#borhap smut

After doing the basic self-hygiene you grabbed your tote bag filled with your work stuff and started walking to the directions to Beachwood Cafe.

The walk is always quiet and calm, but it always gave you little bits and pieces into other people’s lives. Like the old lady watering her plants or the way, the housewife takes her toddler for a walk in his stroller. The sense of familiarity comforted you. 

“Hello there.” 

You whipped your head toward the direction of the voice, this was not part of the routine you had never seen this man before, his shoulder-length blonde hair and ridiculously blue eyes were unfamiliar yet comforting. He was confident yet nonchalant with his greeting.

“Hello,” you said with a small smile he looked down at you smiling.

You continued to walk seeing Beachwood in the distance.

“Were you going to get a cuppa?” you nodded your head “That is so crazy because so was I.” he picked up his pace so he can open the door for you. 

You muttered a small thank you and walked in, Beachwood was a small but very popular coffeeshop the owner Dayla has became a very good friend of yours and always brightened up your day with a joke or two.

“Mimi, how are you love?” she asked from behind the counter.

“I’m good Day how are you?”

“Can’t complain if I say so myself.” she said grinning “Let me guess Caffe Latte and a pastry?”

“Yes ma’am, it’s late in the day you didn’t run out of the pastries yet?”

“I just took out a fresh batch right now, I knew you were going to have a late start today.”  God, you loved this woman.

You stepped aside to get your wallet from your bag 

“What would you like young man?” Dayla asked the man who walked in with you.

“I’ll just get a cup of tea please, Oh! I’ll get her order as well” he said as he saw you handing money to Dayla.

“That’s okay!” you said feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“Please I insist.” He said practically throwing the money to pay for your order at Dayla.

“Please let me-”

“Mimi! he said he insists go sit down,” Dayla said looking at you wide-eyed.

You looked at both of them and walked to the seat you usually sat at and what a surprise the man came with you.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” he said motioning to the seat across from you.

“Go ahead,” you said

He sat down looking out the window and then back at you. “I’m sorry I realized I never introduced myself I’m Roger Taylor.” he said extending his hand out to you, you grabbed it.

“I’m Mickey… well it’s not really Mickey but it’s just easier to pronounce.” Stupid you should’ve just said Mickey.

“May I ask what your real name is?” Roger said still holding your hand

“It’s Mikaela but Mickey is fine.”

“Can you say it one more time, I want to make sure I got it right.” he rubbed his thumb across your knuckles.

“Umm… yeah it’s pronounced Me as in me and you, Ki like eye but with a K in front of it and Yella like yell with an A after… That sounded really complicated actually you don’t have to-”

“Mikaela?” he said slowly looking up at you for confirmation. 

“Yeah!” your heart skipped a beat it is so nice hearing your name.

“Nice to meet you Mikaela” he said as he brought your hand up to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

Fuck.

Of course, at the exact same time as that happened, Dayla came with your drinks. She set your drink down smirking and left without saying another word.

“Is it safe to assume that you are not from here?” He asked while blowing on his tea before taking a small sip.

“Yeah, you can say that. What gave it away.” You said smiling from your coffee cup

“You’re just different from everyone not in a bad way either I like it. Where are you from.”

Oh god, I can die happy right now.

“Well, it's a bit of a long story.”

“I don't have anywhere to be.” He said his blues eyes burning into yours

Oh wow, he's so hot

“Oh in that case. I was born in a small town in Spain. Spanish was my first language so that’s why I talk funny.”

“I like the way you talk.”

He did not. Your face was definitely red.

“How does a girl from Spain come to London?”

“Ummm sheer luck I suppose.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure”

“Was it hard learning another language?”

“Learning English was super difficult sometimes I feel like I dont know what I’m saying, but English is my third language my second was Italian.”

“Italian? Where do you find the time to learn two extra languages?” He was genuinely in disbelief

“Well my mom was from Spain and my dad was from Italy so I just needed to know both and they’re pretty similar to each other so it wasn’t that hard.

“What do you do for fun?”

“What do I do for fun?” I repeated thinking hard

“Yes, you obviously must have loads of friends.”

“Well… I do have friends, I just can’t think of one at this second.”

This is embarrassing now he thinks I’m a loser

“Don’t worry I don’t have many friends either but consider me as your friend Mickey.”

“What about you? What do you do for fun?” I need to change the subject oh my god.

“Well, I’m in a rock band.”

“A rock band?!” You said a little too loudly

“What about me isn’t rock and roll Mickey?” he said laughing

“Not in a bad way of course you don’t seem like the type to be singing in front of a crowd,” I said shaking my head 

“Well, I suppose you got that right I’m on the drums in the back so the audience can’t really see me anyways.”

“I’m sorry I’m not trying to make fun of you I just got caught off guard, does your band have a name?”

“Sm- Queen,” he said shaking his head.

“I like the name Queen, are you playing soon I would like to see what I’m missing out on.”

“We’re actually recording our first album right now, the recording place is not too far from here about a block or two further down. So we’re going on a small break until we’re done with the album but I believe the next one is in three weeks.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it then.” You said sipping your coffee

“Actually I was hoping to see you earlier than that.”

You immediately choked on your coffee, making a scene by coughing into your napkin.

“That wasn’t the response I had hoped for,” he said passing you his napkin so you can wipe your tears with.

“Oh, I’m so sorry I wasn’t trying to be mean I just- well I would like to see you again as well.”

“Really?,” He said smiling, and you swear you could melt from his smile alone.

“Yes, of course.” You smiled back.

He then prompted to drink his cup of tea until it was finished and left money on the table.

“Great then I’m going to leave before I can mess up this perfect first moment. By any chance do you have a pen on you?”

You shook your head yes and looked through your bag handing it to him.

“This is my number, we’re recording until 6 today so anytime after that call me and I’d love to talk to you more.”

You felt your head spinning with how fast he was talking and moving.

He plucked your hand up and gave you a small kiss on it again, he then walked to the door before saying.

“Promise me you’ll call me,” he told you while he grabbed the door handle.

“I promise I’ll call you,” you said softly

“Perfect,” he said while he winked at you and then left.

He gave you one last look through the window and then left, once he was out of view Dayla came to the table.

“Who was that?” she said, collecting her tip that Roger left her.

“His name is Roger. I met him today.”

“Today! You’re joking.”

“I swear Dayla I met him minutes before coming here?”

“He can be a psychopath! And here you are chatting with him after knowing him for 30 minutes.”

That stopped you.

“He is not a psycho he was so nice and funny, and did you see how hot he is Day?”

“Yeah well murderers can be funny and hot.”

“Do you really think he’s a murderer?” you asked in a exsperated way.

“No, I was just kidding he is really hot and besides who would want to murder you?” Dayla said as she wiggled her eyebrows.

“Wow that doesn’t really make me feel better.”

She stood up grabbing Roger’s empty cup “Girl you know I was just playing I say go for it and have fun, anyone would be lucky to have you.” she bumped your shoulder with her hip and left.

Your mind felt overwhelmed with all the excitement from today you even almost forgot that you had some work orders to do you tried to push Roger from your mind as you grabbed your journal and sketchbook from your bag. You looked back at your notes reading on what your client wanted: a floor-length gown but not something too flashy something to show off their arms and their cleavage. Perfect. You spent your time designing the gown having fun with it since you probably wouldn’t have another gown piece for months. After finishing you went on to your smaller orders feeling yourself getting into the groove of things.

Looking up from your sketch you noticed how dark it got outside and how empty it now was in the cafe. You decided to call it a day, well that was until you go home, and then you would start making the gown. You noticed the clock when you were telling Dayla good night. 6:58 Damn time really flew by and then you remembered the number you had in your bag.

The walk home went by to fast your thoughts about what you would say to Roger once you called made you nervous to the point that your keys kept slipping from your hands as you were trying to open the door to your apartment. 

You purposely threw your jacket on the phone hook so you didn’t have to see it and went to the bathroom you looked at your appearance baggy jeans, an oversize t-shirt that you also slept in, hair a mess, and no makeup. You shook your head, no way Roger was being serious about you calling him he was so much more put together and out of your league completely. You could just imagine all the beautiful women that he has been with, no way you could compare. You sighed walking out the bathroom ready to get started on your order. You grabbed the different fabrics you needed for making the gown and when you went to grab your sketchbook Roger’s number fell and slowly fluttered down to the floor like it was taunting you. You stared at the paper hard groaning when you opened it reading that he wrote “Roger <3” following his number. You did promise him you would call…

Your heartbeat picked up when you approached the phone dialing each number slowly wishing a catastrophic event would happen and end the world so you didn’t have to finish dialing. It didn’t happen. You put the phone to your ear and hear the first ring, and then the second. This was stupid calling him in the first place you removed the phone from your ear and were half a second away from hanging up when you heard “Hello?”

Shit.

You couldn’t just hang up now. 

“Hello, is this Roger?”

“Overruled,” Judge Walsh said emphatically. “Counsel, you can’t object to questions only because you don’t like them!”

“Your honor, I want it on record that I object to this witness, I object to this line of questioning, and I object to opposing counsel’s being a complete and unmitigated ass!”

“Counsel!” he scolded, banging his gavel. “Sit down and let Mr. Harrington finish! If you raise one more objection today I will hold you in contempt, do you understand me?”

Cheeks red with anger and hatred, you scowled at him. Bill forced you back to your seat. You folded your arms across your chest and once again glared at Roger, hoping he could feel the heat of your rage.

“To answer your question,” Roger began again. “No, any disagreements between Dominique and myself have always been resolved with words.”

“Until you had to bring lawyers in,” Glen remarked.

“That’s not fair,” Roger said. “When it comes to issues of money -”

“And the cheating?” Glen pointed out.

“I cheated,” Roger admitted. “Dominique was faithful until that day she went on this date. But at that point, our marriage was effectively over.”

“You didn’t like that, did you?” Glen asked. “The fact that she had a date?”

“Who would?” Roger replied. “It was a pretty harsh reminder that my marriage was done.”

“Did it make you angry?” Glen pressed.

“Yeah, a bit,” Roger said, rolling his eyes.

You squeezed yours shut. If the jury didn’t think Roger was taking this seriously, it would look bad. You saw where this was going, and you knew it would only make him angrier.

“Angry enough to behave like the late Mr. Taylor?” Glen asked.

Roger stiffened. His jaw clenched. You could hardly look at him. You saw the hurt and fury slowly overtake his body. But he was remaining impressively calm. He took a deep breath and then looked icily at Glen.

“No,” he said.

You could tell how much will power it was taking for him not to spit at Glen in that moment. You felt the same. Angry as you were with Roger for doing this, you hated Glen right now more than his client. He turned and looked at you, a slimy smile on his face.

“Your witness,” he said.

Bill looked at  you questioningly. You composed yourself and nodded, letting him know you had this. You stood up.

“Mr. Taylor, have you ever once put your hands on your wife or any woman?”

“Never,” he said.

“No further questions.”

You sat back down. 

After Roger’s testimony, you were released for lunch. The trial would continue the following day. You and Bill stormed out of the courtroom, each on one side of Dominique. You didn’t bother to wait for Roger, but he jogged up to you anyway. You retreated into a chamber down the corridor.

“I can’t believe you!” you shouted at Roger as you slammed the door behind the group. “I told you yesterday that you aren’t a relevant witness! Why would you agree to testify for the opposing side?!”

“I wanted an opportunity to stand up for Dom, I didn’t know he was going to ask me all that!” Roger shot back.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?!” you cried. “All the jury needs is a little bit of doubt to find him not guilty, and you’ve just given it to them!”

“Oh, please, my alibi is totally secure,” he returned.

“We wouldn’t have to even worry about it if you didn’t get your dumbass on that stand in the first place!” you almost shrieked, completely exasperated. “You’ve hurt us, Roger, you could at least be sorry for it!”

“You’re the one who wouldn’t let me testify on our side!” he yelled. 

“Because I was doing my job, you daft -”

“HEEEEEEY!” Bill bellowed, banging his fist on the table.

You and Roger looked at him.

“Everybody calm the fuck down,” Bill said. “This was a setback, but we still have a strong case. What Glen did in there was a desperate, Hail Mary attempt to throw us off. We still have Dominique’s amazing testimony, Miss Thomas’s, and all the forensics. So both of you just relax, alright?”

You shot another harsh glare toward Roger and then took a seat. The shock of Roger’s testimony left you winded, but you were also terrified. If the jury now had a doubt that Nick was the culprit behind the attack on Dominique, you knew Roger would never forgive himself.

Just then, Glen burst into the room.

“What the fuck was with that witness?” he demanded. “Calling me ugly? Are you just trying to make me look stupid?”

“Hey, don’t you come in here making demands like that after what you did!” you retorted, jumping to your feet again. “You called Roger up just to try and frame him when you know that was rubbish!”

“God, you’re sexy when you’re angry,” he replied, tone softening. “Sure I can’t convince you to ditch blondie and grab a drink with me?”

“Alright!” Roger intervened, stepping closer.

“We are in the middle of a trial,” you said to Glen. “Could you act like a grown up?”

“Believe me, after seeing your legs in that skirt, my thoughts are entirely adult,” he said. “I actually started to get jealous of blondie since he gets to put his face between those gorgeous thighs every night.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that he’d gone too far, but Roger lunged past you, going for Glen. You and Bill each grabbed one of Roger’s arms, yanking him back. 

“Roger!” you cried, incredulous. 

“He crossed a line!” Roger bellowed. He glared fiercely at Glen. “Don’t you EVER talk about her like that!”

“HEY!” Bill interjected again. “Roger, settle down. Glen, get the fuck out.” 

“I still want to know about that witness,” Glen said. 

“She was the one who found Dominique, how could we not call her to the stand?” Bill argued. “Lucy Thomas is just a cold bitch by nature, we can’t help that.”

Roger was still glowering, breath heavy and chest heaving. 

“Alright, I’ll go,” Glen. “But I’m not going to take any more of that nonsense.”

“Oh, but you expect us to tolerate yours?” you retorted. 

“Y/N, that’s enough, we’re not doing this,” Bill said. 

“Bloody ridiculous,” Glen muttered as he swept out of the room. 

The door swung shut behind him. You rounded on Roger. 

“What’s got into you?” you cried. “Are you trying to make this worse?”

“I was defending you!” he argued. 

“OH MY GOD BOTH OF YOU SHUT IT!” Bill interrupted once again. 

All eyes were on him. 

“Emotions are running high right now,” he continued. “I’m going to get some lunch. Y/N, you’ve got the rest of the day off. Roger, do whatever the hell you want.” 

You blinked. “You’re sending me home?”

“Yes,” he said. “You’re riled up and snappish and frankly, I don’t want to talk to you for the rest of the day.”

You flared up, offended, but he stopped you from speaking with a look. Then he turned to Dominique. 

“Dom, can I get you some lunch?” he offered. 

“Throw in a drink, and I’m there,” she said.

She took his arm and they left together. The door snapped closed once again and you looked at Roger. 

“I appreciate you defending me, but after the argument he made in there, you can’t act like that, Rog,” you said, as calmly as you could. Inside, your emotions were swirling around like a hurricane. 

“What I did was human,” Roger replied, voice also steadying. “All I want to do is defend the people I love.”

“Well, don’t,” you said sharply. 

“Fine,” he snapped. “I won’t, then.”

From the look on his face, you knew you’d struck a nerve. Roger had never looked at you with so much disappointment and anger in his eyes. Not even during your worst fights. This was a new level. It made your heart sink. But when he went for the door, you didn’t try to stop him. You watched him go, feeling like a bad lawyer and an even worse girlfriend. 

