ears. 

“Huh?” 

“Did. You. Eat. A. Meal. Before. Coming. Out. To. Drink?” He enunciates each word, and you are entranced watching his mouth move. Your mouth is hanging slightly open, and you can feel your drool beginning to collect, threatening to pour out. Vessel puts one hand on the wall over your head and takes your chin in the other.

He moves your head up and down, “Yeeeees” 

He moves your head side to side, “Nooooo” 

You giggle and bite your lip, “I'll take that as a no.” his voice is teasing. 

“No, I didn’t,” you confess. 

“Well, how 'bout you eat a little something, sober up a bit, and then we can see if you want to get an Uber or if you want to come back to my place?” You throw your hands over his neck and pull him in for another kiss, which he takes as an answer in the affirmative. Once you have had your fill for a moment, he puts his arm around your shoulder and grabs a handful of the fabric so that you can't slip away. You tuck your nose back in and you return to your trek down the street. 

You get to a small taco truck and stand in line for a moment. Vessel orders for you, and you sit on a nearby picnic table and eat. Vessel keeps an arm around you, and you lean against his ribs. 

“Ya know, I've never had a girl in my place before.” Vessel admits between bites. 

“That's not surprising.” 

“What? Is it that obvious?” 

“I mean, you just don’t look like you get out that much. Nothing bad about it, I don't either. I'm usually more of a homebody too. ” 

“Well, what possessed you to go out by yourself tonight?” He asks sincerely. 

“Honestly, I was hoping that I would see him out with another girl.”

“Why would you want that?” 

“So I would know he never really loved me.” The confession burns as it leaves your lips. 

“You wanted to hurt yourself.” Vessel pulls you into him and rubs your shoulder. 

“Yeah, I guess I did.” You choke back tears and take another bite of your food. “Why did you go out tonight?” you ask, trying to change the subject. 

“I was sent. Looking for something.”

“Did you find it?” 

“I think so.” He offers you a kiss on the top of your head. 

“Vessel?”

“Yes, darling.” The word sends a rush of heat between your legs. 

“What is your actual name?” 

“It’s a long story.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don't remember.”

“That wasn’t very long.”

“Heh, I guess not. I’ve only been called Vessel for some time now. If you called me my actual name, I might not recognize it. I wanted to make sure that you could get my attention, so I gave you the only name I know to answer to. I love hearing it in your voice.” He rubs your arm and finishes the last bite of his food. You catch up, and Vessel stands and offers you help to do the same.  

“Do you want to go back to my place? Because if you don’t, I will get you home, I promise.” He puts his hands on your shoulders and speaks with a serious tone. 

“Vessel, please don't take me back to my apartment. He knows where I live. I'm sure he is going to be waiting outside, and I don't want to see him. I want to go home with you. I need to go home with you.” Your words are a plea you could repeat for hours. Thankfully, you won't have to. Vessel looks down at you with kindness in his eyes. He can see your pain. He sees your need for release, for sanctuary, for peace.    

“Well off to the chateau we go.”

You spend the walk to his apartment inhaling his scent from his hoodie and stifling your moans. You are not too enraptured to notice that the street lights are becoming fewer and further between. The air seems to grow colder even despite Vessel’s comforting warmth. You are on the outskirts of downtown, and you stop at an old cathedral. The building is no longer used for worship; instead, the bottom of the building, where they once held sermons, now functions as a coffee shop, and what was once the dormitory that housed the nuns has been renovated into a series of studio apartments. When the coffee shop is closed, the apartments are accessible from a staircase around the back. Again, you have found yourself in a dark, creepy alleyway. Vessel leads you up the stairs to his apartment and opens the door to an inky black void. 

Oh dear God. You are going to be murdered.

“Oh, shit, ummm… You wait out here.” Vessel disappears into his suitably creepy apartment, leaving the door open.

You can no longer see him, but after a few moments you hear a few distinct flicks of a lighter. 

As you stand out in the cold, you contemplate what it is that you’ve gotten yourself into. Despite his gentlemanly behavior, and how good it feels to be wanted and kissed, he is still a stranger whose name you do not know, cornering you in his apartment in the dead of night. Every amount of good sense and instinct tells you that you need to find a way out of this situation, but that isn’t what you want. At this point, you have accepted the consequences of your actions, the alcohol drowning out the alarm bells in your mind. 

Vessel darts around the single room inside, lighting a series of candles throughout, revealing a modest dwelling with bare walls. In the center of the room sits a queen sized bed, and beside it a low, wide matching chest of drawers.

Ultimately as far as strangers' apartments go, it suits him well. It’s dark… a little spooky, but comforting in a way. The same way he is.

Vessel emerges a moment later and any remaining reservations that you had are washed away. 

“Sorry ‘bout that. There's no light for the main room so it gets a little dark in here." He gestures for you to come inside, and you do, shutting the door behind you and sealing your fate to whatever he might have in store. You lean against the door and take in your surroundings further. A dark green quilt lies atop his well-made bed. On top of the chest of drawers, he has a metal dish, in it a series of candlesticks. It acts as a sort of makeshift candelabra that is helping to light the room. Aside from the small taper candles, he also lit 3 larger pillar-type candles around the room- one on a shelf, one on the kitchen counter, and one on the side table on the other side of the bed. Your eyes adjust to the low light, and you observe that around each of the candles is a small dripped stream of wax, and the larger pillars are sitting atop their own small hills of dripped wax. This man must go through a lot of candles. In addition to the small stained glass arch window above the bed, there is one more openable window above the sink, overlooking the alleyway. You make your way to the bed and throw yourself backwards onto the mattress. You look at your phone. 27 new messages and 5 missed calls, all from your ex. You laugh and set it on the dresser without reading a single one. 

“Vessel?” you call into the darkness.

“Yes, Darling?” That word sounds so decadent in his voice.

“Please come kiss me.” you plead.

He emerges from the kitchen with 2 glasses of water, sets them on the dresser, and sits beside you on the bed. You sit up and crawl towards him, press a hand into his chest, and grab a fistful of his shirt. He puts a hand to your lips. 

“Are you sure you’re ok? I know we have been drinking a lot, and you’re probably not in the best place right now. If you don’t one hundred percent want to do anything with me, I would be happy to get you comfortable in bed.”

“Vessel, if I do not feel your touch, I might explode.” 

He needs no further reassurance. He kisses you passionately, moaning into your mouth. His hands are finally curious, and he runs them up and down your back outside of his hoodie. You break for a moment, only to take the hoodie off, and instead of tossing it across the room, you set it on the bed behind you. He, in turn, removes his shirt and flicks it to the side. You trail kisses down his neck and across his chest. Your hands are desperate to know every inch of his form and trace around him in random patterns. You are in a frenzy, and his restraint is torturously teasing. You push him back onto the bed and straddle him, making out feverishly. When you rest on his lap, you can feel the tightness in his jeans. His skin is covered in goosebumps. When you start to grind against him, he shudders out a moan. 

“Thank you.” he praises, grabbing the back of your head and bucking his hips into you softly. “Can I kiss your neck?” 

“Please, dear god, kiss my neck.” You growl. He begins his own trail of kisses, moaning between each one. He puts his hands on your waist and presses you harder into his bulge. 

“Bite me.” you whimper.

“What?”

“Take a bite.” Your whimper morphs into a groan, and Vessel obliges, pressing his sharp teeth into the soft flesh where your neck meets your shoulder. Your breath hitches, and Vessel moves a hand under your shirt, but keeps it gently resting on your low back. When he lets go, you can feel a bruise blossoming in the spot. With each rock of your hips, he gets harder. You can feel yourself soaking thrown your boyshorts, and part of you hopes that he can feel your heat through your jeans. You kiss down his chest again and further down past his stomach. When you reach the waistband of his jeans, you look up at him for permission. 

“Please,” he whimpers. “Please touch me, darling.” 

When you unzip his jeans, his breath hitches. You wrap your hand around his thick cock just under the head. He has already started to leak. You drool for him as you stroke him up and down, his dick melting any of the remaining cold out of your fingertips. You look up at him, expecting to see his head fallen back in pleasure, but instead he is looking down at you. He reaches down and cups your cheek with his hand. You take him into your mouth, and he immediately melts into a puddle. 

“Yes..please..oh, you feel so good.” He rests his hand on top of your head as you bob up and down- not pushing your head but just feeling you. His face is absolutely marred with pleasure as he grips the quilt with his free hand. Desperate to impress him, you try to take the whole thing and gag. 

“Careful baby, no need for all of that. I know you want to be good.” He coos.

He grabs a fistful of your hair to have better control of your head and focuses you on the swollen head of his cock, softly using your mouth. He is gentle, never pushing you deep or too fast. Your eyes roll back in your head as you savor the taste of him. 

“You are so good, darling.” He praises. “There you go. You could do this all night, couldn't you?” 

You manage an “uh-huh” as the drool flows out of our mouth and down his shaft. 

He lifts your head back off of his delectable thickness. He shoves his tongue into your mouth, and your hands search for his cock again. It twitches as you grip it. 

“I want to make you come.” he declares. 

In the candle light he is even more entrancing, the soft dip in the center of his chest, the curve of his bicep. 

“Oh Vessy you don't have to-”

“Please let me, I need to.” 

His words are intense and his hands are no different as he rocks you back onto the bed. When your head hits the mattress you find his hoodie and grab it. Pressing your nose into it and inhaling the sweet aroma once again as Vessel spreads your legs and takes off your boots, throwing them towards the door. 

“I need to hear your symphony.” His voice is soft and warm wrapping around you like a vine. He makes quick work of your jeans and you flex up into a bridge, consenting to their removal. He hooks a thumb under your tank top and pulls it up over your head. You rest your legs on his shoulders and lift up your arms for him to finish undressing you. 

“If I do anything that you don’t enjoy, you’ll tell me immediately. Promise?”

“Promise.” You reply. 

When he pulls the shirt up your arms he stops at your wrists and ties the shirt into a knot around them before pushing you back onto the bed and burying his face between your legs. He moans against your inner thigh leaving a trail of kisses before resting his face against your panties. He kisses you through your underwear and it sends a shockwave up your spine. You pull your bound hands into your chest and Vessel looks up at you, proud. 

