#ole munch

Serves him right, you had thought. Though part of you ached, not quite yet freed by the torture you were condemned to.

All he had done day after day was shove you around and order you to his dirty work. And such lonesome never came as any surprise, not when you were left with a lease on a house you could no longer tend to, and police officers urging you to find lodging. And so you did.

Comfort came in the company of an elder woman in the middle of town. The suburb was gentle, much like you had been used to as a child you’d imagined, semi-detached houses lined the street, with fences of steel and wire, hardly white picket, but families flooded every one. All of them loud, aware, loving. She had not such luck, her husband also dead, abandoned by her sons, and a ripped flyer flapping on the outside of the gate asking for help.

Simple laundry and grocery shopping help.

Company.

That’s what it really was. And you had taken it as soon as you saw it, snatching it from the wire with a trash bag full of clothes and necessities shoved in your hands, red and stiff from the biting cold.

The lady was kind, mostly quiet, but offering with a good pot of stew always left boiling on the stove, and in return of your chores, your stay was welcome in the stuffy, moth-ball smelling room just down the hall from hers.

And you were alone, together, until you weren’t.

Not until he, showed up. The boogeyman, the creature of a man who had walked in with the door unlocked, snow tracking his worn boots across the wooden floor. He didn’t claim the house, nor give either of you reason for his stay, nor did he ask to. Only few words, soft and chilling with no menace.

I live here now.

The look you and old woman shared was one startled and unsure, but you found it best not to argue, his large frame towering in the doorway between wooden beams. His clothes were something ragged and old, a dark brown and pale green kilt dragging at his knees, and a haircut you’d have imagined seen nowhere from before the early eighties.

Though after a while, you were glad you didn’t argue. He proved useful, and oddly, kind. He didn’t talk much, though when he did it was strange, broken syllables coming out drawn and long, half uttered sentences far too straightforward than you had been used to.

He settled himself into the room farthest from you and the woman, a dusty, dark room near empty with just a bed and a rocking chair. The bed, from what you could see peeked through the crack of the door, stayed made, unused. Like the man didn’t sleep. The cracking of the chair rocked like a tap dripping, shuddering the house all the way from the upstairs.

The Widow.

That’s what he called you, and that’s what you were. Simple and plain just as he was. Though it wasn’t spoken as you were titled with it, burdened as a reminder, it wasn’t something that belonged. A Spider. Something natural and intelligent and cunning. And spoken in his matter of fact terms, the low gravel of his voice and the ancient tongue of his accent, it had almost made you proud.

Proud of what you were, who you were.

Ole Munch, he told you his name was. Rather fitting, for how odd the man was. ‘Oola Moonk’ it came to be pronounced, but you preferred ‘Oola’ and he had not reminded you, or maybe not cared to correct you. He answered to it every time, the steady turn of his head with the same pull of his eyes landing on you.

His hands reached for what you couldn’t, a simple plate form the highest shelf, or the heaviness of a door getting in your way, packed from the snow. He was there, always. So much so you wondered how much he watched. And yet you were entirely unaware.

Ole studied you, from the very moment he passed in the doorway, announcing his arrival before turning right to the stairs, to every morning and night you had greeted him. Awkward and on guard still, but something poked deep within your chest. Something clinging about his presence.

And from what you could tell, he did not mind your own. When he was around of course, often slinking away into the darkness when the old woman had settled for bed and you had laid underneath your covers, listening.

Sometimes he told you he was leaving, no reason, or destination in it, other times he didn’t. But he waited, waited for the very moment all of the lights would turn off and the doors would close. A humble kindness.

He noticed the very things others did not.

“From what?” He moved behind you, chest looming few inches from your back, your breath catching a you had folded the last of laundry from the dryer. You took in the space he had not, a finger only pointed to your arm. A large scar there. Long and curved, raised by the slightest rosy and etched.