You walked home from the courthouse. All your frustration was gone by the time you opened the door. You half hoped that Roger would be there and you could both apologize and make up. But he wasn’t. Your flat was as empty as you felt. With a heavy sigh, you set down your work things and went to go change. Only, when you got to your bedroom, you had no energy to do so. You kicked off your shoes, flopped face down on your bed, and let out a sob. You cried yourself into a deep sleep. 

You woke a couple hours later to a knock on your door. Brushing your fingers through your surely mussed up hair, you forced yourself from the bed and went to answer it. You knew who you hoped it was, but you couldn’t be sure Roger would be standing there. You left things so tense. 

To your shock and pleasure, it was him. He looked rather like a dog with his tail between his legs as you opened the door. You felt the same. You had behaved no better, in your opinion. 

“Hey,” he said awkwardly. 

“Hey,” you returned. 

A beat passed. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said in unison, and you both chuckled a little bit. 

“Come inside,” you offered. “We should talk.”

“Definitely,” he agreed. 

He came in and you went to the kitchen. You made some tea and handed it him a cup before sitting down across from him. 

“I’m sorry I testified for them,” he said. “Glen called me and asked me if I’d be willing to tell my side of the story. I had no idea he would go that direction.” 

“You can’t trust opposing counsel,” you said. “Especially the likes of him.”

“Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson,” he conceded. “The last thing I want to do is hurt Dominique’s case, I just…”

“I know you want to protect people, Rog,” you said, reaching over to take his hand. “That’s your natural instinct. And I admire that about you. Few people are as selfless as you are. But you can’t always be the one in the ring, okay?”

“I know,” he said. “And again, I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” you returned. “And I’m sorry too. I just got scared because Dom means a lot to me too and I don’t want her to go through all this only to lose.”

“I get it, I feel the same way,” he said. “I think we both forgot ourselves today because we care so much.”

“I told you having me might backfire,” you joked. 

He smiled. Another pause passed between you. 

“About Glen,” he said. “I’m also sorry I exploded like that. But I won’t apologize for defending you, he -”

“No, I agree he crossed a line today,” you cut across him. “That was way too far. Especially since we haven’t….y’know…”

“I know,” he said. “And when he said that today...just talking about you like that - even him thinking of touching you - it made me absolutely mad with rage. Because that connection we had...even back in the day...it was practically sacred to me, Y/N. To hear him say that, and make a mockery of it….I just couldn’t take it.”

You looked down to hide your blush. The sex was that meaningful to you as well, but you never thought he was so sentimental about it. 

“D’you remember when we used to?” he asked. “How you’d look me in the eyes?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. The memory made heat stir in the pit of your belly. 

“Yeah,” you said, finding the courage at last to look at him. “Of course I do.”

“No one else has ever looked in my eyes, y’know, during,” he said. “I felt like I could….I dunno, see your soul or something. I’ve had sex with plenty of women. But I’ve only really made love to one.”

You were certain your cheeks were redder than cherries at this point.

“Roger, I….” you trailed off. “I don’t know what to say. I had no idea it all meant so much to you. Especially with the way you left.”

He hung his head. “I know. But I hope you believe me.”

“I do,” you assured him. “I just wonder what made you think of all that?”

“Glen’s comments today were a part of it,” he said. “But also, a few weeks ago, you said we couldn’t because my divorce wasn’t final. But, it’s final now, and I’ve been thinking about being with you ever since I signed that paper.”

Your blush impossibly deepened. 

“Plus, seeing you in that courtroom is incredibly sexy,” he added with a laugh. 

You laughed too, relaxing you a bit. 

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” you admitted. “I’m just nervous.”

“Why?” he wondered. “By my memory, we were very good.”

You smiled. “I think I’m just afraid that if we try, then what we had before might not be there. And then what?”

“Y/N, it’s gonna be there,” he said, squeezing your hand. “I love you and you love me. That passion is there. Which is especially clear after today.” He took a deep breath. “But if you’re not ready, we can wait.”

You didn’t reply right away. Honestly, seeing him leap to your defense the way he did had turned you on, though you didn’t want to admit it. And every time he kissed you, you remembered how good it felt to go further with him. But your fear was real. What if it wasn’t the same as it used to be? There was only one way to find out. 

“Roger?”

“Yes, love?”

“Kiss me.”

He almost jumped out of his chair to come around the table to take you up in his arms. He lifted you to your feet and claimed your lips in a tender embrace. He moved slowly, giving you the opportunity to stop him if you wanted. But you wanted the opposite. 

You opened your mouth against his, and he reacted immediately, slipping his tongue between your lips. The kiss was heavy with the pent up desire you had both been feeling. Your mind was fuzzy, like getting drunk, but you were acutely aware of his hands sliding up your sides. His thumbs brushed your ribcage, just barely touching the underside of your breasts. 

You whimpered into his mouth and reached for the buttons of your blazer. He helped you shrug it off your shoulders and it fell to the floor. Beneath, you had just your plain white tank top and pencil skirt. He stopped kissing you to look over your body in the form fitting clothes. You saw the hungry look in his eyes and bit your lip.

Your lips already itched to feel his again. All of your skin was tingling with the desire for his touch. You watched him observe you, chest rising and falling with your deep, desperate breaths. 

When he met your gaze again, you couldn’t contain it anymore. You crashed upon him. Pressing into him to be as close as possible. His arms snaked around your waist to hold you there, his eagerness to be close as evident as yours. Then his hands made their way south and he gripped handfuls of your ass. 

You gasped and let out a husky breath, pushing even further into him. He groaned and you felt his hardness pressing into your lower stomach. You stopped kissing him to catch your breath and reach for the buttons of his shirt. 

“Fuck that,” he panted, and he pulled it over his head while you giggled. 

When his shirt had joined your jacket, you had your turn to admire him. You ran your fingers delicately down his torso. His skin was warm. 

“I guess we should be matching,” you teased, and you tugged your tank top off as well. 

Roger’s eyes on you as you reached back and unclasped your bra had you reeling. That was what you missed about making love to him. No one else had ever desired you so passionately.

With your breasts free, he took direct action. He cupped one in each hand and squeezed gently, massaging them before tweaking each nipple between his fingers. Your head fell back with a groan as the sensation sent more heat straight to your core. He attached his lips to your neck, whispering into your skin.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, love. God, I’ve missed you.”

You whined in returned, arching your back toward him. He pulled you close again. The heat of his body sent a chill up your spine.

“Wanna move to the bedroom, love?” he asked.

You nodded. He scooped you up and carried you in there as you giggled. You yelped with surprise when he tossed you on the bed and crawled up to join you. The next kisses were fervent and needy. You moaned again.

Roger’s fingers moved down your front and nimbly popped the buttons of your skirt before tugging the zipper down. You did not wear panty hose. You liked the way your legs looked without them, and you knew you could distract an opposing male lawyer if need be. You played dirty too sometimes.

You pushed your thong down your legs as Roger worked off his jeans. He groaned at the sight of you bare before him, sprawled out and breathless from his kisses. You smirked at him with cat like playfulness as you sat up. You gently pulled the waistband of his boxers down, slowly, watching his face as you went. Beads of sweat formed at his hairline from your torturous pace.

“Fuck, baby, I need you,” he sighed.

With a grin, you swiftly removed his boxers, and he kicked them off the bed. Then, you took hold of his hips, rubbing soft little circles into the slightly protruding bones. He hissed with anticipation.

Then, you gave him what he wanted. You licked a stripe up his cock. A loud groan came from his throat. You swirled your tongue around his tip before wrapping your lips around him and taking him down. He let out such a delicious moan your mouth watered around him.

You began with a slow pace. Dragging your mouth forward and back, teasing him. His short, eager breaths egged you on. You saw him trembling trying to maintain control, but after you hollowed out your cheeks and really sucked, his hips jerked forward. You almost gagged, but held back.

“Sorry,” he choked out. “God, it feels so good.”

He buried his fingers in your hair and pulled you off of him. That was typical. Roger preferred not to cum in your mouth, and he refused to finish before you had gotten one or two orgasms of your own. Usually more.

You licked your lips and looked expectantly at him. He took your shoulders and lay you back. Your legs fell open for him. He got onto his knees there, but didn’t settle on top of you. Instead, he kissed you again. He teased your lips with his tongue, and you opened up. He explored your mouth, getting you all hot again, before pulling away. 

He nipped and sucked along your jawbone and down the soft skin of your neck. He trailed across your collarbones, down your chest - briefly stopping to suck on each of your nipples - and then made his way down your stomach. He slowed down the closer he got to your pelvis. Roger was not an explorer trekking out into new territory. He was coming home. He recalled every sensitive spot on your body. What made you moan, sigh, and giggle. He exploited this knowledge to the full extent as he made his way down. It made your whole body light up with excitement and need. Finally, you whined impatiently and pushed your hips up. 

With a cocky chuckle, he took his tongue to your folds. You gasped sharply as your back arched. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked lightly, just how you liked it.

“Oh! Roger!” you cried, heels digging into the mattress.

He moaned into you, the vibrations sending an extra thrill all the way up your body. You’d almost forgotten how extraordinarily well he used his tongue and mouth. He was zeroed in on your clit, making you writhe around as you released pathetic whimpers and soft cries of his name.

The pressure was building inside you as he worked your core with his mouth. Your voice raised several octaves and your legs quivered as you hurtled toward the sweet release. When you were on the cusp, he sank a finger into you. You groaned so deeply you felt him smile against you. He curled his finger toward himself, pushing on your g-spot with expert precision. 

“Rog - oh fuck!” you nearly sobbed.

He added a second finger, stretching you just slightly. Your walls clamped down around him as he drove you further toward the edge.

“Please, please,” you begged, panting.

He sped up, knowing just what you needed. Between the flicks of his tongue and the thrusts of his fingers, you were there. Your legs stiffened, your back arched high off the bed, a scream tore from your throat as it hit you. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, and Roger did not relent as you began to come down, shaking with the sensation of it all.

He eased you down, slowing his pace before removing the contact. Your body quivered. He smiled, pleased with himself, and he crawled back over you again to help with the shivering. Hot as you were during, you were always cold after an orgasm, so he held you a moment.

You were panting too hard for him to kiss you properly, so he peppered your face and neck with pecks. When you giggled, he knew you were okay.

His hips settled between your thighs, and you gasped as his cock brushed your entrance. Then you moaned.

“Ready for more, sweetheart?” he asked, running his finger along your jaw.

You nodded. “Please, more.”

You didn’t even worry about sounding pathetic. You could be anything with Roger - strong, weak, pathetic, needy, vulnerable, bitchy, sweet, sexy - all of it. Any side of yourself was accepted and loved by him. 

He rested on his forearms, cupping your face between his hands, and he slid into you. It was like magic. He fit so perfectly inside you - with just enough stretch to make you whimper with need. You both took a moment to revel in being together again. Being completely united. 

You locked eyes. You understood what he meant earlier. Your souls met behind your irises. You had never felt more connected to him. And from the soft look in his eyes, you knew he felt the same.

“I love you so much,” he sighed.

“I love you too,” you returned.

You turned your face and took his finger into your mouth, a weakness of his. His eyes fell closed and his hips rutted forward, deeper into you. You squeaked with surprise and then chuckled, moving to match him.

You fell easily into a rhythm together. It flowed as naturally as the tides. Roger filled you with each thrust, and you climbed slowly together back up to the edge. His name escaped your lips as he rocked into you. Delicate declarations of his love and your beauty swept off his breath. You didn’t hear them, but you felt them.

He sped up and it was like coming out of a fog. Each snap of his hips shook you and you clutched onto his shoulders for dear life. Your moans rose in volume and octave as you found yourself clenching around him again. 

“Oh - Roger - Oh God -”

“I’m so close, baby,” he grunted. “Please, one more for me.”

He removed his hand from its proximity to your face and slid it between your bodies, finding your clit as if it were magnetized. He rubbed tight, fast circles on it, and your vision began to blur. 

The second one hit you harder and more suddenly. White exploded behind your eyes as your walls fluttered around his cock. Roger cried your name once more and spilled into you, slowing down his thrusts as you peaked together. You twitched against him as he guided you back down steadily. He slowed to a stop and watched you panting beneath him.

He inched himself out of you. You still winced at the feeling. Once he was able, he rolled off you and you crawled into his arms. You needed his warmth.

“Mmm, Rog,” you hummed, pulling him closer.

“Good?” he asked.

“Incredible,” you replied.

“I don’t wanna speak too soon, but I think we’ve still got it,” he teased.

You smiled lazily. “We do.”

“What do you need now, love?”

“Sleep,” you said through a yawn.

He chuckled. “Of course you do.”

Staring ahead at the cabinet for a moment, you slowly closed your eyes and started laughing, shaking your head. "You're a fucking dumbass. Over."

"Well, someone's a bitch. Over." "Who is he calling a bitch?" Ben's quiet, gravelly voice suddenly appeared behind you, and you startled a bit as you whirled around to find a very heavy-lidded, scruffy-looking Ben standing there. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was just sleepy - but he'd also been over at Joe's getting white-girl wasted, and the rosiness of his cheeks betrayed that very fact as he shuffled forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and enveloping you in a warm hug that trapped you between the counter and him. "I thought you were still over there, I was just going to be a second," you murmured, running your hand over the back of his unruly blonde hair and smoothing it down before letting your hand come to rest on the nape of his neck. He shook his head, mumbling something incoherent as he pressed his face into your neck, nuzzling it gently and making you smile. Such a baby. Taking a deep breath, you let out a long exhale before pressing a soft, quick kiss to the side of his head and murmuring, "He was calling me a bitch." Humming in response, he blindly lifted a hand to reach for the walkie talkie, and when he'd clumsily stolen it from your grasp, he lifted his head just enough to speak into the receiver as he held the button down. His chin pressed into your shoulder as he talked, making you smile and turn to press a lingering kiss to his cheek. "Stop bullying my girlfriend or I'll come back over there and wallop you." "You didn't say over either," Joe pointed out snarkily, and you rolled your eyes as Ben chuckled softly and resumed burying his face in your neck, sitting the walkie talkie down. Returning his hand to your back, his thumb ran light circles across your skin just under the hem of your shirt, making a sharp thrill run through your body due to your still-mildly intoxicated state. As much as you wanted to stay there forever and mooch off of Ben's body heat, you remembered the white cheddar popcorn calling your name - so with some difficulty, you managed to start peeling Ben's arms off of you, giggling knowingly when he let out an unhappy groan. "Go back over there. I'll be back in a minute." Pulling away slowly, he didn't look too pleased and grumbled to himself as he shuffled off to Joe's again with his phone charger now in hand. 

“Love you!” you called after him, which he reciprocated only after shooting you a playful glare over his shoulder. Grinning, you watched as he stepped out onto the balcony and blew you a kiss before flipping you off and disappearing around the corner with the smile.