“Oh look at how delicate you are. . . How sensitive” He growls. 

“I… haven't had this kind of thing in a while.” You confess shyly. 

“What a tragedy.” 

“I don’t know if I can even come from this its been so long”

“Well I love a challenge.” He teases, pulling your panties to the side with his sharp teeth. He kisses you between your legs sending another surge up your spine that erupts into an uncontrollably loud groan. 

“Oh love, I’ll be softer if that's what you need.” He coos. 

His breath washes over your hypersensitive pussy and you can only manage a  whimper in response. You reach your hands between your legs partially for coverage and partially to touch your aching clit. All of a sudden it's as if your hands are yanked back over your head and into the quilt. You take inventory of Vessel’s hands- his left forearm is under your thigh, with his hand on your ribs; his right is gripping your thigh. He wouldn't have been able to reach above your head from down there. You don't have time to question it for long as Vessel has started to make a feast of your wet pussy. Sliding his tongue up and down makes your pulse quicken and your mind goes quiet. 

He dines on you and moans into your dripping wetness, never pulling his face more than an inch away so that even his words dance across your sensitive clit. 

“Fuck….tastes so good….more….thank you…..whole again……for just a moment…..thank you….bless me….my love.” 

You want to reach between your legs and hold his head down but when you try to move your arms you are met with a soft resistance that keeps them in their place. You feel the tension build. Climbing the high, your moans grow louder and more intense, morphing into growls. 

“Vessel thank you.” You manage only a few words as your brow furrows and your face contorts into a scowl. You’re so close it hurts.

“So sweet…so good…do you want more, baby?” Before you have a chance to answer him he backs up and tears your panties down your legs, not needing you to lift your hips, and he tosses them across the room. “Do you like this darling?” 

“Yes Vessel.” 

“Do you want to go further?” 

“Vessel please.” You respond. 

He runs a finger up your slit to wet it before slipping it into your aching pussy. You release a chorus of rough moans, pleas, and praise. 

“Thank you Ves-Oh GOD, thank you, right there.” 

He keeps pace like a metronome and you build again, your abs tightening, your legs shaking, your breath quickening, your vision blurring … until… fuck- 

You can't get yourself over the edge and all of the tension in your abdomen drops away leaving you ravenous. 

“I'm sorry Vessel.” you cry out. 

“No…No sorry…Can I keep going darling.” He reassures between passionate strokes of his tongue.

 He is unphased, not discouraged. You look between your legs to find his eyes rolled back in his head. He is in heaven, drunk off of you. 

“You can keep going.” You praise.  

He does just so. He pleases you methodically, calmly. He's not rushing to make you finish. He is worshipping at an altar. 

“If it pleases you… I can go all night… Only if you let me… Only for you… Need you… So good… Feels so good... It tastes so good ... So glad I found you.. Thank you…” He builds you up a third time and as you reach your apex you silently beg for release before collapsing into a mind numbing, body quaking orgasm. Vessel doesn’t change his rhythm or tempo. “Good job baby… You come so pretty for me…an offering…so beautiful ... I love eating this pussy… Do you want another?.... I can give you what you want.” His words are only fuel to the fire that seeks to melt you into a puddle on this man's bed. 

“Vessel…so sensitive..please…mercy” You manage between muscle spasms. Vessel slows to a halt and slides his finger out of you. You snap your legs shut and roll over onto your side. Whatever is holding your hands above your head has not given you back that agency. You glance up at Vessel, and his gaze is devouring you. He is up on his knees, towering over you in the ominous candlelight.  

He slips a hand between your legs and lifts the top one. 

“Do you want my cock love?” You nod and turn your head to look up at him. 

“I need you.” 

“Not so delicate now, are we?” he taunts. “Show me how you need me darling.” You squirm and struggle to grind against his leg, and he chuckles in response. He rolls you again onto your back, and you bask in awe at him. In this light, he is imposing, ominous, and so, so sexy. In this light, you are his. He presses your legs together and rubs his erection between your thighs, brushing against your throbbing clit. You could sculpt every curve and vein of his cock, and you would do anything to have it inside of you. 

“So soft… you're so wet for me…such a good girl.” 

You can’t even take enough air to beg for it, so you settle for desperately rocking your hips into it. You angle your hips, and the head of his dick kisses your entrance. Vessel’s mouth falls agape, and he lets out a guttural shudder.  

“So impatient.” he chides. 

“Vessel, please fuck me, I can’t take this.” 

“Not used to having to wait, I see.” He reangles his hips so as not to enter you too early. “Tired of taking things slow?” 

You push out a needy whimper and nod, but that's not enough to convince Vessel to fill your emptiness. He continues to fuck your thighs, and your brain is entirely mush. You are putty in his hands. 

“Come on, baby, breathe for me… Give me three deep breaths and I’ll give you what you need.” You obey his commands, taking the deepest breath you can muster. 

“One.” He praises, and you breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth as his pace remains steady between your legs. 

“Two.” He challenges. You fill your lungs again, but something keeps you from expelling your breath, as if a force were pressing on your throat and keeping the air in your lungs. 

“Aww, baby, can’t give me a third.” Vessel mocks, and your eyes cock back into your skull, your head pressing into the mattress. “That's okay, baby, here you go.” He slides into you and buries himself to the hilt in your warmth. Vessel drops your legs, and they rest on his shoulders. Whatever keeps you from breathing releases its grasp, and you cry out in pleasure. 

“There you go, baby, give it to me.” Vessel's tone is encouraging, and he begins to buck his hips softly. 

“FUCK! Vessel!” You cry out in a release that is both physical and emotional, bordering on spiritual. 

“Good job, baby, show me where the delicate stops.” He praises as you rock your hips into him. He leans down to kiss you, and you struggle against your invisible restraint, yearning to wrap your arms around him. He tries to break from your lips, and you reach out to hold him with your teeth. You feel yourself building again. Another orgasm right now would be enough to render you unconscious, but you welcome any second of pleasure that Vessel is willing to give you. 

“Fuck, darling, are you close?” he pants against your lips

“Yes Vessel.” you plead in response. 

“I'm going to make you come, darling. Are you ready?” His eyes are intense, burning. 

You nod and bite your lip. Your face scrunches into a glare, and you rock your hips into him as he counts you down. 

“Five…four…” the room feels brighter, and it's as if you can see him clearer. 

“Three…two” Vessel stares through you, his face engulfed in pleasure. 

“One.” In an instant, the room goes completely dark and fills with the smell of smoke. Vessel backs out of you, and before you can wince at the empty feeling, you feel his thick cum pour out onto your thigh. He brings a hand down and rubs your clit in small, tight circles as he coaxes you over the edge in the inky blackness. You feel the grip on your wrist loosen as Vessel rests his weight on you. 

“Are you okay, baby?” he trails his hand up to your cheek, and you can smell your musk on his fingers. Your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, if only a little, and you finally hold Vessel in your arms. You press your fingers into him, clutching him like he may run away. 

“I’m okay, please don’t leave” tears begin to well up in your eyes. Your orgasm was so intense and you feel like you can’t get enough air, can’t get enough of Vessel. You wouldn’t want to come again, though you don’t doubt that Vessel could make you. You're not just crying because it feels so good. You've never felt this good- this desired, this beautiful. No moment has ever felt this perfect. You’re crying because he has breathed new life into you, you are whole again, it's as if your missing pieces were all put back together and you are right where you were meant to be. You never want to leave this bed, leave his arms. There is a small amount of light coming in from the small stained glass window. Just enough for you to see Vessel, resting his head against your shoulder, his breaths heaving up and down in ecstasy. You share the moment in silence before he breaks it. His mouth up against your ear, he whispers softly. 

“Can I check on something, love?” 

“Yeah” as long as it didn’t mean that you had to move. Vessel gets up, grabs his phone and uses the flashlight to inspect the candles. Somehow they all burnt out at the same time, and the wax was pouring out over the sides, completely liquid as if something caused them to burn absurdly hot. 

“So thats…new” Vessel says to himself in the corner. He grabs more candles from a nearby basket and lights one on the side of the bed. He gives you a second to adjust and offers you your water from earlier. You oblige and take a large sip. 

“Good girl” he purrs. He crawls into bed with you and throws the quilt over you both, pulling you into his chest where you indulge in another deep inhale of his scent. 

You didn't think before you reached out and brushed his hair away from his forehead lightly, not wanting to disturb him. His hair was so soft, like running your fingers through dark golden silk.

Just a little bit more, you thought, still tangling your fingers in his hair. You weren't looking at his face when he opened his eyes. All you know is that they were open, glimmering in the soft light coming from the lampshade.

IV wasn't smiling, and neither were you. He reached for the hand on his hair, his skin unbearably warm. He sniffed the back of your hand before kissing it.

It was still night, you felt drunk on everything that happened a few hours prior, and you weren't really thinking about anything except of how beautiful IV looked. You considered taking your hand away just to adjust your position, but he didn't let you.

IV didn't use force once, until that moment. Not that he was aggressive, far from it, but he was determined not to let you distance yourself from him. Not that you wanted to anyways.

He tugged you closer, and III loosened his grip but didn't let you go completely. IV turned to lay on his back, and grabbed ahold of your face for a deep and dirty kiss that got you wet in a heartbeat. He had his whole hand on the back of your head, guiding you, licking inside your mouth in a very slow, languid, deliberate movement.

You both moaned inside each other's mouth. Your hand went to rest on the solidness of his chest, and it slid down inside the covers on its own, coming to stop on the small trail of hair he had under his navel. He broke the kiss, and you opened your eyes slowly, almost painfully.

He huffed a laugh. "You're so sleepy, darling. I don't want you semi-conscious", he tucked your hair behind your ear.

You playfully pouted, drawing a laugh from his nose and placing a finger on his lips. "Shh," you shushed him. "We don't have to go too far, I just want to appreciate you."

He let out a pretty little sound between a quiet chuckle and a moan. Your hand found him fully hard and twitching over his sweats, and he dropped his head down on his pillow. You felt III loosen his grip even further, slightly stirring in his sleep, so you took the opportunity to get closer to IV, resting your torso over his.

