#angsty as hell

Today had truly been a long, grueling day with things not going your way.

Your only lead to infiltrating the Senobium turned out to be a total waste of time, then your stomach got fucked by whatever the hell you bought from a stall afterwards. And then a hunt for a soulless you took for some coins ended with you showered in its guts.

When you arrive at the Wet Wick, your face stormy and exhausted, covered in gore and blood and smelling of rot, you make the bar go silent.

Many patrons lean away from you as you walk by, some nearly hurling, and Leander is quick to meet you before you reach the steps.

“Yikes, Sunshine. You don’t look so hot.”

You bite back a retort.

“Here let’s get you upstairs.”

You honestly want to be left alone, but you don’t have the heart to tell him, not when he so concerned about you as he always is.

Once in your room, Leander drags out a tub while you hold your breath and strip out of your disgusting layers, nearly gagging a few times as you touch the filth.

With his magic he fills up the tub with warm water and goes to fetch some oils, soap for your body and hair, and a pitcher.

With him going about getting those items, you sink into the tub with a sigh, soon frowning as the pristine water turns murky with gore.

“Here ya go,” Leander chirps, your heart leaping into your throat.

He passes the rag to you as well as a bar of soap before dropping in some oils. “That’s my favorite soap, doesn’t it smell good?”

You take a short whiff and hum. “Yeah..”

You jump when Leander’s hand suddenly invades the water, brushing against the skin of your thigh and his other holding your shoulder for support. You go to snap at him when you watch as the water slowly turns from dark and murky to clear and clean.

“I know you don’t wanna bathe in gore all over again,” he says, giving you a cheeky smile, looking proud of himself.

“Yeah… Thanks,” you mutter, shifting to try and get his touch off as you lather your rag with the bar of soap.

You thought he’d leave you be to go back to entertaining his Hounds, but no. He stays where he is, hovering behind you and helping you clean up.

Although, it doesn’t bother you that he sees you in such a vulnerable state of nakedness, you having grown used to bathing with others and not viewing yours and others bodies as inherently sexual.

But you’re on edge. Leander has a big presence, literally and figuratively, and he’s making you feel worse, making you feel suffocated, agitated, and guilty for feeling that way when he’s been nothing but generous and wonderful ever since you met.

Leander has scratched the itch of wanting touch, showing you it’s possible, but at the same time touch can make you feel sick.

You want to convey it to him, but looking at his happy face twists your stomach. So you endure some more, pushing all your negative feelings bubbling away in your gut.

He’ll leave once you’re done.

But again, today isn’t in your favor.

Leander insist on helping you dry and dress while running his mouth about his day.

You halfheartedly listen to him while popping your knuckles repeatedly to ease your discomfort, and Leander soon catches on to your fidgeting, mistaking it for something else…

He lets out a breathy chuckle, it sounding like gooey honey and his gaze low lided. His hand comes to grasp your shoulder, making you bunch up and turn to move your shoulder out of his grasp, but he doesn’t let go, his hold tightening up.

“Hey, what did I say? If you wanna touch me all you have to do is ask, or even just do so.”

“That’s not— Woah!”

He pulls you to sit down on the bed, sitting right beside you, his knee pressing against yours. He uses his teeth to pull off his gloves and you suddenly grasps his wrists tight, trembling slightly.

“Leander, please, it’s not that,” you grit slightly with tightly furrowed brows, before guilt comes swallowing you at the look of hurt and confusion on his face.

“I’m just exhausted from today and I just want to be alone!”

Leander’s face falls into a blank stare, on that you’re not familiar with. It’s… Empty and cold, unnatural for a sunny guy such as himself. It kicks starts your heart into a fast paced beat. You don’t like it. Not one bit.

But then he’s smiling again, looking amused as if you’re being difficult or perhaps you told him a joke. He tugs his wrists from your grip with ease and locks your hands into his firmly. “Hey, I know today was rough, but let me help you, alright?”

“You’re not—!”

Suddenly you’re falling into the bed, it squeaking in protest at the sudden weight. Leander’s arms are wrapped around you, caging you in his hold. You lay there with mute panic, feeling your throat knot up. Your head is dizzy with static and your skin crawling as if maggots infested your insides.

“Everyone needs a hug or cuddle once in a while, Sunshine. Don’t try to fight it,” he says, lips brushing your ear. “For you especially it’s not healthy. You went so long without proper affectionate touch, I understand it’s hard to ask it now, but I’ll help you. I’ll show you it’s okay.”

You begin to fight his touch, your breath frantic, and soon you free yourself, dropping to the floor with a loud thud and scrambling. You end up retching into the pitcher Leander had used for your hair earlier.

Tears drip from your face and snot from your nose as you try to catch your breath.

You never thought you had an addictive personality. Until you met Frankie.

It started out innocently enough: a few dates, late-night hookups, slowly spending more time together but not too much. Your life is full of friends, hobbies, a demanding job -- you didn't need him. Marriage and kids were not on the agenda. Fixing him was also not on your to-do list, and he welcomed the distraction of you so he didn't have to focus on fixing himself. But you did crave the sex, and once you got a taste, you started to wonder how you would ever go without it again. Doing anything silly to jeopardize cutting off the supply, like catching feelings, was unthinkable.

It wasn't just in how he ate you out (expertly). How many orgasms he gave you (many). How compatible your kinks were (very). Or even how he ruined you in bed (utterly). The real hook was his lack of inhibition. Without the restraints of Feelings holding him back, he was able to be feral, free and unhinged with you, yet always respectful of your lines and stopping immediately when the safeword was brought out. 99% sure he would never be abusive or violate your boundaries, the unpredictability of the remaining 1% enough to keep you excited and on the edge, tinting an already wild fuck with an extra forbidden flavor. There's a reason he'd been in elite special ops; you knew what those hands were capable of.

This is your symbiosis. It might not pass with flying colors the test you give yourself for most important decisions: "Is this enhancing my life, or distracting me from living it?" But it's not ruining it either, you think. As if you could be objective.

Inertia takes over for three months. Six. A full year goes by, and still, you pretend you're good with what he has to give you. Wanting more would change things, and he doesn't offer it anyway. Hope would create expectations, and if you both don't have them, then you can never be disappointed. You have full and busy lives, after all.

You exist together in that state, half solid and half liquid, until he disappears without warning for 2 weeks, in what you find out later was to South America. Some trip with his former Delta Force buddies that you suspected wasn't a holiday, but you didn't ask, and he didn't tell. All you knew was that he returned as someone else.

What gave it away wasn't the rare clean-shaven face or the wacky Hawaiian shirt that he showed up wearing, but a dark aura that ringed him like a cloud of dust. As usual, he didn't want to talk about it; when he showed up at your door, you figured all he wanted to do was fuck you raw in a bid to temporarily forget whatever he just ran from. You welcomed him in.

But the person that fucks you isn't the Frankie you know. This one uncharacteristically pulls you into his lap, sliding his cock in and out of you with more restraint than he'd ever shown before, kissing you more deeply and intimately than you thought him capable of. Even the thumb he gently runs along your cheek and jaw as he gazes at you feels different, like it had been broken and reshaped, though there aren't any visible bruises. For the first time, you feel utterly naked in front of him. Worse: you like it.

Not what either of you signed up for. Especially when he buries his face into your neck and whispers, "I need you," wrapping himself around you so tight you almost can't breathe. All of this after he comes, not before. Not even during.

Liquified under you, the ground is no longer solid. You don't even have time to silently ask yourself the inevitable "Would this distract from my life…" before your subconscious speaks for you.