It took climbing on the counter for you to reach the bag of popcorn in the cabinet, but you managed to get it down and not sprain your ankle getting off the counter, so you took a minute to participate in a victory dance that would have surely been mocked if you were over on the other side of that wall separating you and the boys. A pleased smile played at your lips as you pranced back over to Joe's, only tripping once or twice.  Losing your balance? That was another story. You almost biffed it when you rounded Ben's couch, over-calculating the turn and nearly ending up on your ass. Of course, even sober, you were still just getting used to Ben's couch being there instead of yours. His was nice, a grey microfiber sectional - "For the dog," he'd insisted, even though you told him time and time again that it wasn't a pet-friendly apartment and you didn't have a dog. But he'd brought it anyways, and it had replaced your poor, flaky pleather excuses for furniture. In fact, there were a lot of touches of Ben in this apartment now that he'd moved in. It had been a year since you started seeing each other, and around month ten of Ben constantly being over at your or Joe's place (as in, every moment he wasn't filming), his lease was about up and he was apartment hunting again. Then it hit you - why was he going to get another place if he was just staying at yours all the time? You'd felt so blind, you were almost reluctant to bring it up to Ben in fear that his response might be along the lines of 'took you long enough' - but you had conveniently forgotten that Ben was an even more oblivious dumbass than you were.  Instead of a condescending 'oh, you finally put two and two together?', Ben had looked at you, very obviously shocked, then laughed and kissed your head repeatedly between mumblings about you being 'so smart' and 'such a catch.' Humming to yourself, you pulled open the bag of popcorn just as you crossed the threshold into Joe's living room. Ben was sleeping away on the couch while Joe looked one step away from dead, his eyes glossed over as he stared up at an episode of Big Mouth he'd probably seen no less than 5 times already. The dab pen perched neatly on the end table between the two of them said all you needed to know, and you narrowed your eyes a bit as you chomped on the popcorn, Joe slowly turning his bloodshot gaze in your direction and smiling placidly as you spoke. "Wow. You look fucking stoned, dude." "Welcome back.... I see you've decided not to share your snacks with us. Bitch." "I told you to stop calling her a bitch." Ben's voice was muffled - he barely gave the effort to even move his mouth enough to speak clearly, his face squished up against the couch and eyes not even opening an inch as he reached out in your general direction weakly. His fingers did the grabby thing that made your heart do flips as you padded over to the couch, Ben sitting up just long enough for you to get yourself comfortable on the end of the couch, and then his head was plopping down on your lap again. You felt his cheek press a little harder against your thigh as he readjusted so he was comfortable, and then he was back to practically comatose.  Sitting your bag of popcorn to the side, you used one hand to keep feeding yourself while the other ran through Ben's hair repeatedly, his breathing slowing down until he was fast asleep. Joe kept quiet, only snickering at crass Big Mouth jokes occasionally and never letting his eyes leave the screen. It was a serene night, an oddly quiet one shared between the three of you - usually, at least two of you were yelling, so the absence of noise was relaxing. As much as you hated to break it, you had to, because the pen between you and Joe was making you curious. Multiple questions were dancing around your tongue like they were on hot coals, urged out by the slowly-dwindling buzz making your head spin a bit as you reached out for the pen. "Did you suddenly come down with some shit that requires the healing effects of THC?" Picking it up, you rolled it around in your hand for a second before sitting it back down. "Shit looks fancy." "Fancy? And I got it from Tori," Joe answered without looking away from the screen, his jaw still a little slack as he struggled to focus on you and the show. "She went out-of-state for some fancy art curator shit and came back with it. Knocks you on your ass, it does." "Okay, Yoda," you laughed, Joe rolling his eyes back in his head and trying not to smile before scoffing. "Can't you buy them in the city anyway? "Yeah, but can you buy the stuff for it in the city?" he retorted. He had you there, and you gave him a grin and a shrug before he rolled his eyes and continued. "Are you even old enough to be making Star Wars references, kid?" "Oh, shut up," you dismissed, not wanting to get in a fight with cross-faded Joe. Rolling your eyes when he mocked you quietly, you decided to reroute the conversation again. "So when are you just gonna bite the bullet and make it official with your favorite art curator? You were all about preaching just doing it to Ben and I last year, where's that energy now?" "Where's that energy now?" he mimicked, clearly at a loss for comebacks, and you snorted at his childishness, but a lengthy sigh from him made you think it was less of a 'fuck you' and more of an aversion. The question seemed to trouble him, and he was deathly quiet for a minute before speaking. "This may just be high me speaking, but I think I'm in a rut right now and she doesn't even know it. So I don't want to trap her if it's not going to work out... in all aspects." "Uh oh, has erectile dysfunction finally set in? I heard that when you get ancient, things like that happen." Joe's clear annoyance couldn't stifle your laughter as soon as you finished your sentence, but he waited for you quiet down a bit before he spoke over you. "If I didn't feel like I was melted into this chair like the wax dripping off of a fine soy candle right now, I'd come over there with a fifty-five-gallon drum of ass-whooping and pour it all over you." "Jesus, it was a joke!" you laughed, tossing one of his smaller decorative pillows at him playfully and bursting into another round of laughter when he threw it back at you harder, acting like he wasn't in the mood for your games even though the smile plastered on his face said otherwise. "I'm sorry, buddy, I'll be nice now. Why do you think you're in a rut?" "I just... I don't think I'm doing it for her, you know?" he sighed, his fingers curling up on the armrests as he seemed to melt even more into the chair. Then, an amused giggle escaped him, almost like clockwork, and he grinned in spite of his words. "Like she seems into it, but my brain keeps telling me that every time we're having sex that she's wishing she was hooking up with someone a lot... younger. And adventurous. Like a young Steve Irwin. Mister Danger." Though Joe wasn't too shy about his sex life, you were still shocked to hear him being so open about such a vulnerable part of it - usually, your conversations about your respective sex lives were just complaints and laments. So, it warmed your heart to hear that Joe was concerned about his end of the game - as much as your friend's sex life through Steve Irwin metaphors could warm your heart, of course. Looking down at Ben, you smiled a bit and brushed a stray hair back from his face, his nose twitching a bit and lips smacking together lazily. For a moment, you thought he was awake, but his breathing showed no signs of speeding up, so you wrote it off as sleepy twitches and looked back up at Joe, still running your fingers through Ben's hair soothingly. "As much as I hate hearing you use Steve Irwin as a sexual comparison to yourself... why did you start thinking that?" "Well, the other day, she brought up the fact that we're both Virgos. At first, I thought that she called us both virgins, and I laughed, but... not the same thing," he admitted in a small voice, but you didn't even attempt to muffle your amused giggles, much to his chagrin. Sighing and burying his face in his hands for a second, Joe let out a long groan before shaking his head and dropping his hands to his lap again. "And I don't completely know what it has to do with our sex lives at all, but she mentioned our compatibility in passing and I just... I feel bad. She was reading something about how Virgo women like to communicate how they're feeling, and I really don't think we're communicating like we should be. Or maybe I'm just overthinking it. Which she also said-" "Yeah, that's a Virgo thing. She's right," you cut in, already knowing what he was going to say, and he narrowed his eyes a bit before huffing at the fact you were apparently siding with Tori. "Virgos are supposed to be so good at communicating! What's the hold-up, Mister 'Talk to Ben or I'm gonna go nuts"? You were all about talking it out last year." "I don't know, I think my mind's just fucking dumb and manic- wait no, not manicure. Manuscript? Jesus Christ, what's the word? Mani-man.... Manifested! Manifested. My mind manifested this block on its own. Do you ever do that? Like, just worry that you're just not doing enough and they're too scared or too pissed off to say anything about it? But then you're too scared to say anything because talking about... your sex life makes you nervous as shit? Because what if she doesn't actually want to talk about it?" Nodding along as he spoke, you considered your life in the bedroom with Ben. Did you have that concern? It was a valid question, one that made your face screw up in thought for a minute before you finally spoke, your fingers brushing Ben's hair back again. "Not really. Ben's pretty open about what works for him and what doesn't work for him, I think. Maybe we both are? I guess we just communicate more than I'm used to, but it really works in the long run." Joe stared deadpan at you, not seeming as if he understood a single word you said, and you raised an eyebrow in challenge. "What? Are you fucking deaf?" "No, I'm just... not sure I was prepared to hear about your sex life with Big Ben. It's so different when it's... well, him." Rolling your eyes, you prepared to stand up, already done with this conversation, but Joe was quick to raise his hands in surrender and stutter out an apology amidst delirious laughter. "No, no no, sit back down! I'm sorry- shit, I'm sorry, I just had to get that out. Keep going, I'm listening." "You need to talk to Tori," you replied matter-of-factly, and the familiar sentiment echoed in your brain, reminding you of a simpler time - a time when Ben was just Joe's dorky, fit friend who came around sometimes and made you laugh at how awkward he could be. Now, he was your boyfriend waking you up in the morning begging you to make almond flour pancakes with him just so he could cover his hand in flour and smack your ass to leave a handprint. At least you knew the 'talk to them' advice was effective. "I know it sounds hypocritical, but you need to ask her about what she's into and what she isn't into. That way you can know what gets her going and what you need to steer away from." "What, like missionary vs. cowgirl?" Joe asked incredulously, and you had to laugh at the naiveté of assuming that sex positions alone would be enough. Were you shocked that a straight cis man was saying this, though? Not really. (Ben was a surprising exception, and you were eternally grateful for it.) "Good god, she- oh my god, I'm sorry I'm laughing. I don't mean to be an asshole, it just happens," you giggled, moving your hand to Ben's back and rubbing relaxing circles into it when he twitched in his sleep again. "You're going to have to get real comfortable here because the only way I know how to explain this is to talk about blondie here." "Fuck, hold on," Joe grimaced, looking straight forward out of the balcony door for a second. His expressions incredibly exaggerated from how high he was at the moment, you could see every step in his process of compartmentalizing all the inner turmoil hearing about his friend's sex life was going to cause before finally nodding slowly, not losing the grimace. "Okay, go." "I think first you need to see if she likes to be in control. Like, dominate." "Um, I don't think so? No, she isn't the dominant one in bed," Joe observed, his words slow as he thought-extra hard, probably just to make sure he was right and not just so high he was imagining things. "But I guess I don't know for sure. What do you mean?" "So like, when Ben and I have sex, I'm the dom-" "Hold on!" Joe interrupted, pretending to gag as he lurched forward dramatically, hamming it up while you watched in unamused silence. When he'd finished his dramatics, he waved for you to continue. "Alright, got that out of my system. You're the dominant one?" "Yeah?" you drawled out slowly, unsure how that wasn't the most obvious thing in the world right now. Ben's face was smooshed up against your thigh, his lips slightly parted as his shallow breathing continued. He was unnervingly beautiful like this, a sweet little soft boy aura to him that always carried over into the bedroom very smoothly - his suave, strong-armed facade hardly held up behind closed doors. Smiling a bit in awe of how precious he looked undisturbed, you stopped rubbing his back and reached for your phone, pulling up Chrome. In the meantime, Joe had narrowed his eyes, still dubious and harboring doubts over whether you were just bullshitting him right now or not. "What's not clicking? Are you forgetting that I literally had to make the first move?" "Yeah, but I figured it was just because he was being shy... like, how does he not dominate when he could easily sit on you and suffocate you with his muscles?" Joe flexed for emphasis, but it did little to drive his point home as you were already laughing at his blissful ignorance, pausing in clicking on a Google link about Virgos and compatibility. In the midst of your fit of laughter, though, he gasped and let out a strangled shriek as he sat up a bit. "Does that mean you peg him?" "No!" You almost choked on the ensuing laughter, feeling like your face was red hot from the exertion of trying to catch your breath, and Joe let out an audible, very exaggerated sigh of relief as he sunk back into the chair. "Why would you even ask that if you knew you wouldn't like the other answer?" "Just.... if you ever peg him, don't tell me. Please," he begged, and with a laugh, you agreed.  "Promise. Although I can't promise you I won't suffocate him when I sit on his f-" "Stop! It's gone too far!" Joe shrieked, trying to stand up, but he came to the realization that he was rooted in his place. His eyes widened with absolute fear that his limbs were essentially jello from the concentrated THC ravaging his nervous system at the moment, and you almost couldn't contain your delight as you stifled laugh after laugh. "Oh my God. Oh my Godddd. Fuck. This is my worst nightmare. I'm stuck here listening to you talk about pegging my poor friend." "I'm not pegging Ben, dude!" you refuted, giggling incredulously and pressing your hands to your face in mild exasperation. "I've already told you that. I just... I don't get crazy, but you know, take charge! I subtly control the situation. He's totally a bitch when it comes down to it... and I love it so much! It's not a bad thing." Joe groaned as he sunk deeper into the chair, looking like he wished it would swallow him whole before he reluctantly continued. "So I need to figure out what dynamics she likes." "Yeah, that's the word!" you cheered, feeling Ben stir on your lap a little, and you wondered if Joe's mini-heart attack had awoken him. "Start with that, and then work from there. This website says 'The Virgo male-Virgo female compatibility will include a great love life, if and only if, there is no gap in their communication aspect.'" Pursing your lips, you paused before reading down a little bit and continuing to read out loud. "The Virgo couple has to make sure that they, do not overthink about their problems, are more relaxed, and that they communicate their problems by sharing and accepting each other the way they are.' See? It all comes a lot easier- sex comes a lot easier when you can communicate and be honest about what tickles your fancy." "Please stop talking about tickling anything." Joe's pleading tone was worth a laugh, but you held it back for his sake as you shook your head and grinned widely. "I'll talk to her," he finally resigned, and you felt vindication as you brushed a hand back over Ben's hair, hearing him let out a quiet, happy noise at the feeling. "Damn, this must have been what you felt like when he and I finally got over ourselves last year," you noted, and Joe, though he clearly hated every second of it, nodded slowly. Looking down, you caught Ben just in time to see his eyes open blearily, the glaze over them still evident as he turned on his back to look up at you, blinking slowly. "Hello, Sleeping Beauty." "Hi," he croaked, his voice still gravelly as he offered a smile, and you smiled back before patting his cheek gently, lifting your thigh a bit to coax him into getting up. After stretching a bit, he obliged, sitting up and steadying himself on the back of the couch while you stood up and reached out a hand for him. Helping him to his feet, you let him start shuffling back to your apartment while you turned to give Joe a pointed look. "You better talk to her." "I will!" he whined, crossing his arms grumpily and mumbling a snarky goodbye before letting you usher Ben back to bed, where he passed out quickly, curled up against your side with his head resting on your chest and arm draped across your tummy. A blissful, serene smile was plastered onto his features on into the late morning, where you woke up to find neither of you had moved, and apparently, neither had Joe, according to the texts he'd sent you about an hour ago. jmuzzie: I can't fucking get up from this chair jmuzzie: All I can think about is you pegging Ben jmuzzie: I barely slept. Grinning and shaking your head, you decided to ignore the texts and leave them on your home screen to worry about later, carefully detaching yourself from Ben and crawling out of bed. He grabbed your pillow to snuggle instead, wrapping it up in a tight embrace while you tiptoed to the kitchen to make a quick breakfast - bacon, scrambled eggs, and some coffee to wake up what was sure to be a very sore Ben (which he very much was).  You heard a groan from down the hallway just as you were finishing up the scrambled eggs, and after hearing the bathroom sink faucet run for a moment, Ben appeared in the doorway, his hair sticking up in odd places and clothes frumpy from being slept in. Cooing sympathetically, you put together a plate for him as he somehow managed to pour himself a coffee and sluggishly climb onto a stool at the counter. While you made his plate, he stared off into space, not even giving a simple hello as he seemed to try and will himself to wake up, his cheeks still a bit splotchy and feverish from waking up - he always ran hot, especially during the night. "There you go, princess," you teased, Ben only groaning in thanks when the plate clattered down to the counter in front of him. The noise made him wince, so you decided to keep the conversation minimal while you both finished your breakfast, and you could tell he was already getting sleepy again from the methodical, slow pace he was taking to rinse the dishes off in the sink. "I think I'm just going to stand in the shower for a tick and question my life choices," he finally mumbled once he was wiping his hands off on the dishtowel next to the sink, and with a quick kiss to your cheek, he was off to the bathroom. As he trudged back down the hallway, you elected to pour another cup of coffee to take next door. "Joe said he was up, I'll go check on him real quick. You were both blitzed by bedtime, so I'm sure he's hurting too." Ben answered with an almost inaudible grunt, and you rolled your eyes with a small grin before shifting the mug to your opposite hand and shuffling over to your neighbor's apartment, where you found Joe in the kitchen, apparently over his dramatics from an hour ago. The sliding door squeaked a bit as you shut it behind you, and Joe looked up slowly, his red-rimmed eyes narrowing and lip curling up ever-so-slightly when his eyes adjusted enough to recognize you. "Oh, it's the pegger-" "You really are the worst," you immediately laughed, crossing the living room and holding out the mug of coffee, which he accepted with a grateful noise and sipped in silence while you made yourself at home on his bar stools. "Feeling 10 out of 10 this morning?" "Out of 10? I feel like a Mexican 1." Furrowing your eyebrows, you opened your mouth to question whether that was vaguely racist, but he continued before you could confuse the situation even further. "Because a peso is worth less than a dollar, duh?" "The joke isn't funny if you have to explain it, dumbass." You let out a single, pitying laugh at his poor attempt at humor, though, and reached for your phone only to find that you'd left it over at the apartment. "Shit. Must have left my phone back over there." "I'll text Ben," he sighed melodramatically, pulling out his phone and typing away while you propped your head up on your hand. "He said he's on his way because 'the water won't warm up fast enough.'" When he finally locked his phone and set it back on the counter, you looked at it for a moment before giving him a pointed look, deliberately switching your gaze between him and the phone a few times before he scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Do you have something to say, or are you tweaking right now?... Does your eye have a really bad twitch?" "Sooooo," you drawled out, tilting your head a bit more and shimmying your shoulders playfully before wiggling your eyebrows a bit. He didn't seem to get the hint or want to get the hint, and you let out a huff of annoyance as the skin around his childlike hazel eyes crinkled, taunting you. "Have you talked to her yet?" "At 9 in the morning? Yeah, let me just call her." Picking up his phone, he mimed typing in her number sloppily before raising the phone to his ear, putting on a moronic expression as he did so. "Hey, babe. Yeah, I know it's 9 am, but I was wondering if you want to tie me up and spank me because I've been a naughty little-" "Okay, enough, enough!" you laughed, holding out your hands to shield yourself from the invisible antagonism that practically radiated off of him at this point. "I get it. I was just curious, dickwad." Scoffing again, he gave you an irritatingly condescending look before he reached forward and grabbed the water bottle he'd been most likely nursing since last night, which you assumed from the way a foggy sort of condensation had built up on the inside of the bottle. It went away as he swirled the bottle a bit, then he took the cap off and reluctantly took a swig, wincing at the stale, lukewarm water that he forced himself to swallow. "Ew. How can they say that drinking warm water is better for your health? I think these doctors are a bunch of fucking quacks."  "They probably know a lot more than you do, dummy," you answered in a deadpan, looking around for a moment and furrowing your eyebrows. Ben wasn't there yet, and you wondered what was taking him so long. "He said he was on his way, right?" you asked, and Joe nodded, seemingly unbothered as he carefully examined the bottle he'd just taken a drink out of, his left hand toying with the cap of it absentmindedly and flipping it between his fingers. "Do you think that I could make a bottle flip if I got some practice? I've seen those videos of all the kids doing it from a couple years ago, and I kind of want some good throwback Instagram content." "Joe, you could literally just post a picture with Ben standing in your general vicinity and your Instagram base would lose its fucking marbles." Frowning, you climbed off the bar stool as Joe grunted noncommittally in response, apparently already on one track as he picked up the bottle and weighed his options. As you turned, you heard him let out a strangled cry that barely even registered as you tilted your head a bit, wondering where in the hell your boyfriend was. Had he fallen back asleep? Was he choking on his vomit like that scene from Breaking Bad where Walter watched Jesse's girlfriend die because she apparently had to? Wait, why the fuck would he be throwing up from a weed hangover? "I forgot it was open! Oh my god, oh my god, where's the god damn dish towels?" Joe panicked, and you looked back to see the bottle from before laying sideways on the counter, but your mind was too much of a mess to make sense of why there was a medium-sized puddle of water surrounding it and dripping down to the tiled floor. Joe scrambled around like a chicken with its head cut off and in his panic, you didn't even have to ask - he blurted it out anyway. "I fucking try to do a bottle flip once and this is what I get!"