Your hand came up again, slowly, learning the dips and rises of the skin on his waist, his stomach, his chest. He was the right ratio of solid and soft, his chest was heaving out of rhythm, his breath coming out in shallow puffs through gentle, pinkish lips.

He lifted his right hand to your naked back, walking his fingers from the middle of your back to the base of your spine, slowly, appreciative, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He pulled your hair to the side to better touch the back of your neck, to pull you in for another kiss, and another.

Your hand dipped inside the covers, and inside his pants this time. IV was rock hard, hot and heavy, and his cock kicked in your grasp as if it had a mind of its own. You gave him a nice, firm pump, punctuated by tapping your fingertips on his damp tip.

"Fuck...", he whispered, nuzzling against the crook of your neck. "I've wanted this so bad..."

His little confessions ran straight to your core, like they did the night before. Except you were braver now, three orgasms and a few hours of sleep later.

"What exactly did you think about?", you asked by his ear, kissing his jaw afterwards. "Tell me", you demanded, as you thumbed his tip, smearing pre-cum there, making him hiss.

"I thought about how pretty your fingers would look around me", he rasped, his hands reaching to knead at your breasts. "That you'd make me cum so fast." His icy eyes turned straight to yours.

You licked your lips, your breath hitching in your throat from his voice alone. "Me too", you confessed, now fully jerking him off underneath his pants. "Can't count how many times I came all over my fingers, wishing they were yours", you managed to say, breath stuttering, moaning by his ear in between words. "Those strong...", you eyed as he lifted his hand to your face. "Rough...", he landed his index and middle fingers on your bottom lip. "Beautiful fingers of yours."

IV pulled your bottom lip down, and you slipped your tongue out to lick it, tentative at first, and then you sucked it in until it was sitting on your tongue. He let out a strangled moan. His finger was rough and salty in your mouth.

His moans started spilling a little more freely now. You got annoyed with the restraint of his sweats, so you whined prettily and started tugging them down, making him giggle softly and lift his hips. When his pants were only bunched over his thighs, he pulled you in again for another kiss, harder this time.

During the kiss, you pushed the covers down, and finally started touching him the way you actually wanted, only running your fingers across his length at first, feeling every ridge, every vein, the texture, the dampness, using your fingers as your eyes. He whined and bucked his hips into your hand, letting out broken, feminine sounds that drove you crazy. The right twist of your wrist made him choke on a moan harshly, gripping the sheets underneath.

You did it again. "Like that?", you asked quietly against his mouth.

"Yeah...", he swallowed thickly, shuddering under you. "Yeah, please, just like that. Please, don't stop."

Of course it was hot, having such a gorgeous, tall and strong man. You know what was hotter? Having him pliant like putty in your hands, all sweet and submissive, begging for anything you would give him.

That's the kind of power you could get drunk on.

But any ounce of coherent thought you might still have had stored in the depths of your mind completely fried when you felt the body behind you move, III's hand closed around your right arm, slid down to the hand you were using on IV, and fisted around it, starting to jerk him off with you. His grip was firmer, demanding, forcing you to slightly change the pace, IV's cock twitched harder in your hand now.

IV threw his head back, eyes fluttering shut. "Jesus fuck...", he drawled.

III leaned over your body, hard cock pressing against your ass. He kissed your shoulder and looked at IV from behind your head. "Let me help you, princess", he said sweetly by your ear. "Apply the right amount of pressure, use your fingers in the right places, and he caves beautifully. Let's see how much more he can take?", he asked.

You moaned and nodded, biting down on your lower lip.

The first thing he did afterwards was to adjust himself behind you, pushing you flushed against his hips, nestling his cock against your ass, bracing his weight on his left arm. You arched your back and pressed your ass against him on impulse, closing your eyes. III's movement got more deliberate, possessive, the speed of both of your hands increasing on IV's cock, until his back was lifting from the mattress.

"Darling, please...", he cried. "I'm gonna— Fuck, I'm gonna cum", he tied a few curses together, fighting to keep his eyes open, frowning beautifully at you. "I've wanted you so bad", he mumbled almost incoherently. "Don't stop, please, look at me. Don't let me go."

You came closer to his face, his hands coming to grab you by the hair with a bit of force. The kiss was dirty, noisy, with you trying to swallow every moan and groan he allowed himself to spill.

"I'm not stopping", you assured him, noises mingling, III's breath fanning on your neck while you pressed your forehead to IV's. "Cum for me, Ivy. Let me see it", you gasped.

IV's grasp on your hair and neck got stronger suddenly, pulling you into another kiss and hugging you close, his moan nearly a scream muffled inside your mouth. He spilled thick, high pressure ropes, white and hot all over yours and III's hands, as well as his own stomach and chest. You've never seen him breathing so hard, never seen his eyes so hazy, so lost, when you pulled away from the kiss to take a breath.

"You're so handsome", you breathed out before you could think, feeling your face hot immediately, thankful the darkness.

IV huffed a puff of air against your face, could've been a laugh, could've been a scoff, didn't look like any of it.

He was still grasping on your neck and face, still craving something to ground him, and III leaned over you to kiss him as well. Witnessing it sent shocks right through your extremely aroused mind. III didn't kiss IV like he kissed you. There wasn't that delicate study, that way of his that felt like he was trying to teach you how to kiss him while learning how to kiss you.

There was only intimacy, a kiss that looked as old as time, easy, familiar, romantic even.

Smashed between the two of them, you were able to feel every single one of their muscles relax into it, both cocks kicking. It was beautiful to watch. And hot too.

"Fuck", IV panted, gasping for air as if he had been under water after that kiss. "Fuck, darling, I want both of you to touch me forever."

That made the butterflies in your stomach soar. You huffed a laugh, laying your head on his chest, just to take a breath for a second, and then you shifted until you were laying on your back, III bracing his weight on his hands on top of you. You smirked at him.

"Now you", you whispered, and he rained down on you, kisses and small touches showering down your face, neck, and chest.

III felt impatient, slotting himself between your thighs, using a hand on your left leg to keep it open wide. He thrusted forward once against you, your wetness staining his pants, making you moan.

"Cum with me, luv", III asked, pressing his forehead against yours.

You kissed him, and dipped the hand still coated in IV's mess inside his sweats. An involuntary gasp left your lungs when you felt him for the first time, hard, hot, and heavy, like a piece of iron left on open fire. IV was girthier, but III was longer, curved upwards in such a way that got you clenching just by imagining the places within you he could reach.

He breathed out heavily, eyes fluttering shut as you touched him. You used your other hand to push his pants down and he helped you, shifting out of it until his cock sprung free. When you used IV's come as lube to start pumping him, both men moaned.

III started bucking into your hand, fast and sloppy, until he pinned you down on the mattress, covered your hand with his again, and started jerking himself off with his tip rubbing on your clit and teasing your entrance. You took away your messy hand and started touching yourself with it, throwing your head back on the pillow and letting soft moans cross your lips. Your other hand went to III's short hair on the back of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss. Just a few moments of that did it for him.

You came when he did. III carefully laid on top of you, his head tucked in the crook of your neck, only his tip snug against your entrance as his groans transformed into loud moans. Your fingers picked up the pace on your clit on their own.

"Fuck, III, I'm gonna—", you stiffened underneath him.

"Yeah, princess, that's it", he lifted his head just enough to press your foreheads together, his nose right next to yours. "Open your eyes f'me, pet. Look at me when you cum."

Something underneath your skin uncoiled, slithering from your lower belly to the top of your thighs, making you shudder and contract, driving III to the edge of reason for only being able to feel the ghost of the movement of your internal clenching.

"Oh my God, fuck!", you squealed, eyes threatening to shut, but you wouldn't let them. The sight of III's lost eyes only heightening the sensations.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful", he drawled between his teeth, and let out a jagged groan that ended in a long, jagged moan.

Feeling him coat the outside of your pussy and lazily kick at your entrance almost sent you over the edge again, and you let out a charged moan that surprised even you. III kissed you tenderly, almost too tender for him, and tumbled to your left side in a fit of small chuckles. You were also giggling when you noticed IV's side of the bed empty and the bathroom light on.

He came back with a damp towel, helped cleaning you up, and pushed his way back under the covers beside you. This time, it seemed like both you and III were seeking his heat, all three of you smashing together on the center of bed. IV wrapped his right arm around you as you laid your head under his chin, and III slotted himself against you, draping his long arm over both of you.

"Will you let me sleep now?", IV joked, getting comfortable.

You scoffed. "Oh, I'm sorry I bothered you. You don't want it anymore, noted."

"I'm just kidding!", he laughed.

"Guess it's just you and me then, III", you turned to the bassist, giving your back to him.

"I suppose so, Giggles", III said, his eyes already closed, placing his hand on the crook of your neck and joining your foreheads.

"Goddamnit", IV breathed, giggling and poking your side, cuddling you and holding you tightly against him.

---

The sun shining straight on your face was the only thing that could've pulled you out of your dreams after the best night of sleep you've had in years. The light made you frown before opening your eyes, and when you did, a chill ran up violently over your spine. IV was awake, laying in front of you, eyes half-lidded, bed hair matted, pointing in all directions.

He smiled the laziest, most relaxed and beautiful smile you've ever seen. All memories from the previous night came crashing down on you, making your heart speed up and your stomach tighten.

IV must've seen the slight panic in your eyes. He brought his hand to your face, tracing your lips with his thumb. He seemed happy.

The guitarist pulled you closer to cuddle, and the heat coming from him tried to convince you to relax. But the morning light was cruel, forcing you to at least try to see things as they were. What was this, anyway?

III came closer to both of you, still half asleep, just grunting on your neck while pulling you tightly.

You looked up to IV, who never looked away from you.

"Morning, darling", he murmured, voice thick and smooth from sleep. "Are you alright?"

Forcing a smile, you nodded. "Yeah... Are you?"

"Never been better", he said with an easiness that you envied.

Of course it was easy for him. None of what happened would impact his job, his life. It wouldn't matter if the whole crew discovered what happened.

He would just have you if he wanted you again, and not even look your way if he didn't.