“My hus— my ex husband.” Your head turned, breathing sharply as you corrected yourself, your voice wasn’t small, only recalled as your finger traced it, his head leaning over your shoulder to get a better look. He did not ask further questions, the way your face scrunched told him all.

“A widow weaves her web, but she is more than it. It does not finish. She rebuilds.” His voice pressed over your shoulder, your eyes meeting for a fleet of second, his chin tilted high, unmoving as you ducked back. And then he was gone.

He had a habit of such things. And you had come to decode every one of his sayings, not as difficult as it first proved to be.

And just as he had noticed, he seemed similarly protective, over the house, over the old woman. Over you. Guarding, he had called it, ‘Like a dog in the yard.’ But the way he moved, slow and steady, it felt almost shielding. Neither of you had gone out much together, and you preferred to stay indoors any way, but the one time you had, was met with a young scraggly man who claimed to be the owner of the house you were staying in.

The shovel scraped hard across the pavement, leaving a trailed line from the road to the door, a makeshift path surrounded by blankets of freezing white. It had been one hell of a chore for the day, one you’d taken upon yourself in order to even get out of the house for the lady to get some groceries. A path she had walked nearly every day. And just as you turned, the buttons of your woollen coat done up tight—

“What the fuck are you doing?” A measly voice called out, your back straightened as you cocked your head, balancing against the shovel.

“I uh.. shovelling snow?” You looked around, huffing a small, obvious laugh, eyes landing back onto him. He was scrawny, long blond greasy hair tangling at his shoulders, a cigarette hung between his lips.

“Yeah, no fuckin’ shit. Who are you?” He stepped toward, striding toward you.

You opened your mouth to speak, grimacing at his rudeness, but he stopped you short.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter.. where is she?”

“Indoors.”

Your fingers planted tighter around the shovel’s handle, bones cracking lightly from the cold, a presence standing just short of your side. A familiar step crunched forward, slower, more calculated than the asshole stood in front of you.

“This is what the old crone has going on now, a freakshow and a maid?” His eyes raked over you, and the tall man beside you, his tone spitting and careless. Your fist clenched tighter at that, the insult, about the same woman who had taken you in.. and you had only guessed from then on.

Her son.

“You have no right to talk about her like that.” You spat back, feet planting harsh into the damp concrete.

“Or what?” The curve of his lips slanted smugly, taking a long drag of his cigarette, and at that you started forward. Rather, you tried, a hand clamped around your forearm, tightened and careful.

“Shut up.” You looked back at him, though his words weren’t for you. He did not look at you, eyes casted solely onto the man in front of you, stumbling back onto slightly.

“I didn’t ask you, shitbird.” He quipped.

“Shut the fuck up already.” Ole grimaced, the deep lines of his faced carved tight and red in the cold, barely bothered by the man’s empty threats.

“Oh fuck this.. ma, what is going on?” The man pushed past you both, the grip loosened on your arm, gaze piercing back into yours after it had followed him inside.

“Time should not be wasted. They take too much up themselves.” He analysed, hand falling, hovering just so in the air and flexing as you took yours to your side. There was a pause between you then, and you gave him a small nod, understanding even with the eyes rolling back into your head.

He wasn’t wrong. Even if you both knew one thing, he deserved that swing you were about to give him.

“A boarder, you holdin’ out on me ma.. how much is he paying ya?” That’s the last you heard, trudging your way back inside into the warmth after a few moments. The woman had looked past the younger man, indeed her son, to you as she smiled softly shaking her head. A look of knowing, as you gave her an apologetic one back, and you don’t want to overstep more than you were about to. You reached the stairs, climbing them just as Ole moved in after you, the door closing heavily behind him, a short glance to the back of your head before turning into the hallway toward them both.

Your back fell into the covers of the bed, swarming you in a warmth, your hands splayed over your stomach, slowly picking at the skin, tangled in attempts to keep the heat in. You listened in, their conversation muffled between floorboard and pipe, and the incessant nagging in the back of your mind.