"Um, Joe, you have fun with that, buddy," you hummed nervously, worry setting in as you decided you'd come back for the mug later - not that he'd give it back anyway, but you'd try. Joe was too busy cleaning up his mistake to pay attention to you already being halfway out the door, hurrying over just to find Ben sitting on the bar stool with his back to you, sipping coffee and appearing to be fine. Letting out a sigh of relief, you padded back into the kitchen where you picked up the now mostly empty kettle of coffee, feeling Ben's eyes on you as you poured yourself another mug. It was quiet, still like last night, but there was an eerie quality to this silence that made a nearly-paralyzing chill trickle down your spine as you poured the last tiny bit of the coffee down the drain, starting to rinse it out. Ben made no attempt to speak even when you peeked over at him to see him very calmly watching you. He wasn't smiling, though, and there was a distant look in his eyes that you recognized immediately. He wasn't daydreaming, no sir. Something had pissed him off royally - you'd seen this look before on rare occasions, and angry Ben was never a treat. He was a true Capricorn if you'd ever seen one, a calculated son of a bitch who could build up a wall within seconds and take days to bring it back down. If you called him out on one single minute flaw in his argument, he'd also obsess over it for hours, either bricking himself in and giving you the silent treatment or snapping immediately and trading in his cool rationale to show you a temper to be reckoned with; a force you'd never seen before. He was never violent - far from it, actually, but if you stirred the sleeping dragon, you were in for one hell of an argument. There was never an argument you hadn't worked through, though, and you weren't about to lose that streak today. So, you turned around and leaned your hip against the counter, crossing your arms as you took a sip of the coffee. "What's up? Joe said you were on your way, what gives?" Ben nodded, sitting down his mug and licking his lips before pressing them together and shrugging. "Changed my mind." "What changed your mind?" you prodded, his body language telling you everything he wasn't saying as he crossed his arms in front of him and leaned over the counter, his shoulders hunching up a bit after he shrugged again. "Ben, come on, don't do this. What's bothering you? I'm not fucking dumb, you know, you're clearly upset about something." "I never said you were dumb," he responded, and the calm, unwavering tone of voice infuriated you so much you lost your taste for the coffee, sitting your mug down on the counter as well and crossing your arms again.  "So are you just going to avoid my question? I really want to know what's upsetting you, bubs, I can't just sit here and guess until you say 'Oh, you got it! Clever girl.' You're acting like I microwaved your tea water, for Christ’s sake!" Ben scoffed, tracing a fingertip around the rim of his mug and shaking his head a bit as you heard the muffled sound of Joe's TV turning on just on the other side of the wall. Your phone vibrated from the counter next to Ben, but you couldn't bring yourself to walk over and go grab it as Ben's annoyingly nonchalant nature perplexed you. "Why do I have to be upset? Can't I just drink coffee in silence with my girlfriend?" "Ben, I live with you, I know your 'looks' like the back of my hand. Can we please just talk about this?" "Talk about what?" Tapping the screen of your phone, which had just locked automatically again, his eyes scanned through the notifications for a second before he smiled sardonically. "Ah, there it is. Yeah, let's talk about it. I get a text from Joe saying you forgot your phone, so I go to grab it and I get to see these beauties. 'I can't fucking get up from this chair, all I can think about is you pegging Ben, I barely slept.'" Leaning forward on his arms again, he gave you a bitter smile and propped his elbow up on the counter, resting his chin in his hand. "Fascinating stuff, really. Apparently, my girlfriend's pegged me and I wasn't even aware of it, and then she's gone and bragged about it to our best friend." Laughing in disbelief, you tilted your head to the side and gave him an incredulous look. "Are you serious right now? You're just going to take that out of context and not even think for a second, 'Hey, maybe there's an explanation to why Joe's-" "Why have you told Joe that you pegged me? You think it's funny? Where do you get off?" "Excuse me?" you choked out incredulously, baffled that he'd even assume that you got a laugh out of this wildly-exaggerated situation as you crossed your arms around yourself, feeling unbearably small underneath his gaze. He was slowly simmering, a single vein in his forehead just barely protruding from the taut reddish skin on his forehead. But there was such a level-headed manner to him it drove you nuts, making you huff softly and press the heels of your hands into your eyes, then shake your head a few more times. "I can't believe this is happening right now, this is ridiculous." "That's fucking rich, considering I'm the one who 'got pegged' and joked about in this situation." Ben's voice was venomous, even, and you shivered again at how easily he spit it back at you, unafraid of whatever he'd say next. "You like telling our friends that I take it in the arse? That really make you laugh, huh? Why are you lying to Joe about our sex life, which is supposed to be private-" "Oh, don't fucking start with me about private sex lives!" you quickly retorted, cutting him off mid-sentence in an impulsive moment of rage. "I've heard you drunk and blabbering on to your fucking 'mates' back in London over the phone about us, don't even start with me!"  Oh. You'd done it now - calling him out on something insignificant was one thing, but accusing him of blatant hypocrisy? You could practically see the steam shooting out of his ears. Something flashed in his eyes, and then he rocketed out of the stool he'd just previously been seated so still on. You followed him as he stormed down the hallway - he yelled over his shoulder as he went. "At least I don't tell my mates that I make you take it in the arse, yeah? Fuck you, Y/N. It's bloody different, especially when it's Joe and you've lied to him about something personal!" "Will you just let me explain?" you called after him, exasperated and ready to pull your hair out as he threw open the door to the bedroom, stalking over to the bed before starting to pace in front of it. He looked caged as he walked back and forth, both of his hands running back through his hair in obvious frustration before he finally let out a loud groan and sat back on the bed, looking at you and trying to mask the anger he clearly felt right now with a forced apathetic expression. "Okay, go on. I'm dying to hear how you'll talk your way out of this one." Recoiling a bit at how unwilling he was to even hear your side of the story, you felt tears welling up in your eyes a bit but you blinked them away, refusing to let him win with such a biting comeback. "Seems like whatever I say, you're not going to care anyways. Is this even worth my time, explaining it to you?" He didn't have a response, and that irritated you even more, making you choke up a bit as you continued. "You're like this every time, Ben, you fucking get this idea of what happened in your head and you refuse to even accept the idea that maybe my side of the story is as valid as yours." "What if I did do that?" He paused and let it sink in, as he was always the actor, and then he was on a roll again. "What if I accepted your side every time, and then you took advantage of that? I'm not a toy and I'm not here to be played with, or used for bragging rights when you're talking to your friends- our friends about our sex life, Y/N, I have feelings too! I'm allowed to feel this way too, and right now, I feel like you're just using me as a- fuck, I don’t know, a talking point or something!" As far as the validity of his feelings, he did have a point (as much as you hated to cede to that), but you still pressed your lips into a thin line and persisted, not letting the subject drop. "I'm not going to take advantage of you, Ben! Stop saying that! Not everyone is out to get you, especially not me, and I hate when you're like this, 'protecting yourself'. You think that by being mean to me, it will get your problems to go away so you can keep this wall between you and the issue, but I'm not going to let you shut me out again. You don't have to shut down every time something goes haywire, damn it!" "I'm not shutting you out or being mean to you!" he yelled back, but you only scoffed and crossed your arms in disbelief. "Then what are you doing?" Your question was warranted, and Ben found himself at a loss for words as he stared at you guardedly. The gears were turning in his head, and you could see from the confusion in his eyes that he was starting to question himself now.  "I- I'm just tryin' to-" "To protect yourself, yeah, I get it!" you interrupted, Ben's jaw tightening as he snapped his mouth shut once again. The tension in his jaw remained unrelieved as you continued. "I get that you want to protect yourself, Ben, but you don't have to be so shitty to me for no reason when you do it! It's fucking mean and it hurts my feelings that you won't even let me explain myself!" That rendered him fully speechless, so you only let up for a moment before pressing one last time. "Can I explain now? Please." Dead silence hung in the air for a moment as the gravity of your words weighed heavy on both of you, Ben's teeth grinding together for a moment as he considered the accusations against him. "Fine," he muttered, yielding to you despite the conflict still going on behind closed doors in his mind.  You could tell it was a raging dumpster fire in there as you approached the bed, tentatively, sitting next to him and wiping away the tears that had failed to escape from your eyes. Between awkward shifts and intermittent sniffles, you explained everything you'd talked to Joe about last night, from Joe's Virgo woes to his mistaken assumption about pegging, Ben, and you. By the end of your story, you'd tucked one leg underneath you and let the other dangle off of the edge of the bed, facing Ben with your hands in your lap despite the fact that they were itching to be running through his hair right now.  You wanted desperately to comfort him, but there wasn't much to be done as you finally quieted to let him process all of this new information, his gaze trained on his legs which were just barely crossed over each other at the ankle, one foot shaking back and forth anxiously. It drove you mad as you hyper-focused on it too, so anxious to know what he was thinking that you nearly didn't register when he uncrossed them. Your head lifted as he stood up off the bed and walked over to the other side of the room quickly, your anxious feelings multiplying when his back stayed turned to you and he came to rest in front of the dresser. However, you vowed not to let it be known how utterly freaked out you were at the moment, so you scooted back on the bed and sat criss-cross as you brought his pillow into your lap, needing something of comfort to latch on to. It seemed like eons before he finally spoke, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes, and his quiet, gentle words were like music to your ears. "So you didn't tell Joe you pegged me?" "No," you almost laughed in relief, though the situation certainly didn't call for it, and you could see his shoulders relax a bit, though his back stayed turned to you. "I actually told him I never had - multiple times, if I'm not wrong." "He was just joking?" he asked a bit louder, elaborating on his previous question, and you could feel the anxiety crumbling away as he turned to you with a genuinely relieved expression on his face. When you nodded, you could see an incredibly guilty look come over his face, and a little whine escaped your lips as you moved his pillow out of your lap and reached out for him. He gratefully obliged, climbing into bed with you, and you scooted over to make a bit more room as he practically laid on top of you, taking you down with him. "I'm such a dickhead, 'm sorry," was all he had to say, and that's all he had to do to make you start laughing before he began to pepper you with soft kisses anywhere he could. It was hard to breathe as he smothered you in wordless attention, and it took several tries for you to communicate that between breathless laughter and attempts to wriggle out from underneath him before he got the message.  As he turned on his side and let you breathe again, you tried to make sense of what had just happened. So many questions swirled through your head. When had it clicked? Why were you letting this slide? Why was he so defensive about this? But no matter how long you stared at your boyfriend and tried to make sense of it all, it proved fruitless to try and pin down exactly where he had finally got off of his one-track madness. So, you just smiled and saved that deconstruction for later. Right now, you wanted to savor the fact that things had been worked out, and you watched as Ben took your hand so he could kiss your knuckles, offering one more wordless apology with his eyes. His lips sent another thrill down your spine and you marveled at the effect he had on you even when you were both sober and incredibly sleep-worn. Despite him making you incredibly mad at moments, it was so hard not to love this man and everything about him. His green eyes flickered with an apprehensive yet curious look when you smiled widely, squeezing his hand. “Love you, bubs.” A smile spread across his lips, and he kissed your knuckles once more before murmuring his response.

“Love you too. Thanks for calling me out on my shit.” Laughing, you played with his fingers and shook your head, debating your response for a minute. It was your job, after all, but sometimes it was hard, especially when he was a dick about it like today. But Ben seemed to read your mind, and he continued on, relieving you the responsibility of somehow starting another tiff. “I know I suck sometimes, but I’m glad you and Joe can be mean right back to me if I need it. It makes it a lot easier to see when I’m being a knobhead.”

You didn’t even read Ben’s fucking résumé.