"Whoa, where did you just go there, little darling?", IV asked, not knowing what was going on in your head, but being able to see the spirals behind your eyes. "Stay with me."

He tightened the hug around you, and it was grounding. Your body nestled against him without your permission, trying to find comfort without having to ask for it. He started combing your hair with his fingers.

"What time is it?", you asked, head back on his chest.

"Too early", he shrugged. "You don't have to worry yet."

"Load-out starts at 6 a.m.", you said as if it was the most important truth in the universe.

"No", he started, tracing your lips with his fingers. "The crew reunites at the lobby at 6. Then some of them have breakfast, other people just catch up. I promise I'll help you be there at 7."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Thank you", you managed to say, holding his torso tighter as you rested your head on his chest. "I'm kinda scared", you confessed before you thought better of it.

"Hm", IV hummed, as if he already knew what you were talking about. "Of what?"

It was a tough question, and only one answer felt true. "Of everything", you sighed deeply. "Stepping out of this room and facing the crew. How's this gonna impact my job? How's this gonna impact my relationship with all of you? Can we just go back to how we were yesterday evening?"

"I'd certainly hope not", he scoffed quickly, frowning at you.

"What the actual fuck are you on about, Giggles?", III interjected, pulling you harder against him. You startled, not knowing he was awake until that moment. "Go back to how we were when? When we were pinning over you like a bunch of stray puppies, and you looked absolutely miserable?"

You turned to look at him. "I just need to have an idea of how's this gonna be moving forward, III."

By God, you were never the type to be asking "what are we?" after one single night of making out, but this time you needed to know. There was too much at stake.

"How do you want it to go?", IV asked, and he sounded genuine.

You pushed up from him, sitting up with your back on the pillows. "You have to understand...", you started, not knowing to which set of eyes you should look, so you settled for your own hands, folded on your lap. "I'm trying to protect myself here."

"You still think you need to protect yourself from us?", III asked. He didn't sound offended or accusatory, but the softness in his voice made your heart ache a little.

IV raised a hand at him, as to tell him to stop talking. "Tell me more, darling", he asked. "Please."

You breathed a few times before speaking. "I need to protect what I have. My job, my career, my reputation. I don't know what this means to you guys, and I don't have to know", you wanted to keep a firm, steady voice, but it came out as anything but. "But if this is a one time thing, or a casual now-and-then thing, it's okay, but I'll have to make sure no one finds out about it."

Your hands fidgeted and shook non-stop. III covered them with his. "Giggles, look at me."

You didn't want to.

You didn't want to, because you remembered how handsome he was. How easily you would fall for any lies he would tell you. And just like that, when your eyes met his, you were a goner.

III looked beautiful in that painful, washed out morning light. Bleached hair all messy, glossy blue eyes from sleep.

"Tell me what you want from this", he asked.

It was ridiculous, how easily you were almost persuaded into giving up your secrets. Stuff you struggled to admit even to yourself. That you were scared of how much you wanted to wake up like this every day.

That deep down, you hoped they wanted it too. That what you truly wanted was for them to want you as badly as you wanted them. And that they would help you protect the peace your naive self wanted to believe you could build together.

That you couldn't stop thinking about them for weeks.

You almost said it. Almost.

"You first", you shot back, biting down on your lip, your guard still up, your fears still showing.

They both chuckled, a little surprised.

"If I tell you", IV considered, eyeing you. "You wouldn't feel obligated or uncomfortable doing whatever you want to, would you?"

"No", you shook your head. You meant it.

"And you would believe me?"

"That depends", you answered honestly.

He huffed a laugh. "You wanna know what I want from this?", the guitarist pushed up until his face was close to yours.

"Mhm", you nodded.

IV leaned over you and pinned you on the bed. III sat up too, his hand on your hair, blunt, powerful fingers massaging your scalp.

"I want...", IV started, his face almost glued to yours, his legs nudging yours open to accomodate him under the covers. "...to wake up to this every morning...", he kissed you, just a small peck on your lips. "...in every city we land...", another kiss on the corner of your mouth. "...and to be able to plan my free time based on where you are and what you're doing."

You sighed, and internally you hoped that it didn't sound too dreamy. It was one of the hardest things you've ever done, keeping yourself grounded, trying to remind yourself he must've said that a thousand different times, to a thousand different women in the exact same situation you were then.

"You know I'm letting you in my pants anyway, right?", you joked, but with a sharp edge to it. "You don't have to say shit like that."

IV dropped his head in defeat, and they both laughed.

"It's getting harder and harder not to be offended by your suspicion", III pointed out, sounding playfully annoyed. "Never have given you a reason to think so little of us."

"I'm serious, darling", IV said, grabbing your hands and pinning them above your head. "You said you don't need to know what this means to us, but you do. I want a constant, not a situation. I wanna know where you are, what you're doing, and I wanna know you'll be here at the end of the day."

You placed a hand on the crook of his neck. It was clear that you were still fighting an internal battle as to believe him or not. Why should you? What reason did they have to like you so much?

You were just a roadie.

"Giggles", III called, making you look up to him. "If I told you I just wanted to fuck every now and then, no strings attached, you would've believed it, wouldn't you", it wasn't a question.

"I—", he was right. You believing them or not depended on what was easy for you to believe.

There was a knock on the door, soft and tentative.

"Are you guys up?", it was Vessel.

You shot up, your eyes looking for a t-shirt, anything you could wear. IV's weight on top of you disappeared, he rearranged himself on his pillows and covered you with the duvet.

"Yeah, it's open", he said before you could protest.

You just dipped under the covers and prayed that the bed would swallow you whole. III and IV shifted closer to you, the bassist put a reassuring hand on your leg, smiling relaxed at you.

The door opened slowly, as if they were still asking for permission, but soon Vessel and II were in your line of vision, the tallest holding your backpack by one of the straps. They were in the prior night's clothes, Vessel in a white t-shirt and light gray sweatpants, and II was in all black Adidas long sleeve shirt and joggers.

You expected something. Anything, really. A reaction, a giggle, a scowl, anything.

There was nothing.

They approached the three of you with a unison "Morning".

"Good morning", the three of you answered, yours almost impossible to hear due to your shyness.

"Your phone was ringing, angel", Vessel approached, offering your bag.

"Oh, I'm so sorry", you grabbed it, pressing the covers against your chest. "Did it wake you up?"

"Nah, we were already up", he smiled kindly.

While fishing your phone from your bag, you saw II bend over near the foot of the bed and come back up with the shirt you were wearing the night before. IV pushed the covers from himself and got up, going towards the bathroom.

There was some work notifications in your phone, basically the schedule for the day and whatnot. You were distracted by it, so you didn't see II coming up to you and sitting by your side on the bed. He pushed the collar of the shirt over your head, helping you put it on.

It was a small gesture, but his expression was relaxed, kind, domestic.

"Sleep well?", he asked.

"Mhm", you simply said, clearing your throat to see if you could find your voice anywhere.

"We were talking logistics", III told him while he grabbed the phone from the nightstand. "She's worried about work. And other things."

"Hm", II grunted, nodding his head knowingly, his eyes still on you. "Do you want space to discuss it with III and IV, or the wiser, more reliable and stable ones are allowed to give their input?", he gestured between Vessel and himself.

You chuckled, more out of a shocked reflex than out of amusement. III scoffed, a playful offended scowl on his face while he talked to the front desk.

"Wiser and stable, but no less weird", you mumbled under your breath.

"Oi", Vessel placed an offended hand on his chest.

"You mean to say that that's a very normal situation?", you giggled through your sentence, and he came to sit by your feet.

IV came out of the bathroom, wearing a slate grey oversized hoodie and his usual black jeans ripped at the knees. The blonde hair in a glorious mess on top of his head looking like a halo, he looked so handsome like that.

"Go take a shower, get dressed in something comfy", the guitarist advised you, leaning over one of his duffle bags and rummaging there. "We'll talk about it over breakfast, darling", he took out an enormous faded black hoodie and threw it at your legs.

You sighed deeply, adjusting the t-shirt under the covers and pushing out of the bed. It was surprising, how light you felt. Your feet hit the fluffy carpet under the bed, and they weren't hurting. The muscles on your legs and lower back weren't tight.

Your head felt light on top of your neck.

You should have been worried, and you were. But not nearly as much as you felt you should. Something deep within you was trying to convince you to be stupidly optimistic.

It told you that those men really liked you. That Vessel would help you focus on what mattered to you, while II took care of everything in your place, III would tackle every fight anyone would throw at you, while IV spoiled you rotten. All of this while you did what you do best, which was taking care of them and their art.

It was a lie, though. You needed to remind yourself your wishful thinking was lying to you.

Looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror, you looked like you've been torned apart and put back together again. Your hair was a holy mess, the bags under your eyes could be seen from miles away, but nothing could compare to the bruises blooming on your neck and collarbone, like a necklace of beautiful dotted flowers, purple, red, magenta, and pink. There was no way you would be able to cover that up.

You showered, got dressed in Vessel's boxers, the flared leggings you wore the night before, and IV's hoodie. You figured you left your boots in Vessel's room.

Leaving the bathroom felt like the night before. The four of them were casually talking, III and Vessel on the bed, II and IV sat by the small table by the window. All good humour and relaxed remarks, mostly talking about how excited they were for their next gig.

"There you are, angel", Vessel was the first one to see you, you've never seen him relaxed like that, his back against the headboard, his hands folded on his lap, his ankles crossed. Long fingers reached for you and wiggled. "Come sit with us."

Your legs took you to him by themselves. He scooted until he was in the middle of the bed, and you sat where IV slept. They smelled so different from one another.

IV smelled like a hug, clean clothes, something warm, something soft. Vessel was earthy, grounding, like a temple, a sanctuary.

"How do you wanna go about this, love?", II asked. "Tell me what you need from us."

A heartbeat, a twitch of your fingers resting on your lap. "I...", you stuttered.

"How can we reassure you?", Vessel asked. "What can we say that you would believe?"

Maybe it was the firm grip he had on your hand. Maybe it was the desperate will to trust them. The only thing stronger than these, was your will to seem firm, strong, capable, like II said you were.