It may have been curiosity, morbid and intrusive, or the fact that in such closeness you had grown comforted by the company around you. The older woman yes, sweet and kind as she was, she was strong, and had taught you more in the past few weeks than most had in your lifetime. But the other one, that’s what was more, it was him.

He was odd yes, peculiar in all the ways you thought seemed ancient. But part of you burned at the thought. His voice, his gaze, the coded manner of speaking that was something thoughtful. That feeling in your chest had settled elsewhere, deep in your belly, a flush that you couldn’t quite name, but it burned. And from that, you longed for it, his touch.

The man took off not long after, a scuffle of boots and an air of silence leaving him. The door only closed once, though it opened again. And you didn’t hear from her son after that.

All of you took yourself to bed early, rather the two of you that slept did. She had said goodnight to you in the hall, catching you just as you made your way to the bathroom, the soft cling of your sleep shorts a welcome comfort in contrast to the scratch of heavy itchy cotton.

—

You weren't sure how it happened. But there was an ache in you that you couldn't quite break from. Like a coil that tightened itself around you, working it's way up every inch of your body, your nerves pressed tigher with every movement and thought you attempted to push back.

Until you refused to, refused to deny yourself any longer. 

Your fingers trailed down your body, taking your own time, feeling down the curve of your breasts, running along your stomach down beneath your sleep shorts. The covers twisted under you, shrugging with every rise and fall of your chest and arch into your hand as you began to fuck yourself, running your fingertips through your folds, damp and needy. You needed this. You bit back a moan as you circled your clit, tugging the coil tighter inside of you, rubbing slow at first and then harsh, testing a finger into your entrance and curling. 

He was there. In your mind, igniting your body more than your touch had. And you had imagined it was his, bigger than yours, swarming your body as he ran his hands down it, gripping and grasping at your frame as he did your arm in the yard. You pushed two fingers in, thrusting them lightly as your other fingers worked at your sensitive bud, mouth falling slack as your head rocked back agaisnt the covers, knees bent up as you angled deeper. His breath breathing along your skin, tongue working along your skin, fingers pressed tight into your cunt. The thought made you salivate, wettening the back of your dry throat as you came with a strangled moan. 

It was him that did undid you, even if he had not touched you. Yet.

—

It became routine after that, a nagging that never ceased. His presence was enough, stalking around every corner, watching through the windows, a hand when necessary, but never beyond it. And somehow that worked you up more, agitating you in every way that felt wrong, and right. And so you kept it quiet, attending to your tasks as well as you could, day in and day out.

Laundry, kitchen, cleaning, shovelling, repeat. 

And when the house fell quiet, and night appaorched, surrounding you all in darkness. You too did the same. Your hands dipped between your legs, drawing whine and moan unkempt from your lips without resolve, your arousal coated your fingers, dripping juices from your weeping hole, and down onto the mattress.

You were lost in it, in every thought, every image that you dared not to speak aloud. It wasn’t shame, perhaps guilt, greed, of what you could not take and yet wanted to.

Wants that no other person should know about. That no one should know about. And yet they did. Eyes were on you, you felt them form every corner, burning into you from the walls and dark corners of every room. And in your lonely hour, the only seemed to sharpen.

A pair, heavy set, near black, haunted just outside of the door. The crack in it left opened, it had not been a conscious thought, nor as you had pulled yourself to the comfort of covers and warmth. Barely room for a breath between it, darkness meeting darkness, your body only silhouetted by the twinkle of moonlight creeping through the window. Worn boots scuffed across the floor in complacent strides, the sound of crusty creak of the door being pushed open just enough to move through.

Though only your moans filled your ears, muffled whimpers of desire, your own undoing as you pumped your fingers deeper, curling and prodding you flesh, pressure building enough to foracsblt snap, but nothing came of it. You worked at yourself harder, a hand cupping your breast through the thin material, swiping a finger over your swollen clit, but it was of no use.