Which isn’t to say that you weren’t supposed to. Your assistant - Madelyn, such a darling - dropped a stack of papers on the table beside you while you ate breakfast and gave you a bright grin. You returned it with ease and picked up the page on the top of the pile, flipping through it and skimming it. That’s what you’re supposed to do. Read them all, pick apart those who applied, decide the best man for the job.

It was all a waste of time. They surely all had the qualifications to be your bodyguard, so what else would you need?

“I think he’s the best option,” Madelyn began, manicured nails flipping through the papers, reading the names on the front until she landed on the one she wanted. She pulled it out and placed it in front of you, right next to your eggs, and pushed it towards you. “I mean, I read them, of course. And he really seems like he knows his stuff. He used to be Kendall Jenner’s bodyguard, apparently.”

“Wow,” you mused, setting down your fork and picking up the paper. Papers, actually - about ten, probably, stapled together. Extensive. Clearly. “Ben Jones, huh? Good name.”

“Having a good name shouldn’t be a bonus.” Madelyn wagged a finger at you playfully and turned to leave. You picked up your orange juice, taking a sip as you pushed the papers away from you. “Make sure you look at them, alright? It is really important. I could stay and go over them with you, if you’d like.”

You set down your orange juice and shook your head. “No, no. I’ll look through them, alright?” And then Madelyn left, shutting the door behind her, and you glared at all of the applications you were meant to sort through.

Such a waste of time. Chances are you wouldn’t need a bodyguard, anyway. You’d been doing fine without one. It was one stupid threat that made your security team think you needed someone - a big guy to look after you all the time. And now - all those guys who wanted to dedicate their lives to protecting you - surely they’d all be satisfactory. It didn’t really matter.

When Madelyn asked you later which applicant you thought seemed best, you pretended that you had given it great thought before pushing Ben’s résumé back into her hands.

“I agree. He seems best,” you told her with a smile, and Madelyn gave you a bright one in return, grabbing the papers from your hand, and you hadn’t expected to give it a second thought.

But - well, maybe you should’ve read it. You’d have seen that Kendall Jenner fired him because he was stoic, and cold, and downright emotionless. Perhaps that would have been the point where you set his application aside, opted for a candidate who had smiled once before in their life.

Too late for a change, you suppose.

 --

 Meeting Ben Jones is just short of a spiritual experience, and you wouldn’t mind converting to a religion dedicated to worshipping him.

The truth is he’s beautiful. You’re taken aback just by looking at him. All blonde hair and messy eyebrows - ones you’d, truthfully, love to fix up one day - and piercing green eyes. Nice lips, too. A lot of guys you go for don’t have much going for them in the lip department so Ben is certainly a nice change.

He seems like the kind of guy to have nice teeth, as well.

You wouldn’t know.

“It’s Ben, right?” you question, scrunching your eyebrows together in a way that you’ve learned is sweetly endearing, as Madelyn once put it. You have barely five minutes before you have to get on the bus to begin your tour and you’re desperate for this experience to last every second you have. You hold your hand out for him to shake, looking up at him with a small smile.

He doesn’t return it. His eyes meet yours and then they drop back to your hand, and he removes his from the pocket of his jacket to shake yours hesitantly. His palms are soft, nice, but Ben pulls away entirely too soon for your liking. “Yeah,” he responds, voice low, and it’s barely directed at you. Moreso to the ground. “I know who you are.”

I hope, is what you want to say, but it does feel slightly asshole-y. And you just want him to look at you again, for just a moment. You clear your throat and drop your hand back to your side. “So, uh …” You can’t think of much to say. And you’ve barely been talking thirty seconds. “Anything you think I should know about you?”

It’s so fucking lame. You’re so fucking lame, you think, because Ben makes you feel like some sort of idiot. Like everything you’re saying is too stupid for him to grant you the pleasure of his eyes meeting yours again.

Surely it isn’t intentional. After all, he seems like a good guy.

You wouldn’t know.

“Well,” he begins, and you glance up hopefully. His eyes are still on the ground. “My name is Ben. I’m your bodyguard.” He stops and you’re still waiting for more, raising your eyebrows, but he just shrugs. “That’s the extent of it.”

“No fun facts at all?”

“Why do you want to know?”

You shift uncomfortably. Suddenly all you want to do is get on your tour bus and end this encounter - or perhaps go back in time and read everyone’s applications for someone with more personality than a fucking toilet seat. You’d thought it dramatic of Kendall Jenner to fire a bodyguard for being stoic, but you can only imagine yourself growing tired of the wall-esque behavior soon. “Well, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. Just thought we should get to know each other.”

And then he looks up at you, just as your manager yells out the window of the bus that you two have to get on now. “I think that’s all the information you need about me, really,” Ben says, raising one eyebrow, and he turns to get on the bus before you can say anything else.

Watching him go is nearly embarrassing. The outline of a phone in his pocket, the thick black jacket, the combed back hair. Ben looks normal, really, like some guy you’d hook up with once and never talk to again. And he isn’t. He’s your bodyguard who’s colder than an Alaskan winter, and you have to spend nearly every minute with him for four months.

Your manager yells for you to get on again. So you turn and climb onto the bus after him, heading right to your bed and collapsing in it with a characteristically dramatic huff.

The next four months stretches in front of you like a dark cloud.

You wish you read the fucking résumés.

 --

 And in a month it’s barely gotten better.

After shows, Ben takes you back to your room and makes sure you get in okay. You’re so exhausted you can hardly stand some nights, and he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you upright. He opens your door with his copy of your keys and then turns to leave, and he wouldn’t say goodbye if you didn’t call out to him just before he disappeared into the room next to yours.

Sometimes you don’t notice it - just get inside, wash your face and collapse onto your bed. But sometimes you’re so pumped up on adrenaline that you can’t help but notice every single thing he does.

Like how his grip on your waist is always oddly loose, only tightening the smallest bit when you could collapse.

Like how he shifts away from you when you’re driving back to the hotel and your head drops lazily onto his shoulder.

Like how he refrains from looking at you unless it’s necessary, as if doing so is some form of torture to him.

It hurts, a bit. Surely it’s more of a him problem but a tiny part of you had been hoping that - by now - you’d have managed to crack through this cold, stoic thing he has going for him. But it’s … stronger than you’d thought.

You hate how angry and sad it makes you. If he was anyone else the two of you would probably be sleeping together by now, if you’re being truthful, and it’s not an idea that you hate to think about. He is beautiful but - well, that seems out of the picture.

And you still try. Too hard.

“Ben,” you murmur, head resting against the back of your seat as the bus beneath you rumbles with motion. You’ve finished your thirteenth show of the tour and the going and going is starting to take a toll on you, but you knew what you signed up for, with this job. Work. And it is fun. You’d never dare complain to anyone about it. “Don’t you think I should have your phone number?”

Ben sighs. It’s one of the few flickers of emotion you get from him - noises, mostly. “Why do you need it?”

“In case there’s an emergency.”

“But I’m always with you. It’s part of the job.”

You gnaw on your lip. Rain patters softly outside, and as the two of you fall into silence again it’s all you can think about. “But what if something happens? I just think it’s useful.”

There’s another beat of silence. “I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

You sit yourself up, turning to look at him. The bus is mainly dark but you can see the shape of him, at least. A silhouette in the dark. “How isn’t it? You’re supposed to be keeping me safe, you know. And if there’s some sort of instance where I’m not with you, having your phone number is important.”

“This is a business relationship. If I do my job properly - and I do - you won’t be apart from me in any sort of situation where you would need my help.”

“Business relationships often require online communication.” You couldn’t place your finger on why this is important to you. Other than feeling at least one step closer to having some resemblance of a friendship with him. Friends have each other’s phone numbers. And, sure, he has about as much personality as a mannequin but you still feel slightly confident in your ability to break him open.

Ben throws his arm over the back of the seat, and you cross your arms over your chest. Neither of you can see each other’s faces, but you’re sure you’re making the same expressions. “Listen, sweetheart,” he begins, and your stomach turns at the nickname. “I have a feeling you aren’t going to stop until my number is saved in your phone.”

You nod.

“It’s emergencies only,” Ben tells you, and you feel a rush of relief at having won him over. You turn and pat the seat for your phone, finally finding the device in the dark, and you turn it on before handing it to him. His fingers fly over the screen, and you lean your head over eagerly to see what he’s doing.

And then you roll your eyes. “Bodyguard? That’s what you’re saving yourself as?”

“Well, that’s what I am.”

You grab your phone from his hand and delete the word he’s written, replacing it with ‘ben,’ all lowercase. You’d add an emoji but you know he’d hate that, so you go to save it and then stop.

“I need a contact picture,” you inform him, which is a complete lie. None of your friends even have contact pictures, but Ben has no way of knowing that.

“No.”

“Please?”

You tap open the camera and point it at his face, turning the flash on. You see his face briefly illuminated in the dark before the picture pops up on screen. His head is back against the seat, expression blank, eyes dull. Well, it certainly isn’t - nice - but he does look attractive.

He always does. That’s the problem with him.

You point the phone towards him so he can see the picture, and then you ask, voice soft, “Can’t I get one when you’re smiling?”

“Nope.”

You didn’t think so.

 --

 True to your word, Ben’s number stays in your phone without use for nearly three weeks. You go on tour and explore the cities you’re performing in, and Ben is always with you. Of course he is - it’s his job - but it does make having his number utterly useless.

And that interaction remains just about the most you’ve ever spoken. It’s so goddamn irritating, a super sexy bodyguard who never smiles and rarely talks unless you plow through the conversation with the force of a bull, and you can’t even text him.

Your phone lies on your chest, the alarm clock on the nightstand beside your hotel bed brightly announcing that the time is 12:46. And you’d gone to bed two hours ago, promising that you’d fall right asleep, but you hadn’t. Had just pulled the covers up over you and washed your face and so you’d been lying for hours.

Thinking, mainly.

You’d opened Ben’s contact to send him a message so many times and you hadn’t gone through with it. Fuck, it’s annoying. It is so annoying. Anyone else and you’d already have their affection in the back, having them kiss the ground you walk on, but you’re too nervous to even reach out to Ben.

Would he be mad if you text him?

Only one way to find out.

You open your phone again, typing in your password, and open a new message with him. Your fingers dance over the keyboard for a minute, contemplating what to write. What does someone write to their bodyguard they want desperately to bone - or, if not that, then at least be friendly with?

are you awake?

You send the stupid message before you can even think about it again. And it’s such a stupid one, too. You sound just about thirteen years old, giggling at a sleepover and texting the boy you like, nearly crying with nerves after sending the message. God, should you follow up? Surely he won’t reply and you’ll see him tomorrow and he’ll know that you, essentially, tried to hit him up, and it’ll be even more awkward.

When you look down at the screen there’s three bubbles, the indication that he’s typing, and you look across the room in the dark. On the other side of that wall - that’s where Ben is. That’s where he read your message and where he’s replying.

You’re so close.

It’s unnerving, almost.

Ben’s reply comes in in a moment. What’s wrong?

Your eyebrows furrow. Nothing, technically. But this is an emergency only phone number, you know, so surely he thinks something is wrong.

You contemplate what to say again, and then type out, i’m lonely.

It’s the truth, anyway.

That doesn’t sound like an emergency.

it is, i promise. I’m very lonely and all of my friends are asleep because we’re halfway across the world.

Alright, then it doesn’t sound like the kind of emergency I’m trained for.

He’s fucking right. What were you hoping to accomplish here? You don’t know, and you don’t know how to continue this conversation now. It’s going to fall flat like so many of your other attempts. And you just want to delete the conversation, forget it happened, maybe take a pill to fall asleep.

Your phone vibrates with the incoming of another notification, and you look at it lazily.

Is there any way I can help?

yes, you type immediately, and then give yourself only a moment’s pause. what’s your favourite color?

You send it and a grin spreads across your face, imagining Ben consciously deciding to double text, after not seeing you respond. Did he think he was harsh? Did he, perhaps, just want to text you again? No, surely it’s the former. But it’s still an improvement from you always initiating every interaction, and you can feel your heart pounding against your chest.

Ben replies within a minute. This is going to make you less lonely?

of course. having someone i know on tour would help.

But you do know me.

i know nothing about you, though

is telling me your favourite color too much of a task?

It’s blue.

You push yourself to sit up against the headboard. In your side vision the alarm clock informs you that it’s 1 am, now, and you have no intention of putting your phone down as long as Ben is still replying.

You reply quickly, heart beating fast. a good choice. I’ve always liked blue. and yellow.

Yellow’s good, too.

Yes, it is. The color of flowers and the shine of the sun, and lemonade, your favourite drink. A color so associated with happiness, and that particular emotion is the one bubbling in the depths of your stomach. Ben talking to you feels like an accomplishment, almost, and the fact that this conversation is fairly normal is - wonderful. Really wonderful.

You realize you’re taking too long to respond. Thinking for only a moment about what to say, you type, you never seem like you like me very much. It seems bold and you backspace, deleting the last two words, and then you retype them.

There’s a pause. It’s been three minutes since you replied and it isn’t very much time at all, but you need to say something. So you send the text without giving it another moment of thought, and then you toss your phone in front of you, heart pounding frantically.

It seems like an eternity goes by before you see the dim light of your phone in the darkness. A new notification dazzling your screen. You hesitate before reaching and picking it up, and you open the message with your eyes squeezed shut and you don’t open them until you think you’re ready to see the response.

I like you plenty.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s so plain. You were hoping for something more, for some explanation of why you rarely talk, of how you spend every single moment together and Ben hasn’t even smiled. Every ounce of worry you’d had over that message drains away, and your fingers fly over the screen at lightning speed as you formulate your text.

you certainly don’t seem like you do.

You stare at the screen defiantly until the three bubbles pop up, and then there’s Ben’s reply: Well, here I am saying it. I like you.

The words make your stomach turn. Even if you know the context.

that’s good to know. i don’t want this to be a one sided friendship, you know.

I’m your bodyguard, not your friend.

why can’t we have both?

It’s 1:30 now and you’ve never felt less tired in your life. The thrill of talking to Ben gives you an adrenaline rush like no other - a high that could never be obtained from a drug. And you just want to keep going and going.

Another response comes through, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the light grey text bubble. Lol.

Boring.

did you actually laugh, or are you lying?

Does it matter?

i’ve always wondered if you’re capable of smiling.

I promise I am.

i’ve never seen it.

Would it help if I told you I’m smiling right now?

you could just be saying that.

Your eyes flit up to the wall again, looking through the darkness to where you know Ben is, texting you. Perhaps this is a normal thing to him but you wouldn’t think so, not really. You rarely see him texting anyone, and you’ve never seen him with a girl. Maybe he’s as into this as you are. It’s hard to imagine but it makes you feel good.

Are you still lonely?

less so now.

Then I think you should be getting to bed. You have a show tomorrow and it’s late.

A glance over at the alarm clock confirms this. 1:42. Your show is at 9 tomorrow night but it is worth it to get some rest. After all, you don’t have unlimited time to sleep in tomorrow.

It’s nearly painful to type out your goodnight but you do it anyway. You want nothing less than to talk to him until the early hours of the morning, but you sent the fucking text and he responds with his own goodnight a moment later. You lie down and reach over to plug your phone in. The battery had been getting dangerously low during your conversation, and you can practically hear your iPhone’s sigh of relief at being charged.

With your phone off everything seems so much drearier. New York is a bustling city but with your curtains drawn you can’t see the buildings. All you can see is the darkness surrounding you, the dimming light of your alarm clock, and as you close your eyes to fall asleep - nothing at all.

 --

 You’re the first person to say that you’re a little bit tipsy.