"I just need to know what to expect, so I can manage this properly", you said, clinical, maybe too cold.

"Manage?", III asked. You could hear he was offended. "Why in the world you'd think you'll have to manage us?"

"III", Vessel tried to warn him.

"No, don't", he raised a hand, suddenly too worked up to stay in bed. He hauled the covers away and got up, bed hair all messy and grey sweats hanging low around his hips. He rounded the bed like a predator, blue eyes fixed on you.

As he approached you, you could see everything, every beautiful detail that made III who he was. The bleached hair, the clear eyes, the blonde facial hair.

"Manage?", he repeated, looking straight at you. "What the fuck am I to you, a glitchy modeler?"

"No, III, it wasn't what I meant", you sat up, your arms reaching for him on their own, and he let you touch him, your hand resting on his forearm. "I'm still not sure what you guys want...", you stuttered. "What you expect of this", you gestured to the room, looking at him, then to IV. "And I wouldn't mind to find out as we go, but this is my job, it's all that I have. People can't know about it, I'd lose the little respect I worked my ass off to earn."

You were frantic, the grasp on his arm begging him to understand. He didn't.

"You want it straight? Fine. I don't do secrets well, and I don't do sharing with anyone outside this room", he placed a firm hand on top of yours on his forearm, pulling you closer with a yank, forcing you to look at him. "What I want is for you to stop pretending that all we want is a hookup. I want you in my bed, and I want you by my side, and I want every prick out there to know that when they're looking at you, they're looking at mine."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. Even though this didn't answer all of your questions, there were certainly some serious implications. Your free hand went to your collarbone, as if you would be able to feel the hickeys they left there.

"Is that it, then?", you asked, your brain only able to focus on one of his sentences at a time. "A territory thing? You wanted me to rub it on the crew's faces?"

III's eyes went wide, and he let out a breath, something between a stunned gasp and a scoff. "Is this what you took from what I said?", he mumbled.

"Okay, maybe we should pick this up later", II interfered, getting up from his chair.

"No, I need this now, I have to work today and I don't want to keep wondering, and I can't keep feeling scared of what you guys might do or say, or what the crew might see or hear", your words were all over the place.

II stopped on his tracks, allowing you a few more minutes of space to work things out.

"I don't think you're giving us a fair chance, darling", IV finally said something. He spent the whole time in a weird silence, almost like he was brooding. "I told you before, I'm not a nice bloke, I'm not considerate, and I won't give you space, like II want us to, and risk you start wondering if I'm serious. So here's my answer: I want the woman who makes me wanna keep playing until my fingers bleed just so she won't take her eyes off me. Being with me implicates in dealing with my jealousy, with my protectiveness of you, and the fact that I won't be apart from you."

"That's...", you started, trying to find words while processing everything they said. "That's so hard to believe", you confessed. "I don't see why. I'm just a roadie", you blurted, dreading the vulnerability. "I'm just a roadie, like the first thousand you've met before, and the next thousand you'll meet", you swallowed the shakiness, and it went straight to your hands. Vessel's hand went to the back of your neck. "That's why I must insist...", another deep breath, another look at each of them. "If this is casual, if this is going to be an occasional hook up, I'm not saying no, I'm just asking that we'd be discreet."

Your shallow, shuddering breath made you feel childish and ridiculous, like a teenage girl trying to anticipate her first breakup.

"No one's gonna take your job away, love", II said a little too quickly for him. "If anything, we want to be at your corner for you to do it better. Happier. But you're protecting the job because it's the only thing you think you own. You're wrong, love. That's wrong."

"You do understand that we wanted to know how you feel so we don't keep pursuing something you don't want, right? Because when you call us a matter to be managed, it sounds like you're already looking for an exit", Vessel offered, eloquent and calm, a grounding hand on the back of your neck.

You weren't looking for an exit. You weren't. The exact opposite. You were looking for a sign, anything, that would help you find a way to stand even closer to them.

"I'm not...", you shook your head, voice low. "I'm just trying to find a way where I don't have to choose. I work, eat, and rest with another fifty men who think I'm only here because Marcus wanted to fuck me, and I only stayed because now you want to", you gestured towards them. "As soon as someone sees me coming out of this room, I'll be just another girl, just a distraction from the tour, just...", you dropped your hands on your lap, shoulders slumping.

"If you think so little of yourself, and so little of us, that you think we make you less, then this isn't going to work out. You wanna know what I expect? I expect you to own it. You want something to manage? Manage this: I'm not gonna hide. If you want a secret, find a roadie", he spat, and you felt your body trying to curl inwards. "If you want me, you accept that I'm gonna look at you like you're my world in front of everyone."

You knew the look he was talking about. III looked at his bandmates like nothing else existed. It always seemed like he would trip or bump into someone at any time, because he only had eyes for them.

Mel mentioned he looked at you like that too.

"This isn't about my ego", your voice shook and you were terrified that it would break on you. "This is the only thing I have after everything else slips through my fingers, the only way I know how to measure my value. Ever since we started talking, I've spent the entire time hearing the riggers whispering in the wings. You know what they say? They say I'm just the band's sex toy", all four pair of eyes snapped towards you. "They say I'm here to keep you entertained. They say...", you drew a big breath, that came out jagged and chopped. "That as soon as the tour ends, I'll be tossed aside like a broken cable patch."

"Angel, that's—", Vessel tried to talk, but you raised a hand at him, now that you started talking you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

"Marcus keeps making these threats...", you continued. "That I should remember he got me this job, and that he could take it away from me. I can't give the label a reason to fire me", you brought your hands closer to your chest, picking at your nails. "If I cut this short I lose everything. My career, my reputation, you guys...", you raised your eyes to Vessel, expecting to find there some comfort, some reassurance, now that your hands tremble with a terrifying realization. "If I get fired I won't ever see you again."

There it was. A new, horrifying fear unlocked. A priority you refused to recognize until you were forced to.

You couldn't imagine how many sleepless nights you would have not knowing where they are, what they're doing. Thinking about how you would probably never meet them again. Your eyes dropped, not wanting to face them, but you eventually looked up at III right there, in front of you.

He seemed frozen since the sex toy comment, a statement that hit him harder than a punch. His jaw was set, his shoulders squared.

"Is that what you think? That you're just a tour fling? That this ends with the last show?", he asked. You shrugged and sniffed, a childish gesture, but it was too late for a facade now. He leaned forward, pressed his forehead to yours, forcing you to breathe with him. "Listen to me. Any of those bastards say anything like that again, and I'll bash their teeth in. You hear me?", you rolled your eyes, but huffed the tiniest laugh. "I fucking mean it. But babe... You need to stop believing them. This isn't true. It isn't true, you hear me?"

III kissed the bridge of your nose, and you sniffed again. When he pulled away, your eyes found II, still standing there by the foot of the bed. His expression was pained, muscles moving under the skin of his jaw and his shoulders, like a storm slowly rolling in.

"No one's gonna take your job away, love", he said through gritted teeth, voice strained. "If any of those cunts say anything, they're gone. Any of them. It could be that disgusting creep, Marcus", he drawled as if even the name left a bad taste in his mouth. "It could be Jax for all I care, they're gone. You understand?"

You gulped. "That's—"

"We want you to know that your heart will be as safe as we are with you. But you have to let us in. Truly", Vessel offered.

Another moment passes, you blink, trying to think but finding yourself unable to. A knock on the door pulled you further away from the thread of thought your mind was so desperately holding onto, and your heart kept insisting for you to let go.

"Room service", came from the door.

"It's open", IV said, rubbing his forehead, seemingly unable to look away from you.

The waiter rolled the little cart inside, flooding the room with the smell of hot coffee and fresh pastries. Jesus, III ordered enough food to feed an army. Baked goods, eggs, charcuterie, fruits, cakes, orange juice, coffee.

The sound of the little wheels was comical in contrast to the heavy silence between the five of you. The waiter started to carefully place each item on the table, and you watched it in silence without really paying attention.

Your heart felt full, like it was twice as big. You didn't think about the absurdity of the situation, nor the ethical aspects of it. You only thought about that damn warmth — the one that persisted since the night before, that tried to convince you that somehow, in the end, everything would work out fine.

That, despite all the evidence saying otherwise, you wouldn't end up jobless, alone, with tears in your eyes and your broken heart in your hands.

"I'm sorry," III's voice rang in your ears, sounding louder than it actually was. He sighed. "I'm sorry that my fucking ego blinded me to how heavy this has been for you. I'm a loud-mouthed bastard, and I forget the world is crueler to you than it is to me", he held your gaze, not looking away.

"It's okay, I'm okay", you said, hoping you'd sound at least a little firm.

"It's not, but you have to trust us", he looked you deep in your eyes, and you saw the cogs turning in his head, his eyes discreetly shifting from empathy to something similar to annoyance. "If you wanna keep it professional in front of the others, fine, we can find common ground. I'll grit my teeth. But don't you ever think you're just a toy."

There was a heavy silence again, and if your mind wasn't running a hundred miles per hour, you would've laughed at the waiter curiously glancing at you from time to time. You looked at each of them, and they were looking back at you, expecting something. III let go of you and stood up, pacing across the room, thinking.

"And if I say yes?", you finally tried, chewing on the inside of your mouth.

The room seemed to let out a collective breath. II approached you and sat down where III was.

"Then things will probably be slightly different", the drummer said, nodding slightly while grabbing ahold of your hands in his. "You can't have us pretending nothing is happening, but we promise we we'll always have your best interest in mind. This is as new for us as it is for you, but you have me, love. I've got you, okay?", he dipped his head, searching for your eyes.

"Yeah", you smiled.

"Yeah?", he leaned in until the tip of his nose brushed against yours.

You nodded, brushing your fingers over his rough hands. "I still have no idea what this is or where this is going", you chuckled. "But I wanna find out."

"And we'll try to behave", IV finally said from behind him, getting up and halting III's pacing back and forth with a gentle hand on his chest. "We don't wanna crush you. We know we're a lot", he shot a pointy look to the bassist, who scoffed. "Whatever you need to feel safe, we'll build around it. Yeah?"

"Sounds good", you offered him a smile.

