“I know,” he said, inching closer to the edge of the roof, closing whatever distance he could.

“My parents are both getting sick, I’m working and trying not to drown in everything, I’m doing grocery runs and picking up stuff from the pharmacy, I’m trying to take care of myself, and everywhere I turn, there’s a news bulletin and everything is just disaster and death.”

Finally, you looked up, finding Steve’s eyes on you. He held out his hand, reaching for you, and you held out yours. It was as close as the two of you got these days. Both of you were working, social distancing demanded its space and things seemed busier than ever before. Crawling up on the roof and jumping over for quick little dates had seemed romantic and cute months back, but now you’d do anything for the normal kind of dates where you went out, saw a movie, had a meal, stood close enough that you could lean in and hear the other person’s heartbeat.

“My mom’s been doing double shifts at the hospital. I’ve told her to call me every time she gets off a shift, no matter what time, and every time, my heart almost beats outta my chest because I’m so afraid she’ll cough or say she’s feeling ill.”

Comforting words sat right on the tip of your tongue, but Steve’s humourless chuckle had you furrowing your brow instead.

“God, I feel so bad for her right now. This… This has to be how she felt whenever I was sick when I was a kid. Jesus, I must have scared her half to death so many times.”

“You… were sick a lot?” you asked.

You knew Steve well enough, but your paths had crossed later in life, and there had never been all that many stories about either of you growing up. It didn’t seem important at the time.

“Nurses in the pediatric ward knew me by name. I think they had my journal stashed somewhere within hand’s reach, always ready whenever I was admitted.” He saw the worried look on your face, and quickly added, “It wasn’t anything serious, I mean- Or, well, at the time, it was, I- I had like a year where I kept getting sick, and it turned out I had a crappy immune system, so I got everything and then some. I got medication to compensate, so I’m okay, and it’s mostly all good now.”

“But this virus… it could be bad for you?” you asked, the feeling of dread that had been simmer in your stomach for days suddenly flaring up at this potential fuel for a freakout.

“Not as bad as it could have been if I was still that kid. I promise, I’m okay. I wash my hands, I’ve got meds to take if something happens and I’ve had to swear on my nana’s grave that I’ll call if I get symptoms. I’m fine. Mostly just bored. Netflix only has so many good shows and movies.”

“You feel so disconnected,” you added, looking up at the sky. “I have skype meeting with my co-workers and we email all day, and I’ve got my parents, but it’s as if, I don’t know, the world has just been paused and everyone’s frozen in this weird limbo. Everyone’s afraid, no one’s touching anyone. I’m beginning to see why touch starvation is a thing, I mean- Steve?”

The last thing you saw of him was his long legs disappearing in through the open window, followed by a dull crash. Great. Great great fucking great. Even your boyfriend was getting tired of you and is running for the hills. Christ, you should just call it a night. Even with the commute cutting down on how early you’ve had to get up in the mornings, sleep had still been elusive and you had tossed and turned through the last few nights. Standing up, you stretched, letting your joints pop and shivering at the cool night air.

“Hey! Catch!”

The lump came flying at you, and it was only by virtue of having quick reflexes that it didn’t hit you square in the face. You gave a shrill yelp at the same time Steve let out a loud “shit!” The lump was soft, and in the dusk of the evening it took a moment for you to realize it was one of his sweaters.

“You gotta stop doing this,” you grumbled, still smiling at him as you turned over the sweater.

“I told you, I wasn’t aiming at you! You were just kind accidentally where my shoe landed!” Steve defended himself before nodding at you. “Go on, open it.”

The sweater was bundled up, tied together with the sleeves, and when you pulled at them, a book and a picture clattered down.

“It was the best idea of a care package I could think of on short notice,” he told you, arms crossed over his chest.

The book was a dog eared copy of Pride & Prejudice, while the picture was one of him, from the looks of it at least ten years ago. He was lankier in it than he was now, a goofy grin on his face with hair sticking in every direction. He’s crouched next to the grumpiest looking bulldog you’d ever seen, his smile a beautiful and hilarious contrast to the dog.

“You told me you forgot your copy of Pride & Prejudice on a train and you haven’t had the opportunity to get a new copy. We had to read it for one of my college classes, and I remember thinking it wasn’t all that good, but I started rereading it again after you said how good it was, and I thought, hell, if you like it, it’s gotta be good. And I know I can’t hug you, but that sweater is really warm and cosy. And clean, so you don’t gotta worry about germs.”

You could cry for the sweetness of it, but your mouth split into a smile when you looked back down at the photo, “And this?”

Steve smiled in return, shuffling a little awkwardly on his feet.

“For that. To see you smile.” 

You pulled the sweater on. It didn’t smell like him, that heady scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body, but it was his and it was soft and you let the sleeves hang like sweater paws.

“Thank you, I… God, I really needed this.”

“The least I could do. Really.” His face softened, and he held out his hand again, straining for that touch that you couldn’t have. “I know this sucks. It sucks a lot. But this is temporary. Today will move on to tomorrow, and the next day and one day it’ll be over and we’ll have lived and we’ll be okay. We’re still together. Just apart.”

One of Dean’s hands was buried in your hair, the dark locks twisted around thick fingers as he pulled your head backward roughly. His other hand was holding his belt where he had it binding your wrists behind your back, using it as a grounding point as he slowly moved his hips until they were flush with your ass.

“God, Dean, pl-”

His hand was suddenly gone from your wrists, impacting your outer thigh with a sharp slap. “Shut the fuck up ‘less you wan’ me to gag you, Bek,” he threatened as he pulled his cock out until just the head of it rested on the other side of the tight ring of muscle of your asshole. You whimpered but didn’t respond. “Didn’t wanna sleep, I’ll keep you up ‘til you can’t stand it, what do you think’a that?” His fingers cut across the globe of your ass, the sting of the slap sending heat to settle in your aching, empty cunt.

You should’ve been worried about the million things on your to-do list, but you couldn’t remember any of them now. All you could think of was Dean’s cock thrusting back into you.

It didn’t take long for him to start thrusting faster, Dean isn’t exactly known for his patience. He pressed you into the mattress, his weight crushing your hands between his abs and your back as he laid out over your body, fucking your ass with hard thrusts. His fingers tucked under your jaw, moving your face to force your dark eyes to focus on his emerald ones. “I can make you do whatever I want, Beka.”

“Yes, Sir,” you said on a breath.

“You wanna cum? Want me to play with that pretty clit?” he growled, rolling his hips against your ass. You whimpered, nodding as best you could. “Think you deserve it?”

“N-no, I don’t.”

“Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”