In fact, a little bit is an understatement, because you’re fairly positive you’re wasted. Your brain is swirling and the glass in your hand keeps looking so inviting, no matter how many times you get it refilled. There’s no real reason you’re celebrating, except to just fucking have fun in the middle of the tour, and god it really is fun.

And Ben is here. That’s always a bonus, especially how he accompanies you to the bar every time you want to get another drink, and he wraps his arm around your waist when the crowds of people gets too dense. His hand on your hip is ever so comforting, warmth even through your dress, and his thumb rubs circles into the fabric. Probably without him even noticing, because you doubt you would if you weren’t hyper aware of every single fucking thing he does.

Your friends have left to go dance, because their bodies are too full of energy to sit in your booth at the very back of this nightclub. Ben chose it, actually, claiming that obscurity was your friend right now. He’s certainly right. Being you and being in crowded places sometimes doesn’t work out very nicely, but you typically don’t dwell on it.

Especially not now. The other people in this club could be zombies, for all you care. All you notice is Ben. Blonde hair and white t shirt and jeans. It’s more or less his unofficial uniform, but he looks so much better in it through your alcohol-hazy vision.

Not that he doesn’t look positively spectacular in it everyday.

“Ben,” you lean your head back so your mouth is closer to his ear, shifting in the booth. “I’d like to get another drink.”

He looks at you, and your faces are oddly close. Almost uncomfortably so, but neither of you move. “I think it might be time to cut you off, sweetheart.” Your eyebrows furrow together, and Ben sighs lightly. His breath is hot against your face. “You’ve had a lot.”

“And?”

“Too much.”

You cross your arms over your chest, and you - surprisingly - don’t notice Ben’s eyes flit to your cleavage. “How wonderful I didn’t ask you, then. Are you going to come with me?”

Ben drops his arm from the seat to over your shoulders, and your skin grows hot at his touch. “Give it a rest, Y/N. You’re gonna be miserable tomorrow, and I have to spend every minute with you.”

“You make it sound so horrible.” You slump down in your seat, eyes scanning Ben’s face. His cheeks are pale pink and sweaty, and you’re sure you’re sporting the same damp look. “Is it so horrible?”

“Of course it isn’t.”

“Am I more fun than Kendall Jenner?”

Ben laughs humorlessly but it still sends bells going off in your mind. Wedding ones, perhaps. You push yourself up more and examine the sight of it. The smile - small, admittedly - stretching across his face, the way his eyes crinkle. “You look surprised at something, sweetheart,” he says.

“I didn’t know you could smile, Benny.”

Your bodyguard cringes. “Ben does just fine. And I told you I can smile. We had a conversation about this.”

You grin, reaching up to pinch his cheek. He removes his arm from your shoulder to swat away his hand and you hate the loss of his touch, but you manage. “I like Benny. S’cute, you know.”

“I think nicknames have to have a mutual agreement involved.” you lean back against the booth, your body dangerously close to his, just on the verge of being pressed up against him. You suppose you’ve been inching closer to him but - really - you hadn’t meant to. It just happened. And now your thighs are nearly rubbing together. It feels good. Ben sighs and then adds, “I think we should get going. You look sleepy.”

He pulls himself out of the booth before you can protest, and you groan out. He can’t hear it, surely, the music pulsing through the club acting as a cover up. “Wait, Ben, but -”

“Come on.” He reaches down and takes your wrist, fingers gentle against your skin yet firm, and tugs you out of the booth. Then his arm is around your waist, tight, and you don’t really mind leaving, suddenly. Especially with his pretty smile still stuck in your mind.

 --

 Your energy usually spikes after shows, but you don’t think you’ve ever been more exhausted.

For the last song you felt like you were on the verge of passing out, eyelids droopy and mind absent even with the screams from the audience and the thumping music in the venue. When you’ve finished blowing kisses to the audience and yelling out your thank yous and finally headed backstage, you press your sweaty palm against the wall and blow out.

Steady. Steady. Steady.

When’s the last time you’ve slept? Had a good rest? You can’t remember the last time you went to sleep before 2. And you typically have to wake up at 7 and that’s 5 hours of sleep, and how many articles has your mother sent you about how girls your age should be getting 8 hours of sleep a night? You never read them, but you absorbed the message.

Getting home will be great. Collapsing in the king bed in your hotel room, wrapping yourself in the cozy blankets, getting the rest of your life.

“Come on, Y/N.” a British accent draws you out of your thoughts, and you turn to see Ben standing just a foot or two behind you. He’s holding your jacket, your thick sherpa one that’s fuzzy and warm, and you grab it from him, pulling it on gratefully.. “You don’t look very good.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, bringing an arm up to run your fingers through your tangled curls. God, what a mess. Brushing them will be a pain later, quite literally, but what else is new? “I’m fucking tired.”

“Ah.” Ben takes a few steps toward you and snakes his arm around your waist, and you lean into his embrace ever so slightly. So slight you doubt he’d consider it to be intentional. “Go right to sleep when we get to the hotel, then.”

You nod lazily, feet moving of their own accord as Ben leads the pair of you to the door heading outside. The noises surrounding you - people chattering and yells still coming from outside in the venue - feel like a weight slamming into your scalp, and a headache forms almost immediately. You groan and push your head into Ben’s side, forehead pressed against his cotton shirt, and the pace he’s walking the two of you slows slightly.

“Is this comfortable for you?” Ben questions, and you open an eye to look up at him. His brows are drawn, looking down at you with an expression resembling confusion, and you shrug. Your eyes squeeze shut as Ben reaches forward to open the door leading outside, and the crisp air hits you like a fucking wall. It’s cold and goosebumps pop up all over your skin. It’s oddly soothing, though, like an icepack on your brain for the dull pain pulsing through it, and Ben keeps walking you two out to where the bus is parked. “Why haven’t you been getting enough sleep?”

“Just been busy.”

“Sleep comes before work, you know.”

“God, Benny, you sound like my mom.”

Ben stops when you’re just in front of the door to the bus and spins you so you’re facing him. You raise your eyebrows expectantly at him. “Your mom is really smart, isn’t she?”

You smile slightly. “Extremely.”

“Then I’m taking that as a compliment. Come on.” He holds out an arm towards the open bus door, but instead of walking on you just cross your arms. “What?”

“You aren’t mad that I called you Benny?”

“I’ve given up on making you stop, sweetheart.”

You fucking hate the way your heart swells at the sound of that. God, the nickname he’d given you a month ago makes your stomach turn in unpredictable ways now. You’ll never be able to hear the word the same again. “So is this a free pass to call you Benny all the time?”

Ben shakes his head, and his lips briefly turn up. You still rarely get smiles out of him but sometimes you can see an inkling of one - like a ghost of the expression you’ve seen once before. “Don’t you dare. It’s Ben to you.”

You take a step closer to him, wrapping your arms around yourself to preserve any bit of warmth you can. “I prefer Benny.”

“Mutual agreement.”

“Who says?”

You’re close to him, now, faces inches apart, and all you want is to close the tiny bit of distance between you. Press your lips to his because they look so soft, like he religiously uses chapstick, and you’re fairly certain he does if the cylinder shaped imprint in his back jean pocket gives you any clues but you really, really just want to kiss him. To see what he’ll do. And you’re fairly certain he’ll reciprocate because he’s making no fucking attempt to move away, and all you have to do is lean in a little bit.

A little little little bit.

Let’s hope this works out, you think, and then you do. You lean your head forward, pushing yourself onto your tippy toes, and then your lips are against his. His breath smells of mint and tastes of it too, slightly, and his lips are soft against yours. So soft, softer than yours, and you’re certain every romance novel has told you it should be the other way around.

You’re supposed to have the soft lips, silly! But it feels so good.

Ben opens his mouth slightly and you bring an arm up around his neck, pulling him down to you and his hand finds the small of your back, pressing you into him. Every single moment leading up to this, from ignoring his résumé to dry conversations and freaking out over texting feels so completely worth it.

“God,” you murmur against his lips, and he tugs his mouth away from yours but you can tell he doesn’t want to. Can practically feel his regret as soon as he does. “God, that was good.”

He nods, the motion short, and then clears his throat. “We should go. You need to sleep.”

You’ve nearly forgotten about your crippling exhaustion. In fact, the only thing you really want to do is sleep with him. But you relent. Ben has a way of doing that to you.

 --

 You barely get four hours of sleep when you’re awaken by harsh fists banging on the door to your room, and you shoot up in bed with the speed of a raging bullet.

The clock says it’s 5:12. You can recall a time you’ve ever woken this early, and by - whatever’s going on. Knocking. Furious knocking.

You pull yourself out of bed and wrap your arms around yourself. You’re in a sweatshirt, legs bare, and you regret the choice immensely for the goosebumps erupting all over your skin. You reach out and throw the door open as soon as you can, coming face to face with Ben, and even in what you assume to be a dire situation, you can’t help your cheeks heating up. “Ben? What -”

“We need to go,” he says, and he pushes his way into your room, eyes scanning the mess you’d made in the past three days. “Pack. Not everything, just stuff you need. We can come back for the other stuff.”

“Wait, what?” your question falls on deaf ears as Ben reaches onto the ground and grabs your backpack, holding it out towards you. His expression - like usual, though you suppose you’d hoped that would change - holds little to no emotion and yet it’s worse than it usually is. “Ben, what?”

“I’ll explain later. Just pack your stuff, Y/N. Fast. I’ll help,” and he begins picking up random articles of clothing and shoving them into the bag. You’d get mad about him wrinkling your clothes if you weren’t so confused and - scared, a bit, because you’ve never seen him like this. Ben looks up again after a moment and sees you standing there, watching him with your eyebrows furrowed together, and then exclaims, “Come on!”

You jump and then turn, leaving Ben to where he’s at and making your way to the bathroom. You grab your toothbrush and toothpaste and then a hairbrush, which is all that’s on the counter and - you don’t know where you put your deodorant or your hair products, not that Ben would probably consider those a necessity, but your mind is drawing to a complete blank, and you can still hear him moving around outside in your room.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’ll explain. There’s a - a car outside. Put that stuff in the bag.” You turn and Ben is at the door to the bathroom, holding open the bag he’d packed, and you absentmindedly drop your things into it. He swings it over his shoulder and reaches down to grab your arm, tugging you along and towards the front door.

You wrap your hand around his wrist, trying to pull him away. “Wait, Ben, my - my phone. Shouldn’t I -?” It seems like a necessity, to you. Something you should have if there’s an emergency, and it’s beside your bed, charging.

“It’s better if you don’t have it.” This isn’t a sufficient answer, and it only makes you more scared, and only when Ben has pulled you into the hallway and towards the elevator that you realize you’re fucking naked from the waist down. Sure, you have panties on, but your legs and thighs are on display for everyone to see.

You’ve done photoshoots in less than this, really, but there’s something - worse about it now. When the elevator lets you both out at the hotel lobby you’re uncomfortably aware of every single pair of eyes on you as Ben leads you both from the elevator. Instinctively you make your way to the front door of the hotel but Ben tugs on your arm, and he isn’t going to the front door - he’s going to the back, you assume, based on the way he moves around the hallways towards the back of the hotel.

You can’t fucking go out the front door? Worry works its way into every vein of your body and tears prickle your eyes. You’ve never been one for stress like this, and if Ben is panicked then you know you have absolutely every reason to be.

Bare feet pad against tile as you walk quickly to keep up with your bodyguard’s pace. With the way he’s holding you and pointedly not looking at you, any smooching that happened four hours ago seems utterly forgotten. And, truthfully, you’re barely thinking of it.

Ben pushes open the back door of the hotel, to a nearly empty street. The only sign of life is a black car parked, and you know it’s for you even before he leads you to it and opens the passenger side door for you to slide into.

Within ten minutes you’re on the road. It’s only 5:23 and it’s odd to think that twenty minutes ago you were sleeping peacefully in your hotel bed, and now you’re - on the move. And Ben doesn’t even look at you, and you wish he would. Just so you can feel even the tiniest inkling that things are okay, that something isn’t wrong.

You’re focusing on calming yourself down. You draw your legs up to your chest and rest your cheeks on your knees, breathing in and then out and in and out and iiiiiin and ooooout …

“I’m sorry for - uh -” Ben doesn’t seem like he knows where his apology is going. You turn your head to look at him and pointedly glare at the side of his face. His jaw is tight and his eyes are set on the road ahead of you, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Well, I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck is happening?” your voice cracks on the last syllable, and the tears that have been lurking behind your eyes keep threatening to boil over. “Ben, what’s going on?”

He pauses. “You got a threat. Your security team thinks you should go to a safehouse. Your shows for the next two weeks have been cancelled. Maybe more will be, too.”

You ball your fists up. “Seriously?” He nods. “I’ve gotten threats before, Ben. They haven’t done this before. What was it?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Ben sighs. “I can’t tell you. I would if I could but - I can’t. Okay?”

One tear finally drips down your cheek, and you hastily bring your sweatshirt sleeve up to wipe it away. You don’t want him to see it - the mix of sadness and anger and fear resulted in one single tear. You don’t want him to know. “Ben, please. Please, please. I’m really - please.”

Perhaps you thought your pleading would break him down but you were terribly mistaken. “Sweetheart, I would. I promise I would. Don’t worry. You’re safe now.”

“I don’t care that I’m safe now! What -”

“If I’m allowed to, I will.” you know that’s the end of the conversation and you hate it. Hate how you have so little information, how your phone and all of your stuff is back at the hotel, how all you know is that there’s a threat. And there’s been a thousand threats - none have been treated like this.

It doesn’t make sense.

You reach down next to your seat and adjust your seat so you can lie down, and you turn on your side, back facing Ben. He sighs again and then says, “Don’t be mad at me for doing my job.”

“Don’t you care about my wellbeing?”

“I think you’re doing better not knowing.”

You turn around and sit up quickly, nearly banging your head on the roof of the car. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

What a dick.

 --

 You wake up at 7:31 by Ben gently shaking you, and you’re so sore all over from sleeping in this stupid fucking car. It’s unbearably uncomfortable, and your neck is aching, and your hips hurt.

And you’re immediately annoyed when you see Ben’s stupid fucking face.

You’re so pissed you could scream.

“We’re here,” he says, and you sit up, opening the car door and climbing out of it without speaking to him. Silent treatment tends to suit you best in terms of holding grudges, and God, does he deserve it. It’s still insane for you to imagine that just a day ago you were hopelessly in love with him - and you suppose you still are but all of that love is overshadowed by the mixture of negative emotions burning inside of you.

“Sweetheart, don’t be mad at me.” Ben appears at your side with your stupid backpack swung over his stupid shoulder. You cross your arms over your chest and look up at the safehouse, which is merely a regular house, though there aren’t many others nearby - a spread out neighborhood. It’s small, smaller than any house you’d lived in, and you scrunch up your nose at the sight of it.

It also looks - dirty, a bit. Ben grabs your arm and you tug it away, following him to the door. He brandishes a set of keys and opens it and you step inside first, looking around, and the interior is just about as appealing as the exterior.

Not at all.

“God, this is the best they could do?” you hate how arrogant you sound but you don’t care all that much. You look around the living room, connected to the kitchen, and then meet Ben’s eyes with a glare. “Looks like it’ll fall apart if I blow on it.”

“Haha,” Ben says, and there’s not an ounce of humour behind it. “I didn’t choose it. I don’t know how good reception is or anything -” but then he pauses. You don’t have your phone. Reception is meaningless to you, and you have positively nothing else to keep you occupied, because there’s not even a fucking television. “Well.”

“Come on, Benny.” you use the nickname in hopes of softening him up. Maybe he’ll remember what you two did last night - maybe it’ll persuade him to tell you. “Please. I was so scared, Benny. Please.”