IV pushed II out of the way, making the drummer grunt a grumpy sound. He grabbed your face and kissed you. It was sharp, deep, urgent, and over in a heartbeat.

His tongue brushed yours with a rhythmic, wet pressure that did its job in redirecting your attention completely back to him. You let out a small sound in his mouth, only for him to hear. He chuckled inside the kiss, and II yanked him away from you, a wet sound leaving both of your lips, making IV laugh.

"Alright, alright, let her have her breakfast", the drummer said, playfully annoyed.

He offered his hand to you, and when he pulled you away from the bed, his grasp felt different this time. II was always offering you his hand, helping you off the drum riser, or the bus, or just a flight of stairs, but it was always overly delicate, as if he was worried he'd break you. This time, II's grip was firmer, demanding, something that couldn't go unnoticed.

It wasn't bad at all. You found yourself thinking you preferred it that way.

He sat you down at the table and took the chair beside you. Vessel joined soon after, casually draping a long arm around the back of your chair, not quite touching you yet. III and IV sat on the edge of the bed, but most of the time they just hovered over the three of you.

Breakfast with the four of them was a lot.

You were in the eye of a very attractive hurricane for the next forty minutes. Vessel sipped on his Earl Grey while making bad jokes and light conversation. He didn't eat much, only nibbled on something occasionally.

II ate a healthy amount, and encouraged you to do the same. He was the one checking if your coffee had gone cold, and refilled it without you having to ask. III ate mostly protein and black coffee, occasionally dropping a comment that he'd love an energy drink and cigarettes for breakfast, sometimes he'd tear a napkin in small pieces, roll them into little balls and throw them at you and the other boys, getting paper balls in your hair and inside the hoodie you were wearing.

IV would talk to all of you with warmth and a sunshine mood, eating mostly fruits and peeling them for you — oranges and tangerines, until you told them you couldn't eat anymore.

It was chaotic, but harmless and domestic.

You were sipping the last drops of your coffee when you checked your phone. "Okay, I gotta go. I'll see you guys at the bus." You started getting up and brushing your clothes to get rid of III's paper balls. "Ves, I need to grab my shoes in your room."

He immediately put his tea down. "Yeah, of course, I'm coming with."

You two left the other three finishing their breakfast.

Vessel silently followed you across the hall, and when you were in his room he helped you find your boots, which were forgotten by the bathroom door. You sat down on the loveseat to put them on, and froze when the singer kneeled in front of you. When he slipped your right foot inside your boot and started tying your shoelaces, you thought your face never felt hotter in your life.

"What on Earth are you doing?", you mumbled. He didn't answer. "Get up!"

You lightly pushed his shoulders, but he chuckled and didn't budge until he was finished.

"I feel like I don't do nice things for you", he said, almost casually if it wasn't for a strain of shyness in his voice.

You scoffed. "You do plenty for me."

"Hm", he shrugged, with an expression that told you he wouldn't argue even if he disagreed with you. "I'll think of ways to make up for it."

And he smirked.

Vessel rarely smirked like that, and it was always towards his bandmates.

"I'm sure of it", you said. Maybe you were aiming for flirty, but it ended up coming out flat and shy, your face even hotter if that was even possible.

He got up and offered his hand for you to leave the room. IV and II were talking in the hallway.

"We're coming with you", II said. "III's in the shower and he'll be joining us soon."

Your eyes went wide. "No, no, no, no, let me meet the crew by myself first?", you asked anxiously. "Give me a few minutes."

Both of them stepped back, and II nodded. IV huffed, a small sound of frustration.

"We'll be down in five." Vessel said, placing his hands on IV's shoulders.

You muttered a thank you and went for the elevator. It was the longest elevator ride of your life, finally alone with your thoughts after the previous night, your mind teetering between spiraling and feeling like a school girl in love for the first time. But you also felt like you had done something bad and would get caught at any moment for it.

As if people in the lobby would take one look at you and immediately know everything you've done the night before.

But they didn't.

Everything seemed normal, the crew members there too busy to even acknowledge your presence. You let out a relieved breath and hugged IV's hoodie closer to your body.

You were looking for Jax and found him by the entrance door talking to Zach and Andy. You held the collar of the hoodie closed, and put the hood over your head to try and hide the hickeys and the poor state of your hair.

"Mornin'", you mumbled.

They greeted you. "You're late, rookie." Jax stated, unimpressed. "You can grab a quick coffee before we finish loadout, but we really need to get going, we have a very long drive until the next hotel stop."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not late, just decided to have breakfast in my room earlier today." You stated, your lips forming a thin line while you held the collar of the hoodie closed.

Jax eyed you up and down from over his glasses. "You okay? You look like you survived something."

You cleared your throat, diverting your eyes. "Yeah, just never traveled for so long before and I'm having trouble sleeping", you shrugged. "Think my body is still adjusting, so I'm feeling a little rough."

Jax nodded, but you heard Zach scoff. You glared at him, a scowl on your face. "Something on your mind, Zach?", you asked.

He raised his hands, mocking a peace offering. "Just occurred to me that your body might be trying to adjust to more than travelling", he chuckled.

You frowned, and were about to ask what he meant by that, but Jax slapped him in the chest with a clipboard.

"Just occured to me that you should be minding your own damn business and working", Jax scowled at him, still that flat, unimpressed tone.

Zach looked at you with a sneer and went away, probably to gossip with his friends.

You looked at Jax and figured it was best if you didn't even acknowledge the situation. "Want me to take care of the loadout sheets, Jax?", you asked.

"Nah, it's fine", he pulled a cigarette from a pack and stuck it in his mouth. "Help Andy with the bus stuff and we'll get the fuck out of here as soon as the band shows up."

When you looked at your friend, he was already looking at you suspiciously, eyeing you up and down. You bit your lip to avoid a smirk and followed him to the luggage compartment of the bus.

Andy was loading some cases and looked around to see if there wasn't anybody within earshot. "Where were you last night?", he asked.

"Uh, in my room? What do you mean?", you feigned innocence.

"Oh, sorry, are we lying to each other now? I didn't get the memo", he said annoyed, making heat rise from your neck to your face. "I went to your room last night."

"Huh?"

"I went to your room to see if you were okay", he explained. "You either weren't there or you have the heaviest sleep I've ever seen", you drew a big breath, preparing to talk, when he raised his index finger to you. "And don't lie to me, because one of the riggers, Corey, told his disgusting little friends that he was in the elevator with you and you hopped off on the band's floor?"

You groaned a terribly tired sound. "Ugh. Those riggers are worse than old ladies", you mumbled under your breath. "Yeah, I went to talk to III", you told him part of the true.

"III, huh?", his eyes narrowed while he bent over to pick up some heavy cases. "And how was it? Did you talk about that kiss?"

You shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Probably won't happen again. You know how these type of men are", you felt the bite of your own words, voicing your fears in such a way, hoping that those really were just lies you were telling Andy.

"Right", he mumbled, taking one of the cases from you and placing it in the compartment. "And that was before or after those hickeys?", he discreetly pulled on the collar of the hoodie. "And is this IV's hoodie?"

You huffed, embarrassed and giddy at the same time.

"It was a long talk", you finally said, making him roll his eyes. "And we ended up getting along. IV was kind enough to lend me a hoodie when I got cold because I left yours in my room. By the way," you took out the hoodie he lent you the night before from your bag and offered it to him. "Thank you. See? People lend each other stuff. That's all."

He grabbed his hoodie and looked at you unimpressed. "That's all", he echoed. "And how was the night? Good, I take?"

"It was nice", you merely said, biting down a smile.

"No details?", he begged.

"Nope," you shook your head. "Not here."

"Fine, be this way", he huffed. "Not even gonna tell me how IV got in the equation?", he whispered.

You were mortified. "I told you, he was just there in the morning, with the other guys. I didn't see him at night, only III", you felt as if every single thing in your body betrayed you and gave away that you were lying.

"Right", he sounded skeptical. "Do you have any pets, rookie?", he suddenly asked, not bothering to look at you.

You frowned. "Currently, no. Can't have pets with the kind of life I have. Why?"

"Yeah, that's why I don't have any either", he said casually. "My mom has a dog though, a Labrador, the sweetest thing in the world. He's super docile and good natured, you know? Does exactly what he's told. But he hates being left outside when we're cleaning, so when we close the door on him, he keeps staring at us exactly like that through the glass", Andy tipped his chin towards a point beyond your shoulder, and you turned on your heels to look.

All four of them were there, but IV was looking straight at you, the kind of look that you would never, ever think you'd be on the receiving end of. You convinced yourself it was just wishful thinking, but you almost saw admiration, something akin to a magnetic lust, you could feel the pull, an energy pulling you two closer, and another feeling you didn't want to name yet. When you noticed he was smiling, you realized you were already smiling back.

"He was just there", Andy echoed you mockingly. "Don't you dare think this conversation is over."

"You guys are up early", Jax said to the band from behind you, seemingly in much of a better mood than a few minutes early.

"We had a good night", Vessel offered a small smile. "We're ready to leave when you guys are."

You picked up a couple of small cases that belonged in III's bass rack and went for the bus. A strong hand stopped you in your tracks, and you turned on your heels.

II had his hand extended to you, eyeing the cases in your arms. "You know the drill, love."

You rolled your eyes and chuckled at the same time, handing him everything you had in your arms. "I wouldn't hurt myself or anything."

"Hm", he grunted. "Let me do this anyway", he pulled even your backpack from your shoulder.

He lagged behind, and while you were walking to the front of the bus, you were flanked by both III and IV. They didn't actually talked to you, and it seemed they were even avoiding looking at you for long periods of time, to which you would be grateful for, if you didn't miss the attention. And you were kicking yourself for it.

III was right, again. You came up with your own rules and ended up resenting them. Even though you didn't know where you stood with Vessel and II, you wanted to wrap yourself around III, and hold IV's hand, and talk to them the way you were doing in the hotel room.

And the worst part was that, even though you were adamant not to break under the weight of your desires, you were very aware that those rules you created to prevent the rest of the crew from finding out weren't working. Because something in the energy shifted in a way that was so subtle and so scandalous at the same time, it was pretty obvious everyone was going to notice it eventually.