“Temptation is not weakness, it is restraint.”

Fuck.

Your body jolted, your hands tugged from the waistband over your shorts as you moved to sit up. He stood over the bed, unmoving, the blackness of his pupils studying you all over, and you had never felt so bare. He had seen it all, the man before you, more than he had when his ears pricked up at your moans, standing entirely unaffected, the way his head tilted at you, for longer than you had realised.. longer than you imagined. The writhe of your body, the sheen of flush that marked your body in your desperation.

Your knees knocked together, shuddering at the thought, and you swallowed it down, patting the bed with red hot heat flushing your cheeks. An awkward offer, but the only one you had managed, your throat impossibly dry.

He hesitated for a moment, moving only a single stride before dipping the mattress beside you. There wasn’t any need for explanation, his body rising at least a head over yours as you sat next to one another. You had been this close before, always stepping between each other in hallways, moving about the house in rhythm, but this was different.

You wiped a hand over your face, a low exhale breathing from his nose where he was at your side, hands placed into his lap, over the cotton of his kilt. From that angle you could see how frayed it was, ripped and torn, the scuffed and scarred fingers striking the material gently. A breath sucked from your mouth, closing your eyes before opening them again, to meet his, already looking.

“Did you.. see?” You called out to him, feet dangled from the bed, meeting the floor where his crossed it.

“Yes.”

He left no time to let you down easy, to even dance around the idea, and though the flesh at the back of your neck ran colder, you hadn’t hated the idea. Somehow it eased you more, you weren’t imagining it all, those eyes on you weren’t just in your head. Like you had been told many times before. It was real, he was real, and he did not falter at it. There was no judgement, only honesty, and the flicker in his eyes through the dim light casted into the back of your heads, it told you were both one and the same.

The moonlight shadowed his face, leaving most to your imagination and how you remembered it, the scent of woodsmoke and ash filling your nostrils from the closeness. He almost looked pretty, all long limbs partially comfortable.

“The air has changed, thick now.”

You nodded, and he hummed. Hardly loud enough to even make a sound, the bed dipping once more form the release of his weight. But he didn’t leave, not yet, instead he moved to the floor. A heavy thud of his knees shoved to the wood, hands reaching the sides of the bed, where his fingers move to your shorts. You jutted your hand out, grabbing his wrist as he guided it to between your legs. He held your gaze for a moment, slowing as you did, your fingers not quite tight around his skin.

“Sweetness when her hive is stirred, but there is no nectar, only a bite.” His fingers worked methodically, different to your own, longer, slender, the rough pads of his fingers unhooking at the waistband as he had seen you push through it. He took his time, and paused, waiting, listening.

He did not ask, did not need to, but he gave you enough time yourself. To scream, to shove him off, to pull away, but you did not. It beckoned you. Another one of his metaphors muttered, one you had barely registered before the words trailed off, and you had not found it in you to speak some more.

He had made up his mind, as had you.

The material was peeled away, snaking down your legs and dropped to the floor and the tugging in your belly deepened, overcome much like the thoughts you’d had plagued yourself. And that alone that was his signal, the gentle exhale from your breath, wanting an aching.

His tongue darted out in one steady motion, testing through your folds as he parted your legs. Your body arched at the long stripe he licked up your cunt, broad and teasing without meaning to. A feat for a man who had been left without, it was sloppy and inept, with every heat of passion on his breath huffed into you. Like of a man not only starved but denied, once he may have known such a way, you’d imagined, but for now there was only remembering. And he learned quickly, dragging his tongue into you with a clumsy skill, making no other sound other than the wet pattering at your slit.

“Fuck.. there, that’s it.” You whined, breathing shakily, guiding just as he did the same, his hands shoved tight at your thighs, widening them to keep them open. Wet muscle lapped at you, tasing and devouring, tracing every curve and finding every piece that hit nerves sending you bucking into his face.