Ben drops your bag on the ground and takes a step towards you, and then he reaches out and pulls you right into his arms. It’s warm and soft and the best hug you’ve ever gotten, and you hate the way you just about melt into it because you know very well this is just Ben’s way of making up for the fact that he isn’t going to tell you.

It fucking works, too. When he pulls away your anger at him is chipping away, and you resist the urge to smile with great difficulty.

Damn Ben. You hate how he does this to you, even now, because all you want is for him to hug you again. It made you feel quite a lot better.

 --

 At night, rain patters lightly on the roof of the house. You’re in bed, covers pulled tight over your body, and it still does little to alleviate the brutal cold. The sheets are thin and scratchy, and your body feels like an icicle, and you’ve been battling tears for the past hour.

You’re so fucking frustrated. And you’d be on your way to Dallas today to prepare for a show tomorrow but instead you’re lying in the worst fucking safehouse you’ve ever seen, and your poor fucking fans. God, it sucks so much and you don’t even know why you’re here.

The mattress is hard beneath your back. Your hair is brushed but it’s already getting tangled again on the stupid pillowcase, and you’ll be surprised if you don’t leave this place with lice. And that’s disgusting.

You haven’t seen Ben since you finished dinner, which was just heated up pizza that was in the fridge - Ben promised it wasn’t old but it certainly tasted like it was. You don’t know where he is because you hadn’t seen another bedroom, but if there had to be one bed you wouldn’t let him share it with you, anyway, unless he told you the truth.

Which it doesn’t seem like he will. He’s so fucking loyal to his job, and for your bodyguard that should certainly be a good thing, but it just annoys you. You wish he’d be a little more lax with the rules he’s given. Your mind hasn’t stopped racing since you had to leave.

You think about your friends and family, surely blowing your phone up with texts and calls. Does the general public know there was a threat? Do they know what kind? Does the public know what the threat is before you do? You pull the covers off of yourself and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Your toes graze the cool floor and your legs are immediately freezing again. Ben had packed possibly the worst clothes he could have, the pants consisting of jeans, mainly, and one pair of fleece shorts. The ones you have on. And they may be fleece but they certainly aren’t warm, and your legs burn with cold.

Would one say you’re being dramatic?

You don’t really care.

You stand and stretch your arms above your head. The oversized sweatshirt you’d worn to bed rides up to expose the tops of your thighs and then falls back down when your arms drop, and you make your way out of your room and down the hall to the kitchen. Surely you can get a glass of water, assuming it isn’t contaminated, and that certainly feels like a possibility. The kitchen is dark and you have no clue where the light switch is, so you run your hands along the wall until you find it, and you switch it on with an embarrassing amount of relief.

Light floods the kitchen and living room. You pad your way to the sink, shifting through cabinets to try and find a cup, any kind of cup, and just as you pick one up there’s movement in your peripheral vision.

Oh, shit.

You whirl around to look at whoever’s there, and the cup drops to the ground. Glass - you realize that as it shatters, and you jump back to avoid the shards of it from cutting into your feet before looking up at Ben with venom flashing through your eyes.

“What the hell?”

Ben sucks in breath and - ignoring your exclaim - says, “Sit on the counter - I’ll clean this up.”

You obey. Your anger at him has risen considerably over the past 20 seconds but you’d rather submit to him than get a cut foot. Ben walks away and returns just a moment later with a broom, working at the pieces of glass on the floor, and you watch him without speaking for a moment.

But only for a moment. “You scared me so fucking bad. You’re doing that a lot lately, you know?”

He glances up at you, working the glass into a dustpan. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know who you were.”

“I didn’t either.” And you’re in silence again as he throws away the glass, and then he leans back against the counter, looking down at the ground.

All you wanted was water, but it doesn’t seem as important anymore.

“Where are you sleeping?”

Ben points to the living room and then drops his arm back to his side. “Couch. It’s more comfortable than you imagine but the rain is … loud.”

You laugh humorlessly. “More comfortable than the bed, I’m sure. S’like rock, really. I can feel my back getting worse by the minute.”

You’re quiet again. You don’t want to leave, really. Not go back to that shitty bed with the scratchy covers, even if your legs are freezing, practically crying out in protest as you stubbornly stay in the kitchen. Ben’s thumb is in his mouth, nibbling on his nail, and you’d tell him to quit that because it’s a gross habit but you find you don’t really care.

“The threat wasn’t just against you,” Ben speaks after a moment, and you turn to look at him. What? “I mean - it was. It was really, really harsh, but it was also about - your venues. So they didn’t want you to know.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly you wish you didn’t. God, you’d been so mad at him for not telling you but it makes you fucking sick to know it. You’d prefer it just be about you.

You say, “You’re not going to tell me what it specifically said, right?” Because you don’t want him to. Not anymore. And when he shakes his head no all you feel is relief.

“I don’t know how long we’ll be here. Not long, I assume.” Ben drums his fingers on the counter. “I hope. It’s pretty bad, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Boring and cold.”

“Freezing.”

You cross your arms over your chest, swinging your legs from where you’re perched on the counter, and then you sneak a look at Ben. “I felt pretty warm when you hugged me.”

He smiles. In the dim light you can see it, and your heart thumps in your chest. Second time. You’d consider it impressive, really. “Are you asking me to hug you?”

“Only if you want to.” You hold your arms out anyway, though, and Ben takes a step forward until you can wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his body close to you. His arms go around your waist, keeping you tight against him, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

Ben is such a good hugger.

His hand rubs circles into your back and his breathing is steady against your ear, and you’re sure your curls are tickling his face but he doesn’t complain. You press your cheek to his shoulder, shutting your eyes and allowing yourself to just - be here, in the moment, in his arms, in this shitty safehouse where you’re freezing and tired and sore.

He’s like a remedy for every single thing. How convenient.

After a moment Ben moves to pull away, but you brace your hands on the back of his neck and keep him anchored, just a few inches away from you. His hands go from your back to the cool countertop beside you, and internally you’re whining at the lack of his touch. “Don’t move, Ben. I’m still cold.”

Maybe his lips turn up into a grin but you can’t really see - Ben presses a palm to the back of your head and then leans in, and then he’s kissing you, slow and sweet and soft, and you’re so surprised you can barely move because you hadn’t thought this would ever really happen again, not now, but he initiated it and clearly he wants to do it and he’s moving his hands to your neck, wrapped around the back, and -

“I’m sorry.”

You hadn’t realized you weren’t reciprocating until Ben moves away with a quiet apology. Your lips tingle from the kiss and you bring a hand up to press your fingers against them.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, this isn’t the time.” Ben brings an arm up to run his fingers through his hair and you watch him with narrowed eyes as he turns to leave the kitchen, to go right back out to the living room, and you jump off the counter and practically bolt to stop him.

“No, no, Ben. Don’t. I want to.” You press your hands against his cheek, eyes meeting his, and you can practically feel his gaze tearing into your soul. As if looking to make sure you’re serious, that you’re okay with this, and it’s better treatment than you’ve gotten from any other guy you’d been with.

Ben’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, and you pull his face down towards yours, meshing your lips together once more, and it’s different from before but not any less good. He presses against your back and then moves his hand down to your ass, squeezing it through the fleece of your sleep shorts, and you whimper in surprise.

“Did you like that?” His voice has dropped an octave, it sounds like, and wetness pools at your core at the mere sound. You nod desperately. God, it’s so good, and you don’t realize you’ve been walking backwards until your legs hit the counter, and you pull yourself up onto it again. Your shorts have ridden up and there’s more of your thighs exposed to the cold countertop, but it doesn’t matter.

Ben situates himself between your open legs and you wrap them around his waist, pulling him closer to you, and then he’s kissing you again. Your hands move to his back, grasping at the thin cotton of his t shirt, and you pull it up ever so slightly and trace your fingers along the bit of his exposed back - so toned and warm, and he shivers when your nails graze his skin. You move your hands up his back, pulling his shirt up more, and then you break your lips apart and pull his shirt right off.

God he’s so fucking hot. This should be illegal, really, because you’ve been spending so much time with him for so long and you’ve never seen this. All ultra toned torso and muscles, and your cheeks heat up just at the sight.

“Aw, sweetheart. What’s going on?” His voice is teasing and with more emotion than you’ve heard before, and you look up at him with wide eyes, tightening your legs around his waist so he’s forced even closer to you.

“You’re hot, Ben,” is your simple reply, and Ben chuckles before leaning in to kiss you again. More intense and more passionate, and you fall backwards a bit, bracing yourself on your elbows. Ben leans over you, gripping the end of your sweatshirt, and he pulls it away in one fluid motion. Your chest is bare and his eyes focus on your tits, mouth moving soundlessly, and you give him a small smile.

“God,” he murmurs, resting his palm against your breast, and then he squeezes. You moan out and then he’s focusing on your nipple, rolling it between his fingers. It feels so good you could sob, and you bring your fingers up to run through his hair. Ben looks up at you with one raised eyebrow and then moves his head to your chest, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses against your chest. Your back arches into his mouth, squeezing tightly on his blonde strands, a choked up cry leaving your mouth as his teeth graze your nipple.

Godgodgodgodgod. Feels so fucking good you find it hard to even function. He’s good at this, so good at this. Clearly he’s had a lot of practice, although admittedly you’ve never seen him with a girl and that includes your Google deep dives to try and find information about him in the early stages of your relationship. Whatever. All you can focus on is him, now, working through his soft hair as he wraps his lips right around your nipple, cheeks hollowing as he sucks, and you groan out.

“God, Ben. Fuck.” It’s all you can say, though you’re fairly positive he gets the gist of your feelings about what he’s doing. You push yourself up and Ben moves off of you, looking at you with his eyebrows drawn. Perhaps he’s confused about why you’d push him away since you’ve clearly been having such a good time but - “Ben, I need you. Please.”

His lips upturn ever so slightly and you narrow your eyes at him. “All in good time.”

“I don’t want it in good time, I want it now, Ben, please.”

You pout your lips. Ben’s head is mere inches from your chest, and when he breathes out heavily it tickles your breasts.

But then Ben says, “Don’t be a brat, honey,” and you furrow your eyebrows. “I said all in good time. You get it -” his hands work at the tie of your sleep shorts, fingers undoing the knot, “when I say you can have it. Alright?”

No, you don’t think it’s very alright, actually. You open your mouth to protest, to beg him for it, even, and be exactly the brat he told you not to be. His hand snakes up and presses against your mouth, and you huff. With his free hand he tugs down your shorts - the crotch area is damp, sticky with your arousal, and you see his lips nearly spread into a smile at the sight of it. He knows what he’s doing to you - how could he not? - and if anyone had told you, a month ago, that you would be naked beneath your bodyguard, you’d have sworn they hit their head.

Because no - this never really seemed like a possibility - not when Ben barely looked at you. And you certainly had been confident of your men seducing abilities before meeting him, and you’d accepted that you wouldn’t win him over. Not in the four months of your tour, anyway. And now he’s here, and you’re naked and fucking freezing, and his lips are just a breath away from your -

Oh.

They’re not a breath away at all.

Ben leans in and attaches his lips to your clit, flicking his tongue against the sensitive nub, and you cry out louder than you ever have before. Your legs - over his shoulders, ankles crossed at the top of his back - shake desperately, thighs enclosed around his ears.

His eyes flit up to you, and they’re so smug. Full of cockiness and all you want is to be full of him … but …

His tongue is extraordinary. Your hips buck into his mouth as he sucks at your clit and then he braces his hands over your hips, keeping you pressed right down onto the counter. Your eyes shut of their own accord and your breath is erratic no matter how much you try to keep it steady - godgodgod he’s so fucking good at this.

“Eyes open.” Ben’s voice is low and you obey him without a second though, gazing down upon him from his spot between your thighs. He isn’t looking at you - his own eyes are shut, as if the pleasure of doing this to you is too much for him to keep them open - and he moves his mouth from your clit to ghost open mouthed kisses over your inner thighs before licking a thin stripe up your folds.

Your hips try to jerk up again but Ben keeps them pressed down, and when you look back down at him, your eyes meet. The knot that had been forming in your stomach begins to unravel - this is a record time orgasm for you and you wonder if he can sense that - your thighs clamped around his head, your skin warm against his ears. Your hand is in his hair and you squeeze on the strands, his locks so soft between your fingers, and cries are streaming from your mouth.

Ben is a constant chant coming off your lips.

You swear you’re a second away from toppling over the edge of your orgasm when he pulls away. His chin is slick with your juices and you sob out, a tear trickling down your cheek as you slowly start to come down from your denied pleasure - but it’s so bad, you hate him for this, you need to fucking - cum -

“Please, please.”

Ben listens to your pleads for just a moment, resting his cheek against your inner thigh. He watches you catch your breath and then stands, and you’re on the verge of protesting, but then he grips the backs of your thighs - pulls you to the edge of the counter and then picks you up.

Total ease. What a turn on. Your legs hook around his waist and he wraps one arm around your back, pulling you as close to him as you can and then he kisses you, hard and fast and passionate, and you moan into his mouth.

You don’t realize you’re walking - again - until Ben drops you onto an overly soft surface, and you nearly sink into the cushions of the old grey couch. Immediately you push yourself to sit, legs spread, assuming that’s what Ben was going for - out of hope, you assume - but he gets on the couch himself, and you suppose he won’t bring you to cum with his mouth, then.

“You sleep here?” you question offhandedly, watching as Ben situates himself so he’s lying down on the couch, knees bent so the entirety of him can fit. His flannel sweatpants are low on his hips and only get lower as he shifts until he’s in a good position. “Comfortable.”

He hums. You smile at the sound, and Ben raises his head to look at you.

“Come here,” he tells you, and you must wear the confusion you’re feeling, because Ben adds, “I want you to sit on my face, sweetheart.”

Oh!

Oh.

Your face heats up - of all your sexual conquests, face sitting is something you haven’t done. And you hadn’t expected your first time to be with your bodyguard, of all people, but Ben raises an eyebrow expectantly and you stand, taking a few steps until you’re standing beside his head. He squeezes your thigh and it takes a moment - you clamber on top of him, your soaking heat just above his mouth, and you need to find a comfortable position but you barely have time before his mouth is attacking your sensitive clit.

Sensitive from his denial, from what he’d done to you before.

“Fuck!” it barely comes out as more than a breath, and you lean forward to press your palms against Ben’s stomach. His skin is cold and you’re sure yours is too, and the rain outside would be deafening if you weren’t doing this.

You can’t hear it. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

Ben sticks his tongue out and pushes it into you, and your arms give out - you fall forward, your chest pressed against his lower stomach, keeping yourself up with your forearms. It’s so good, that’s all you can think, as you roll your hips against his mouth - his mouth, so talented - and you groan out desperately as his nose nudges against your clit.

When you refocus on your surroundings, your vision becoming the slightest bit clearer, you’re entirely too aware of Ben’s thick bulge beneath his sweatpants, right in front of you, and it’s so inviting it makes your mouth water. Could you -? Surely he wouldn’t mind - why would he?

You worked at the tie of his sweatpants, hands shaking as your hips grind against his face, and when it’s finally undone you snake your hand down into his pants, grasping his length, and he groans out loudly against your core. The vibrations roll through your body and you moan yourself, tightening your grip on his member, and then you tug his pants down until you can see it.

Jesus.

He’s big. It’s all you can fucking think about, now, besides his lips around your clit, and you bring your hand to your mouth - spit into your palm - and begin jerking him off, slowly, still marveling at him.

Ben is thicker than he is long but he certainly isn’t slacking in the latter. You swear you’ve never been with anyone his size and you had thought you were beyond the old wondering if he’ll fit inside of you act but clearly you aren’t.

You aren’t sure that he will.