III didn't grab you by the neck and kissed you in front of everyone like he said he wanted to, but he stood way too close, crowding you all the time, even after the bus was already rolling across the city. You would feel your shoulder brush his chest, and his voice drop to a low register so only you would hear, even for the most insignificant comments and harmless jokes.

IV didn't touch you aside from the occasional brush of your hands, but he kept doing stuff for you. Organizing cases, tuning his and III's guitars. He always had a bottle of water or a snack in hand for you.

Not to service you like II always does, but to please. To see you smile and thank him, and only him.

Speaking of him, II was still II, except more. Where he used to be vigilant, now he was ever-present, hyper aware. He wasn't satisfied by lingering in your peripheral vision anymore.

Everytime you were working, or doing something that involved being close to one of the crew members, he was there. Discrete, but there. He also did stuff for you, helped with your work.

"If I can buy you ten more minutes of rest, I will", he said once.

But the most unnerving was Vessel. Vessel has always been the least affectionate, the more distant one. He seemed to have practiced the art of restraint for much longer than any of you.

So his touches didn't linger, his compliments weren't shameless, his protectiveness wasn't obvious. The only special thing you two really shared were those sleepless nights, when no one else was looking, where he would tell you the most unexpected secrets, and ask the most unexpected questions. But now... Now he started letting his gaze linger on your face, on your neck, on the top of your head.

During the bus ride, you were talking to II about an issue he had with his drum kit, and how he fixed it. He was relaxed in a way that you rarely saw outside the privacy of hotel rooms. He had one leg propped up on the arm rest of his seat, his hands fiddling with your empty water bottle.

II encouraged you to talk about your day, and complain about your work. He seemed to enjoy hearing you complain about ordinary stuff, maybe because it was something you never actually did until then. You thought complaining made you less, that it was pointless and made you sound childish and ungrateful.

But II seemed to like it, so you gave it a try.

You were telling him about how much you hated to deal with signal processors they had, and he was laughing, when you noticed Vessel. You felt it before you saw it. The way his gaze on you had weight and heat, like an actual body.

When you turned to him, his eyes dropped from your forehead to your lips, lingering there for far too long, and sinking even further to stare at the little triangle between your throat and collarbone. It wasn't that distant, ethereal gaze he was always offering the crew and the managers. It was fixed, somehow predatory and worshipful at the same time.

And when you became aware of your surroundings in the bus, it downed on you. You had II on your right, and Vessel on your left. IV was sitting on the floor by your feet while watching TV, and III was behind you, leaned over the back of your seat while on his phone.

There was no kissing, no hand-holding. But the air around was thick with a heavy, masculine possessiveness that no professional title could mask.

You spent the whole day distracted, even when you were working. The only thing you noticed aside from the boys was how some crew members were looking at you, and people from management too. Maybe you were just paranoid, but they started looking at the way you talked to Vessel at the bus lounging area. He was standing in front of you when you were working, organizing something in the guitar rack.

Vessel never crowded you like III did, so it was strange to finally realize how tall he actually was. Only a couple of inches shorter than the bassist, you had to crane your head upwards to the point it hurt to try and look him in the eye, considering how close he was now.

You were talking about work, but it didn't feel like that. He was smiling all the time, and there were details you haven't noticed until then. Like how perfect his teeth were, and how soft his light brown hair looked, and he didn't just smell of black tea and sandalwood, but also of heat and salt, that reminded you of a rainy day at the beach.

And for a second, your eyes diverted from his green forest ones to a point beyond his shoulder, and saw one of the tour managers looking, watching you both, curiously. He didn't have a scowl on his face or anything, but he seemed intrigued. Your fears rose up again, and suddenly, you weren't able to focus on what Vessel was telling you about the lighting rig.

He noticed the abrupt and uncomfortable shift in you. Vessel looked above his shoulder and when the manager saw him looking, he turned his back and disappeared into the driver's cabin.

You considered telling him that this was precisely what you were afraid of. The moment management deems you a distraction rather than a solution, you would be flying home before the trucks are loaded again.

Vessel smiled, and placed a hand on the cabinet door behind you, not touching but leaning over further, making you feel the magnetic field around him.

"They can't question your value without questioning mine, angel."

That wasn't supposed to relax you the way it did. The fear didn't disappear, of course not, but it was pushed so deep back in your mind that it became merely white noise for that moment. You nodded and smiled shyly.

After going over your schedule and checklist obsessively, and doing everything you could in that bus, came that dreadful moment where you were supposed to get some rest until you got to the hotel. Sleeping on that damned bus was hard enough, now with everything that happened in your mind, that would be virtually impossible. When you were laying there, in the dark, looking at the bunk above yours, you seriously considered slipping off your own bed and climbing into III's or IV's.

Something told you they wouldn't mind it. Not for sex or anything, just to have a nice, warm body you could hold onto to calm your mind. III would laugh at you, but hold you close anyway.

IV would keep caressing your arm or back until you eventually fall asleep.

No one would see it, right? You could hear faint snoring from your colleagues, people were always wiped with this kind of job anyway. But you didn't have the guts to risk being caught.

Instead, you decided to go boil some water for your tea and watch some TV — surely the lounging area was empty right now, everyone was at least trying to get some rest. But you weren't that surprised when you saw Vessel there, relaxed on the leather seat, sprawled and seemingly deep in thought. He wasn't watching TV, nor playing one of his games, just... Thinking, it seemed.

You approached him carefully, as someone would a feral cat, not wanting to scare him. He turned his head slowly to you, and it took a while for him to smile.

"Couldn't sleep again?", you asked, and he just shook his head, a strange glimmer in his eye. "I'm gonna make us some tea", you informed instead of asking if he wanted any.

"No, don't", he quickly said, patting the spot beside him. "Just sit with me for a while."

You hesitated for some reason, but slowly slid to sit down at his side, not looking away from his face for even one second. "Something bothering you?" You asked.

"No," he assured. "Not bothering. Why are you looking at me like that?", he snorted.

Heat crept up to your face. "Like what?", you chuckled, eyes going slightly bigger.

"I don't know, like that", he pointed at your face, making you shift a little further away from him, so he placed a hand on your arm to bring you close again. "Big eyed, unblinking."

"I don't know", you mumbled and shrugged childishly. "You guys still spend most of the time masked. I might still be getting used to it."

"Ah", he smiled with endearment. "Everyone wants to peek behind the curtain, but not everyone likes what they see."

The idea of someone looking at him and not liking what they saw was absurd, and you felt this absurdity deep within you. Without thinking, you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his. You could feel his surprise, stiffening his muscles a little, before quickly melting into you.

He dropped his head on top of yours, and lifted the arm you were holding, draping it around your shoulders instead. You pressed your face on his chest and inhaled deeply. Vessel never held you like this, and it felt spiritual, like accidentally getting caught in the threads of destiny and entangling yourself in them.

"What happens behind the curtain isn't for everyone," you pondered.

"Hmm", he hummed a pleasant note in agreement. Somehow, you knew his eyes were closed.

"I've always been passionate about the behind the scenes aspect", you told him, even though you weren't sure why. Something about Vessel made you want to talk for years on end. "Since I was a kid."

"Oh, yeah?", he asked, his tone suddenly extremely interested. "How come?"

"It started when I first found out how a magic trick was done, and I was even more enchanted by the process than the actual trick", you giggled, feeling suddenly terribly silly. "So I started researching how everything was made or produced. TV shows, movies, theater, and finally, music — concerts, recordings, and such. I was very young."

"That's adorable", he snorted, and you pulled away, shaking your head. "No, it is", he continued, pulling you back into his heat again. "That's how you chose this life then."

"Yeah...", you let yourself be pulled in a sweeter hug, tucking your legs underneath you. "When I was a teen, my dad took me to see Tool live", you told him while looking at the ceiling, trying to remember the details. "Everyone was looking at Maynard, obviously. But to me, the lead singer looked like a shield, a decoy, so people wouldn't see the magic trick developing behind him."

Vessel pulled away from you only slightly, keeping you in his arms, but turning to look at you with dreamy eyes. "Go on", he encouraged.

"I couldn't take my eyes off the structure, and those anonymous men in black appearing from behind the curtain every now and then, running silently behind the band, fixing things, switching equipments, literally preventing the show from falling apart", there was a shinier glimmer in his eyes, and they never looked away from yours. "There was a zillion small screens behind the band, and one of them started flickering. Like, just milliseconds of dead pixels, right? And I saw this tech in black shirt, black cargo pants, baseball cap and black gloves, and he sprinted out of the shadows.

"He didn't look at the crowd, he didn't even look at the band, and I realized no one was supposed to be looking at him either. He just fixed the connection and vanished before the next strobe hit."

He just nodded for a moment. "But you were looking. And what did you think then?", he asked.

You drew a deep breath. "I remember wondering how many people it actually takes to make a concert like that to work. And how many people were actually holding the band up while they were onstage. And I remember thinking that I might not sing, or play well, or write songs like you do", you gestured towards him, who slightly shook his head. "But that I might be able to help hold something beautiful in place, you know? That that would make me special."

Vessel leaned over you, his face inches from yours, and he brushed your hair behind your ear. "That isn't what makes you special", he said very, very quietly, as if it was a secret. "But the way you look at it is certainly part of it", he huffed a small laugh through his nose.

You look straight into his eyes, and stayed quiet for a momento too long. "Now it's you who's looking at me weird", you pointed out humorously, unable to look away from his eyes.

His hand went to cradle your jaw, caressing your cheek, then up to your temple, and he smoothed his thumb over your eyebrow. Your breath left your lips ragged. His thumb ran down the bridge of your nose, and stopped on the bow of your upper lip.

"I tried not to stare at you for so long", he confessed, so low it almost felt like it wasn't meant for your ears. "Let me have this now."

Your heart went nuts inside your chest, and you licked your lips and smiled to cover up your nervousness. "I never tried not to stare", you stated.

He chuckled. "I know", he circled your lips with his thumb. "I've seen you looking at me. But I had a hard time believing in it. Still do, I think."

"Believing in what?"

"That a woman like you would give me the time of day", he simply said.