Your fingers tangled into the hair of the man before you, like one did at an alter, collecting every drop and savouring it onto his tongue from your already dampened cunt. It was messy and torturous, the unkempt work of a feral starvation, his nose pressed harsh to your clit, nudging as he sucked you down onto his mouth, fingers pressing deep into the flesh of your thighs.

He ushered you through your high, the coil, tightened from days of yearning and an edge you couldn’t quite break from, crashing over you in a wave. He licked at you, searching, like finding a missing piece, the first traces of a meal he had been without for centuries. And most likely had been.

But he remembered the feeling, every lap of sweetness, every suckle sending you the release your hand could not give you. His tongue stayed pressed to you, flicking and swirling over your sensitive bud until you shivered, your head thrown to the covers you had fell back onto. The electric shocks graced through your body, your thighs releasing and draping boneless over the bed as he stood.

Two fingers swiped back through you, sticky and cool as the air whispered back over your bare core. He brought them to your lips, arm stretching over your half naked body as he pushed them into your mouth, your tongue flattening onto his digits, tasting yourself.

“She can taste it.”

Sweet and sinful.

He left then, rising to his feet like a prayer just sealed and nothing more. His eyes followed, the exhale of tense muscle at his chest just visible through the low light. And through it, a sly look of appease, at himself or you, you could not tell.

Both.

And then turned on his heel, making no other move toward you, ducking out of the room simply licking the wetness from his lips as he caught his breath. Boots stomped back along the floor and into the hallway, silent and still, your breath catching in your ears as you eased.

He had taken what he wanted, and you had been given the same. Or perhaps it was that he had found you in such a state and offered to help.

Though you didn’t find it in you to care. You were blissed and sated, a blush creeping your cheeks at the knowledge.

—

Something shifted in the house when she was killed. ‘To the wind’ he had told you, carrying her body in from the street just as dusk had settled. You had been upstairs at the time, clearing some of the clutter she had asked you to help her sort. Old pictures in broken frames, trinkets and silver candlestick holders. Nothing special, all dusted and rust covered, but you paused over them, taking your time. She had promised to help you, and you had waited for her, when she would return from her round of groceries.

That’s when you had heard it.

A round of guns, shots ringing down the street in a cascade, firelights cracking into the night. So much, for Halloween. It was said that the veil between life and death was thinnest then, and it must have been true, because whatever gang or bandit had gone after someone, it had taken her in their place.

No others came by, no police or neighbours, just silence, more than before. This time more unsteady. You had not know entirely how to grieve, but you had felt it, an emptiness inside the walls of the house, and in your chest.

And you weren’t the only one.

The tartan crimson coat she had worn, matted fluff at its collar, he had taken it upon himself to wear. He spoke to himself often, louder after that, reminiscing in sonnets and speeches, mentions of sin and revenge, of when he was a boy and the man that was. And it was the only thing other than your footsteps that had echoed the halls of the house.

And though neither of you spoke of it, you grieved together. The rocking from upstairs continued, your duties did as well, and life resumed in the days that followed, the same itch biting at you as it did before.

Desire.

Burning hot and wanting. The itch not yet scratched, not completely, only heightened. His presence followed you, even when he wasn’t there, eyes that peered through the windows late into the night after he had left, the heavy stomping behind you, his frame placed into the small, rickety chair at the table as you prepared what was left of the food on the stove.

He did not eat, and you hardly did yourself. But his gaze sharpened, and your hands trembled.

——

The lamp flickering down the hall broke you from your thoughts, a finger of whiskey from the cupboard left in the crystal glass in your hand. It was late for it to be on. Usually he would be out, or sitting eerily in the dark. You swirled the liquid in the glass before drinking it down, and smacking it to the table, the burn licking at your throat.