You scoot forward a little, and Ben growls against you. You whimper, pumping your hand faster up and down his length, and then you lean your head in and lick a stripe up his shaft, following a thick purple vein that leads right to the tip.

“Oh, fuck!” Ben’s fingernails dig into your thighs, and you’re so close but suddenly you want to last longer - want to make him cum at the same time you do - and the only way to do that is to get the fuck going. So you wrap your lips around the tip of his dick, hollowing your cheeks as you suck on it, and suddenly the patter of the rain falls away as the room is filled with your noises.

The wet sounds coming from your cunt as Ben laps at it.

The cries you’re releasing every couple of seconds.

The grunts Ben chokes out when you work him just right.

Ben’s hips buck up into your mouth and you gag around him, tongue swirling around the tip of his cock, and at the same time his teeth graze your clit and you can’t hold it back.

Your climax is catastrophic, really, legs shaking and you pull your mouth off of him so your teeth don’t hurt him and you cry out, rolling your hips desperately against his face and he can’t hold you in place no matter how hard he tries, tries holding your hips down against his head but you’re unstoppable.

And the denial from earlier - or, if it can be called that - feels rather worth it because of this.

You drop your head onto his thigh, hand still loosely wrapped around the base of his cock, and you momentarily forget about your job until you’re nearly down from your high.

Instinctively you start pumping your hand again and you lean forward to lick at his tip when Ben groans out and buries his hand into your curls, tugging you back and away from his cock, and your hand drops away from him. You scoot down lower on his body until you’re straddling his lower stomach and then you turn so you’re facing him, admiring his face - lust overtaking his features - and he brings his hand up to your cheek, stroking your skin with the pad of his thumb.

“I don’t want to cum in your mouth, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice soft, and a chill runs up your back at his tone. That and - the chill of the house. Ben places his hand on your thigh and trails it nearer to your cunt until his fingers are ghosting over your folds, and with one fluid motion he pushes a finger inside of you. There’s not a single bit of resistance from your body, slickness making it entirely too easy for him, and you moan out. “I want to cum in here.”

Ben pushes himself up against the back of the couch, pressing his hands against your back, and you kiss him so fucking hard it almost hurts. Your taste is on his lips and you love it, love the mixture of the two of you, love how beautiful this all is. Love how this is all you’ve been wanting, really, even if you never thought you’d get here - you wanted him, everything about him and it really does seem like you’ve got him, now.

You reach down and take hold of his cock again, legs shaking as you position yourself right above him, lips still so close to his, and you sink down onto his achingly hard member after one deep breath.

A breath of confidence, and you needed it. He is big and it almost hurts - not quite but it’s almost there, almost - but the pleasure that quite literally fills you overpowers any ounce of pain you could feel. Ben drops his head back against the couch, moving his hands to your hips, rubbing your skin, and if he’s feeling half as good as you are then he’s in fucking heaven.

Based on his blissed out face, you’d think he is.

Your head drops to his shoulder and you swallow thickly, another tear forcing its way from your eye and down your cheek, and Ben’s breathing is so heavy. You can feel him throbbing inside of you and you need a moment, you think, before you can move, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The first movement is always the best. The whole first feeling of being filled is unbeatable and you don’t have a dick but you could assume it’s the same for Ben. You need time to value this, now, and with any other guy you’d already be halfway to orgasm, bouncing up and down without a care in the world but this is so different. Different because - you’ve wanted him for what seems like ages, because it’s taken so long to get to this point, because he’s Ben.

You lift yourself up, legs shaking near violently, and then drop back down. Ben’s moan is nearly louder than yours, and you lean in to kiss him again as you keep moving.

Up and down.

Slow at first but you try to get faster. Your previous orgasm was - intense, to say the least - and your limbs feel weak, and you’re sure it won’t be long until you can’t ride him anymore. When he’ll have to take over.

For now, though, you focus on it. Rolling your hips and grinding into him, and bouncing up and down, and Ben helps you with his hands on your hips and on your waist, and his moans and cries are the perfect motivator to keep going.

“Oh my god.” your voice is breathy, a cry breaking through the words like water through a dam. “God, Ben. Oh, god, fuck.”

You rest your hands on his shoulders, leaning in again to kiss him, but you’re moving fast enough that it’s hard to land every kiss and so you end up with your lips pressed against his jawline. You want his touch everywhere - your waist and your ass and your tits and your clit - because wherever he touches it feels like electricity sparking through your body. Like lightning strikes.

“Feel so good and tight around me,” Ben grunts, and you could cum just from the words. “You’re so wet, sweetheart, so - fucking - good. So good for me.”

(You still can’t quite believe he wouldn’t look at you a month ago.)

(Wouldn’t even talk to you, really.)

(And he’s telling you how good your pussy is.)

“Ben -” your legs are aching, muscles burning, and you’re afraid of the pace stuttering but you can hardly get the words out to tell him. You wrap your arms around his neck and use that as leverage to keep bouncing up and down.

It’s hard. Ben notices your pace slowing and holds your hips down, forcing you to take all of him in, and then he pulls you off of him with one swift motion.

Fuck. The feeling of him leaving you is almost painful. You already miss his cock filling you up. Ben pushes you back onto the couch, and you sink into the cushions with a small grin as he presses his body on top of yours. You throw a leg over his waist, pulling him down, and then you lean up again, attaching your lips as he slides into you.

Kissing him is the greatest thing you’ve done, really, soft lips and soft hair, and kissing him while riding him is positively spectacular, but kissing him while he fucks you is another story.

His hips are fast against yours, the pace near brutal, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Skin slaps against skin and Ben bites at your lip, swallowing every single sob that escapes your mouth, catching your tears with a finger beneath your eye. Your hand snakes between your body and rubs at your clit, two fingers against your swollen, sensitive nub, and it’s so intense.

It’s all so intense. Ben’s grunts are akin to that of angels and with every thrust he hits your g spot, and your fingers on your clit only add to the experience - and it’s even better when Ben rips your wrist from your cunt and replaces it with his own finger, rubbing tight, fast circles.

You won’t last.

You cum and it’s violent, legs thrashing, body arching upwards. Your eyes roll back into your head and pleasure rips through your body like a fucking earthquake, and Ben’s still pumping in and out of you, and his fingers are relentless on your clit, and it fucking hurts almost.

“Ben, no, no.” You wrap your fingers around his wrist and pull it away with all of your strength - not much, with two orgasms behind you - and he braces his palm on the arm of the couch. Leaning down to kiss you once more, he pushes his hips into yours a few more times, pace slowing.

“Gonna cum in you, sweetheart,” Ben murmurs. “Wanted to do this for so long.”

That makes two of you.

He cums within another minute, spilling inside of you, and the warmth of his cum painting your walls could push you over the edge again - but you’re not sure you have another one in you. Ben’s groans are loud and brash, rolling his hips slowly against yours until he’s finished, and then he collapses right back on top of you.

Your bodies are slick with sweat and entirely too warm, but with the stark cold contrast of the room you don’t mind. Your leg around his waist, your arms on his neck, his head in your shoulder. Lips on your neck. It’s all so perfect.

You lie in silence for a moment. You find you don’t really need to speak, anyway. Not yet - the moment doesn’t call for it but - you can’t resist. “Just a business relationship, huh?”

Ben sighs, and his breath cools your neck. “Business and pleasure, I think. To quote this really amazing woman I know - why can’t we have both?”

                                                     Chapter One ; 

‘Each morning I get up I die a little. Can barely stand on my feet;  Take a look in the mirror and cry;  Lord what you're doing to me.’

-

“ Joseph! You’re wanted on set!” Joe sighed at the calling of his name, almost cursing Dexter in his mind. Today was not going well for Joe. They were halfway through filming at this point, and Joe was tired beyond belief. Rami and the guys had insisted on going clubbing the night before, Joe reluctantly said yes to his friends; so here he was, hungover and on set in his fluffy wig, attempting to focus on his lines in the makeup chair. 

“ Long Night?” y/n, his makeup artist asked. Joe gave a dry laugh, “ I guess you could say that.” He got up, excusing himself from, y/n. Though it wasn’t just his hangover that was bothering him, no, there was something else.

You see, Joe was going through a revelation, he had just turned 34 during filming, and his golden years were continuing to slip away from him. The chances of having kids got slimmer, and the chances of finding his soulmate became less and less. 

The story of the soulmates is that of mystery, but it is said that before the beginning of time, whomever created love was a lonely man, who was denied of love and lust for his entire existence, so he swore to the heavens that no one would be denied the chance to feel love; and thus the soulmates were created. No one knows exactly why or even how it works, but researchers have come to the conclusion that the words imprinted on your body, that connect you to your soulmate are that of, song lyrics. Meaning that Joe Mazzello was imprinted with the lyrics, “Somebody to Love.”  He didn’t even understand the meaning until the song came on the radio, yelling that it was the words he had on his skin, thus prompting his parents to tell him the lore. 

When Joe was young, the lyrics turned him into quite the hopeless romantic. While others found girlfriends and partners for the time being, waiting for their soulmates to show up, Joe backed away from every girl he could, not wanting to get to close, scared that if he did, he may never find the person with the matching lyrics. And while all of those students eventually did, Joe was one of the only guys at the end of College, to be a virgin, and not find his soulmate. He found it quite ludicrous. He had been in films since his youth, and yet no one seemed to every ask him what his lyrics where on his arm, making it impossible for him to find the match unless by chance. 

During his directing and acting for Undrafted, Joe had gotten so antsy about meeting his soulmate that he would blast, Somebody To Love on the cars stereo every morning, hoping it would prompt his soulmate to suddenly appear, but that never happened. 

The Next year, he got a call about the biopic, Bohemian Rhapsody. They wanted him to depict the famous bands, bass player. John Deacon. At first he was ecstatic, I mean, it couldn’t just be a coincidence that he got the part, right? Maybe his fake wife would end up being the girl of his dreams? What if it was Lucy Boynton? That would be a real shock. But as Joe met the cast, asking them about their lyrics, almost obsessively to every person on set (including Ben.) there was still no sign of the soulmate. Only Joe had forgotten about a lot of important people; the crew themselves. Which was over 200 hundred people, who could, just maybe have his lyrics. 

Though, he wasn’t completely alone. He had his cast, his family and Brian and Roger. Both Brian and Roger were extremely supportive of Joe and would talk to him constantly about love and their views on the soulmates, both of them marrying people who were not their soulmates to begin with, due to wanting children and lives of their own before they couldn’t anymore. “ I say you start dating around.” Roger would tell Joe, though Joe was reluctant he agreed with the drummer, that he would go on one date, and see how it went. 

As Joe came onto set, he tried to push all those thoughts away, the ones that were creeping up on him. He felt like he was going to have a panic attack, how could he go on a date, knowing that who ever he went on a date with wouldn’t be the person he would have forever? Maybe, Joe just wasn’t meant to meet his soulmate though. He had to put his soulmate aside and think of his needs and wants for once, though feeling bad.

After filming for the day, Joe once again got into the makeup chair, this time to take everything off for the day. After his thinking over the course of the day, he now had to find someone he could ask on a date, and as y/n walked back up to the chair to take his wig and wig cap off, he realized that he had somewhat of a strong attraction to her. Though her physique was incredible in his perspective, she was so nice to Joe. She would pick him up coffee in the mornings on her way to the locations, she would text him the night before about how amazing he would do and that he needed to wash his face in the morning for preparation and constantly gave him advice on his soulmate, even though she hadn’t found hers yet, and they both hadn’t told each other their lyrics. “ y/n?” Joe asked as she picked the plaster off his face, “ Yes Mazzello?” y/n giggled at his serious tone, a tone that never usually occurred with Joe. “ I’ve never asked, but- what’s your lyric?” Joe asked, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, looking down. 

“ I don’t like telling people,” She admitted, “ I’m not going to find them anyway. Twenty Five years of my life have gone by, all my friends have met theirs and people are starting to get married now, so what is the point? My Mother always told me not to get my hopes up, so I’m not.” She spoke with much emotion in her voice, that of annoyance and disappointment.  She then continued as silence danced among them, “ I’ve spent so long believing in him- the god of love. But it seems I can never get relief, the opposite of why he apparently created the soulmates anyway.” Joe took in her words, maybe she had a point, but Joe wasn’t having it.

“ Well, I’m 34 and I haven’t met mine yet, does that mean I should give up on love entirely? I don’t believe so. I hate to say this, and I hope the lord of love forgives me when I do, but I believe we can fall for those who are not our soulmates, just as well as we can with our paired person, don’t you? Freddie fell in love with Jim, yet not sharing the lyrics. All I’m saying is that- sometimes- the lord makes mistakes, and maybe you and I are one of them.” Joe shrugged, as y/n gleamed at his words. “I think you’re quite right Mazzello. Maybe someday, we’ll both find somebody to love.” Joe almost shivered at her words, his eyes went wide, could she be the one? He tried to laugh it off, “ like the Queen song? Somebody To Love?” y/n looked at him, confusion settling on her face, could he be? then reverting back to reality, “ Yeah- like the Queen song.” She laughed, “ anyway, you’re all done Joseph.” She smiled at the Auburn Haired man as he got up, “ Yeah, I should be going-” He awkwardly stood in front of her, looking for a sign within her eyes, but nothing. He turned around to walk away, but decided he needed his moment, his moment to find somebody to love, even if they weren’t born to be his, “ Hey y/n?” He turned around, calling back to her, “ are you busy Friday night?”

-

- He lives to make you feel good.

- Seriously, that’s all he wants.

- He begs for you to sit on his face and go to town, gripping your hips to leave bruises and going to fucking town, making obscene noises and sucking your clit so hard that it makes your legs actually shake, moaning against you especially when he looks up at you and sees the way your face contorts with pleasure and he hears you praise him and tell him how well he’s doing- okay oof calm thy self

- Oh my god so he’s clingy right? Like, constantly has a hand on you. You’re sitting watching tv, and his hand is just resting on your inner thigh cause he knows how comforting you find it

- He draws circles on your very inner thigh with his thumb and before you know it he’s asking if he can make you feel good and of COURSE you say yes

- And so before you know it he curls his fingers inside you and it’s slow and so messy and he’s kissing your neck and leaving marks and you’re telling him what a good boy he is

- At any given time he’s pleasuring you, he’s achingly hard

- Cause like hearing you moan and seeing you throw your head back and flutter your eyes shut in pleasure drives him crazy

- So he whines and whimpers and moans in response, and when his mouth is on your pussy this only makes you feel sooo much better because of the vibrations

- (This man would be incredible at eating pussy don’t even @ me like have you seen those lips and that little lizard thing he does with his tongue like hello)

- He ruts his hips against the bed, and it’s even more painful when he’s still wearing pants but he kind of loves it cause he wants you to feel good first and he knows you’ll reward him

- And of course you do

- You literally have him wrapped around your finger okay like I just know he’s that boyfriend who’s so fucking whipped for his s/o

- He begs and begs, to be buried inside you, just wants to feel you wrapped around him

- When you finally sink down onto him, he gasps and writhes around, tears literally pricking in the corners of his eyes cause it feels so good and he’s waited so long

- But of course he doesn’t ever forget about making you feel good, thumb rubbing fast, tight circles on your clit as you bounce up and down and roll your hips cause he fills you up so nicely and it’s just so intoxicating

- Like you just can’t get enough of the feeling of each other, going hard and fast like a couple of animals

- You always want him to cum first, and he literally cries out when you squeeze around him a few times, milking every last drop

- Once the two of you finally catch your breaths after ages, you just stay there with him inside you for ages, stroking his hair and kissing him softly and feeling his cum deep inside you, whispering how good he was for you and he fucking relishes in that, the praise making him love and worship you even more