You barked a very spontaneous laugh at that, all of your teeth in display, wrinkled nose, head tilted back, everything. Until you noticed that, despite the amusement in his eyes, Vessel wasn't laughing with you.

"You're not joking." You stated, seeing him shake his head. "That's ridiculous."

"Why?"

"Because", you huffed, feeling heat creep up to your cheeks again. "You're... You." You waved at his general direction. "Look at you. You're sensitive, and intelligent, and so, so interesting, and so fun to be around, and handsome as fuck—"

"Stop, angel", he interrupted. "I'm begging you."

You saw Vessel's cheeks glowing red and a very embarrassed chuckle come out of his mouth, and you realized then he didn't know how to take compliments. Him, from all people. The 6'4" handsome man who was insanely good at everything he did.

"I won't stop." You challenged, making him raise his eyebrows. "You're talented, and you're infinitely kind, and patient, and sweet to everyone around you, even to people that don't deserve it. And you're the star of the show. Every eye in the world is looking at you. And I'm just a roadie. You could have anyone you want." Your voice dropped significantly lower during the last two sentences.

Despite the red glow on his cheeks, Vessel only had endearment in his eyes. His thumb went back to circle your lips, pulling your bottom lip down slightly.

"Everything I want is in this bus with me." He smiled sweetly. "For the longest time I thought you were looking at one of the other three, and I was just in your way, when you looked at us like that. I thought it was just IV, or III, and what I saw when you smiled at me like that was just wishful thinking." He stopped and licked his lips, his eyes went down to your mouth. "Was I right?"

Your heart slammed so hard against your chest it hurt. That was incredibly hard to admit, for so many reasons. What did it say about you, that you wanted him as well?

They didn't seem to mind though, whatever moral dilemmas you had, the boys didn't seem to share.

You were going to tell him the truth.

"No." You said.

Vessel inhaled deeply and held his breath for a moment. "You know you don't have to, right?", he asked, his thumb slipping down to your chin, trailing down to the column of your throat. "If you want just III and IV...", his finger stopped on the hollow of your neck and tapped there twice. "Or just one of them. Or none of us, for that matter", he smiled again. "Please tell us. We'll respect you no matter what."

"I know", you said.

Vessel waited for you to say something else, that you were happy with how things were going with III and IV, or for you to pull away from him. You didn't. His hand went back to cradle your jaw and tilted your head up.

He leaned in even further, his nose brushed against yours, and he nudged your face lightly. His eyes fell shut, his breath fanned over your face, and his other hand pressed on the small of your back.

"May I?", he asked quietly.

You let out a shaky breath, licking your lips and swallowing thickly. "Thought you'd never ask."

And then his mouth was on yours.

It was warm and eager, tasting faintly of salt and himself. His hand coming to grab on your waist as though he'd be waiting for it for weeks. The weight of his body pressed you back and down into the leather seat, laying on top of you, while you kissed him back with equal urgency, sparks and something heavier curling in you stomach.

You opened your legs to welcome him in, tangling your fingers on the short hairs on the nape of his neck. All of his reservations, his hesitancy, dissolved on your tongue like sugar. Now he was just hungry, pressing you against the leather, his hand pushing inside IV's hoodie to touch your waist.

Vessel kissed like he sings — all-encompassing, desperate, almost heartbreaking. Every time you gasped he swallowed, and moaned inside your mouth, as if he was trying to breathe himself into your lungs.

Losing yourself in that kiss made you forget all about any doubts you had. How could this be wrong if it felt like the only thing right in the world?

When he broke the kiss, he didn't go far. His forehead remained glued to yours, breathing heavily. And exchange of glances, a couple of heartbeats in sync, and you were kissing again, laying on the couch while the bus hummed through the road.

Vessel didn't say anything else. He laid by your side, cradling your face, kissing you and humming pleased little notes against the corner of your mouth, until you both fell asleep.

No more guitar boys. End of.

But, his eyes though.

Shit.

You'd regressed back to your 14 year old self; crushing hard on a tall boy with pretty hands, and even prettier eyes. Combined with his leather jacket and his white-blonde, fade cut hair, you were done for; your gaze constantly seeking him out as you moved around the room.

Feeling flushed, you made your way out onto the patio. The sun had not long dipped below the horizon throwing the garden into shadows, but the seated area was lit up with garden lamps, and fairy lights were strung over the pergola. You rubbed at your bare arms. Summer was rushing in with longer, sunnier days, but the evenings still cooled down just enough to remind you that it wasn't quite here yet.

Smiling at a few people as you passed them, you made your way through the tables towards a low stone wall that surrounded the lawn. A children's play area on the far side was your destination, and you perched yourself on a swing, rocking back and forth on your Doc Martens as you sipped your drink. A moment's peace from the hustle and bustle inside.

"Hiding?"

You jumped, heart kicking into high gear as III emerged from the shadows.

"Fuck me, you trying to kill me?" You gasped, hand on your heart. "What the hell are you doing hiding out here?"

His low chuckle was borderline sinful. "Sorry, little bee. Did I scare you?"

You rubbed your hand against your chest, taking a breath to slow your startled pulse. "You're lucky I don't sting your ass," you grumbled.

III moved to take the swing next to yours. "That's cute," he grinned. He took a drag from a roll up, the tip glowing in the darkness, before holding it out to you. "Want some?"

No basic cigarette, then. No wonder he was lurking in the dark. You eyed the joint, your gaze drifting back to him as he released a plume of smoke into the air above you.

"Still smoking, then." You remembered him and your brother thinking they were being stealthy at the bottom of the garden behind the shed, when they really weren't.

His mouth curved into a smile as he grasped the chain of his swing, leaning towards you. "Don't tell me you're a good girl," he murmured.

"I am," you said, tilting your head and leaning towards him. You plucked the joint from his fingers. "For the right person."

He watched you, amusement teasing at his mouth. It was hard to pull your gaze away from his after that deliberate tease, but you did. With a smirk you settled on your swing and took a drag, inhaling slowly. You closed your eyes, savouring it before releasing your own plume of smoke. "Not bad," you said, holding the joint back towards him.

"Not bad at all," he smiled, his little finger grazing the side of your hand as he took the joint back.

You swallowed, ignoring the tingle of awareness it stirred. That was the first time he'd touched you tonight, and your inner 14 year old self was swooning like an idiot.

"Where's your friend?" You asked, grasping the swing chain a bit tighter.

"On a call with the love of his life," III shrugged, slumping around a chain as he made his swing rock with his long legs. He tilted back, looking up towards the sky. "He's got it real bad. I reckon he might make it official with this one, you know. Put a ring on it. That's what every other fucker our age seems to be doing lately."

"Not you?" You asked, turning to look at him.

His eyes swung your way from where he was hanging back, his nose screwing up. "Nah, my lifestyle doesn't really lend itself to settling down; drowning in nappies and wailing kids. Ugh."

"I bet IV was saying the same thing before he met his girlfriend," you suggested. "The right person probably changes everything. People wouldn't have babies otherwise."

He sat up, eyeing you curiously. "Is that what you want? Forever, and kids, and stuff."

You shrugged. "I don't know, maybe," you said. "Right now, I'm happy doing my thing. I'm enjoying touring with the business. I didn't expect to be doing that with my life, and it's actually great. So, I guess I'm open to whatever feels right."

"Hmm," he hummed slowly, taking another drag.

You both swung on your feet, lost in thought for a moment as the party continued on across the lawn. You took a mouthful from your drink, finishing it.

"I'm sorry I used to pull your hair," he said, out of the blue. "I was a bit of a cunt when I was younger. So, I apologise if I ever hurt you."

You met his gaze, surprised. "You never hurt me," you said, truthfully.

He had pulled your hair though, but it had never been rough. You'd tried to retaliate of course, but he'd always outsmarted you somehow. A true king of mischief. He'd pinned you down and tickled you, tripped you up, soaked you with water pistols and slammed water balloons in your face when you weren't expecting it. But, you'd never hated him for it.

"Well, that's good. I was still a little cunt, though," he grinned.

"Does that mean you've grown up now, and you're sensible?"

"Well…" His mouth twisted as he considered that and you laughed.

"I'll take that as a no," you chuckled.

"I don't do boring," he said, leaning around his chain again, his long fingers curled around the cool metal. His gaze drifted over you, slowly, and you fought to stay still on the swing seat. "And, neither do you, I reckon," he said, softly. "Little honeybee."

Your gazes met in the darkness, something hot and dangerous stirring low in your belly. You were no sweet and innocent teenager anymore. Your body knew what it liked now, and somehow he was waking it all up with just one simmering look. He was not a young boy anymore, either. He was still gangly and mischievous, but his face had sharpened into that of a man, the added touch of his moustache merely enhancing the look.

But, it was his eyes that had you. Beautiful, baby blues that suggested innocence, but what lurked beneath was far from it.

Dangerous boy.

The added bonus of being older and wiser was the confidence to hold these moments without crashing out. You'd flirted and played with enough blokes to know that caving at the first flutter of eyelashes was a big no. No matter who he was. You'd learned how to play, and he was right; you didn't like boring.

You leant forward around your own chain, holding his gaze until you were mere inches from his face. Your pulse thundered at the proximity, his pretty eyes glittering from the glow of nearby fairy lights. You curved your lips into a slow smile and felt a glow of triumph when his gaze dipped to your mouth.

"I do like a bit of chaos," you murmured. "I guess I learned from the best."

When his eyes darted back up to yours, you had to harness every inch of self control to back away from him. Adrenaline was pumping wildly as you stood up from the swing, smoothing the tulle miniskirt that you knew was scandalously short enough to reveal the curve of your bottom in tight, black hot pants. He was watching you, his eyes burning into you as you took a few steps forward.

"Best get back to the party before I'm missed," you said sweetly, throwing a smile over your shoulder.

"Of course," he said, his voice deep and soft. "Fly back to your guests, little honeybee. Such a good girl after all."

Fuck.

You were the image of cool restraint as you crossed that lawn. At least, you hoped you were. The effort made your hands tremble.

Smooth bastard. Just like any other guitar boy.

He wasn't just any other guitar boy, though. He was the one who'd started the obsession.