#egojock

ㅤㅤtight fitting skirt was hiked up enough to expose the still red cheeks of her plump ass, matching scars scattering the back of her thighs as she bent over the bannister when she spotted a familiar, and handsome, face. " hey, " smoke spilt from matte black lips as she spoke, whistling to get his attention regardless of the time. " cigarette boy. " or at least that's how she remembered him. a conversation and a smoke. she was terrible at names. " you feel like sharing tonight? i'm down to my last smoke. " a veiled way of asking for company. sometimes it was just nice to be with someone that wasn't paying.

@egojock are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?

It was games like this and truth or dare that eventually led to trouble. This was all new with Nate, but she had liked him for so long. The countless glances during her dance practices, the walks home even if he drove, the constant flirting via text, the instagram comments, they all led to small conversations like these that felt more important than they both let on.

Nothing in The Falaise House needs to be fixed. Not it's meticulous order, rules of decorum, the regimented flare that only seem rigid to those that don't belong. Hara finds the flaws. It's not in chipped paint ... because there is none. It's the chalkboard on the kitchen wall near the main entrance where she sees her name in the middle of the 5:30 am breakfast shift. Or the memories that linger, almost conveniently, in rooms with the cloth still draped over furniture. Nate is lucky to be visiting when no one else is here ... the Oras are currently scattered around the globe, either in homes of their own or the many properties passed down generation to generation.

❛ ⸺This is one of many vacation homes my family owns. But its not, you know, mine. I like living in hotels. Or staying somewhere I know is available ... like this. Technically, I do have a little secret place in Greece. ❜

Although, the place she bought isn't as big as the villas and townhouses and castles in the sky, it does share something else in common. Almost any of the Ora houses are built on a cliff, or a hill, even if it doesn't seem to be as overt as the others, they seem to lean that way. Her Greek home is a one bedroom home built into a cliff, abutting the water. She'll always be a little bit of her blood.

Half-leaned against the kitchen island, cheek in palm, she glances over a Thai menu ⸺ 1. The Falaise House's staff is not here yet for the season. 2. he can pick from the folder of take-out menus if he doesn't like Thai but Hara likes and consumes from a small, small list.

She doesn't notice her hair veiling one eye but she does feel him gather it back behind her ear. She doesn't notice how much she leans into it. But she does notice the roughness of his fingertips, the little bit of wood glue that's dried over at least one of his fingerprints. There's a compelling case that poets and novelists alike try to answer ... do you exist if you aren't touched? The body of her harp functions fine despite some damage but it'll be easier for her to play with the little fixes ... the foot, the hexafoils cosmetic detail, things that happened in transit. She catches his hand and drags her thumb over the gluey-spot. Putting dinner to the side, she pulls him towards the sink.

There's no shortage of emergencies tonight, they've waited long and are lucky they can sit hip to hip in a singular bed in a room instead of the exposure some other patients obtain in the hallways. Matching gashes like friendship bracelets or whatever name makes whatever they are now. A physician, who finally comes in makes a stabbing guess ... couple? Hara doesn't have the to reply. She can feel her heartbeat in the lengthy wound on her arm. She can't tell her blood from what's his ... they've no doubt mixed at this point. The ways bodies come undone is rarely pretty, elegant, or precise. They'll gush where they must.

She really does try to stay present but only waves of dialogue reach her. "We'll do your girlfriend first..." Her gaze stays pin-focused on the needle and how the more she stares at it the bigger it gets. "You're going to feel a pinch." They lied. It feels like burning or an axe coming down into the tender meat of her. "Stay still." After the first injection, her body's twisting to go. They don't have a second pair of hands to spare, Nate's will have to do.

She doesn't know what comes first. His hand on her nape, steadying her, or her hand on him. Either way, his forearm gets sandwiched between her clinging and her cheek. They're close enough to recycle each other's breath. It’s the only thing keeping her in place. The numbing-attempt of lidocaine feels worse than the pain it took to put her here. Of course it would be, it's addressing already un-made edges. Each respire allows them to fall in closer. Nose-to-nose. Lash-to-lash. She doesn't think she'll make it through this. Her pained sounds progress the same way a song does ... like the chorus heading for the bridge. And it goes off her trembling mouth and into his wrist.

Another bridge to cross is between pain and pleasure. When their mouths meet, it's an analgesic pull. He feels magnanimous first. Her, him, another type of bleed. Just two hurt bodies attempting to escape the pain ... or transform it into something they can metabolism. Her mind can start to swap what takes priority to feel.

she's never been good. she's never even come close. something tells the witch that he doesn't mind though, not when she's wrapped up in his sheets. she's left her marks all over him; in his car, his shower, his locker room, his bed. winnie welcomes the enthusiasm, especially when it's met and matched with the same level of unfiltered desire. "what would that entail, exactly?" the redhead asks, curious now. they were used to playing games with each other, but the role of a good girl was far too foreign a concept. if she were to pull it off for him, she'd need some guidance, perhaps a few ground rules. what would she get in return? the thought makes her brain tick over, a devilish smirk sent his way when he smooths his palm across her face. her cheek leans in to his touch, resting her weight against his momentarily, green eyes meeting his gaze.

his kiss leaves his taste fresh on her tongue, her own fingertips rising to brush against his jaw. "don't you have a big game tomorrow?" she already knows that he does. their entire campus had been transformed into a shrine for the football team. "wouldn't a good girl convince you to preserve your energy?" winnie's hand falls to his chest, pointed nails trailing across his pectorals, skimming teasingly over his nipples, before pausing. she wanted to do this right, to have fun with it. "do you want me to sit on the bleachers and wear your jersey, baby?" spoken in a softer tone, she's aiming to commit to the role, eager to gauge his reaction. "do you want to fuck me in it?"