You did your best to stay away, not knowing where to turn, what to do, or what to say. And his presence hardly helped giving you the right signal, though one thing was known. A need.

You moved through the corridor, a warmth settling in your chest, and a wanting in your bones. Your fingers traced the bannister, steadying you through every step, the whiskey warming your stomach, and perhaps prickling your courage. Not that you were scared, only curious.

Gentle ticking, clicking to the floor. A tap, tap, tap creaking the wood came from behind the door and you already saw the image, gripping the oak to allow yourself entry. It pushed from your hands as you stepped into the room, a damp smell filling your nostrils.

He was there. A hand swamped over each arm of the rocking chair, staring into the air, only moving by the slightest dip is his knee. He noticed you before he saw you, counting the familiar steps down the hall until you had reached the door. You felt his eyes on you as you entered, glancing around the room taking in more of it as you realised you hadn’t really been in it before.

It was plain, covers till untouched as you had noted beforehand, a smell bedside table and few paintings hung at the walls. His head turned, face like stone, the golden glow illuminating his rugged features.

He looked more handsome in such a way. He was already, striking features of his pointed nose and strong jaw, the light bringing him perfectly into view as you settled before him, watching through the window. The street was quiet, lights at every house turned off and doors closed, blanketing the area into stillness.

“Why did you come here?” You asked him, eyes distant as you kept looking away, though his remained on you.

“A man walks until someone opens a door. He could ask the same.” He replied, a shrug in his voice though his shoulders did not rise. He continued rocking, less focused on the timing, and more on you.

You huffed a laugh, offering a small smile as you faced him, balancing onto your heel, “Not much different. Running from the same things I suppose from fear.”

“You are less afraid, one would notice.” Your eyes met through the thickness in the air, dust particles floating past your face through the shine of the lamp. He wasn’t wrong, and you weren’t afraid of him, far from it, and he knew it. There was a pull between you, one that even as you had gravitated, had been left unspoken.

“Not for a long time..” You countered.

He said nothing, the shuffle of his feet planting slightly wider. An invitation, with no enticement, only that.

And in your courage, the stillness of the night descending around you, the quiet tone of his voice beckoning you and the silent understanding. You stepped forward, feet padding the floorboards with every balance.

The chair still rocked as you stepped between his knees, fingers tightening just so as he took in your scent. Whiskey, want, sin.

The first crack.

His eyes didn’t leave you, not once, he didn’t even move a muscle, only the gentle rocking from his heels pressed to the floor slowing.

“You’ve decided something..”

“Maybe.” It didn’t need to be said what it is, his face stayed forward, raised by an inch of that to fully see you. Taking you in. As his gaze dropped, cataloguing. The flex of your fingers, the knock of your knees as you edged them closer, the pupils blown.

“You are taking something.” He stated plainly, etched with a ragged lilt.

“Yes..” You croaked shamelessly, though you should have felt it with him seated before you, saying next to nothing but observing. The weight of it stinging across your face as something paused between you. The rocking stopped, the rounded wooden legs of the chair creaking to a halt, the quiet thickening.

He drew heavy breath that almost deterred you, recalculating your moves, until he spoke.

“Then take it.”

He spoke with a certainty. It wasn’t a beg, or a pleading for you to take him, take what you wanted, but it was an allowance, with him at your disposal. The roughness of his voice edged then with something more, a wanting.

The breath sucking through his nostrils as you came closer, crawling up into his lap. Each of your knees planted either side of him, bone braced against the hardened wood of the chairs sides, biting the sensation that crept between your legs. His arms stayed where they were, encasing you both even as you rover above him, head tilted up against the head of the chair. There was time for contemplation, a lot of it. But you did not take it.

Your lips reached his, unhurried but eager, at first without connection, the soft plush of your lips meeting his chapped and aching. You pressed one after another, kissing at his mouth until his began to shift beneath yours. They curved into one another, tearing and swiping tenderly as your hand cupped the side of his face. You thumbed it slightly, rubbing circles, tangling up into the unwashed threads of his bangs. He shuddered at that, your tongue poking against his as he let you lick into his mouth, his tongue exploring back.

Just like his scent, he tasted of ash and smoke, like the embers stoked from a fire, a warmth pressing in between your lips and your thighs. Heat pooled into your core, slowly grinding onto him from there he sat, the tightness of the chair leaving you near no room to move, building every bit of friction through material. The belt buckle of his kilt graced the inners of your thighs, thick rough fabric rubbing on the underside of your cunt through material. your nose bumped his, grinding down onto him.

“Need this..” You mumbled against his lips, the other hand gripping at his shoulder, the heaviness of the coat that clung to his body already fallen away, leaving him just in the tightness of his shirt, long sleeves scratching your sides as you wriggled.

“Yes..”

He called back, surprisingly. It wasn’t a moan or even of the sort, only an agreement, and one you both took gladly.

His fingers traced delicately, working their way between you, sliding the silk of your thin nightgown up toward your stomach, revealing the skin of your navel. And how you had thanked yourself in that moment, less nonsense to tug with, and he had seemingly thanked you for it too, running a sharp finger along your slit, slick coating through the fabric of your underwear.

Another finger hooked at the other side, dragging up your hips, pimpling along your flesh as the fabric was shoved to the side, cool air hitting your cunt. A moan bubbled up from your chest, burning your lungs as he reached you, fingers pressing between your folds. They were cold, shocking your body as he ran them between your folds, collecting your wetness and spreading you wide.

He watched as he did in, taking in the glistening of your heat in his hand, lips just parted. In awe it would look like. But he listened, the hitch of your throat as his thumb moved to your clit, fingers pushing into your hole. He began to pump them, pulling them in and out of you as you arched into his hand, fingers gripping tighter at the barely covered flesh of his shoulders. Your mouth opened, a silent gasp escaping your lips as your eyes closed, nodding gently at the pleasure he was giving you.

It felt good, unbearably so. His fingers curled tightly inside of you, dragging up into your cunt with a wasteless desire?? He thrusted them slowly, inching you closer, drawing you to him into the palm of his hand, your head falling forward just as your lips connected back to his.

Crooked teeth gnashed against yours, fingers toying with your clit as he drew you to your high, juices spilling out of you and down onto the bend of his wrist. He swallowed your moans, tongue and teeth catching you coming undone.

You didn’t beg, you wouldn’t, and you didn’t need to. You had done your fair share over time, thoughts of your previous marriage blurring into a nothingness that was replaced by the man beneath you, and his initiative.

Just as sin worked its loving tendrils around the vulnerable and shamed, words were not necessary. Instead, it would come naturally as all things did.

His hand at your side, the one not carefully pulled from you slipped at the blemished silver buckle at his waist, clinking open in one singular swipe. You held onto him as his knees shoved up, firming you to him as he sunk down into the chair. He looked peaceful, the tension in his back softening just by a touch. Only to be broken with the fervour that he fucked you with.

A hand braced at your hip, not tightly, but enough, snaking its way around your waist. He was hard, the length of him pressed at your entrance as you sunk down onto him, the harsh pull of vein sliding into you. His teeth gritted into a hiss as your mouth parted, eyes squeezed shut at the burning stretch you enveloped him with.

He smoothed into the walls of your cunt, filling you to the brim as you pressed yourself all the way down. Your eyes met finally, chin tilted toward the ceiling as he looked at you, darkened blues finding yours, a glint in them, an unfamiliar one. Like something broken, finding home again. You moved first, moaning at the push of him inside of you, hot and heavy punching deep into you.

The pace you set was rhythmic, chasing and fulfilling with every breath that you took him with. His arm curled tighter at your back, hand pressing just over the curve of your ass, a thumb poking into the dimple, anchoring. Though he did not just observe this time, for once, it was like he was alive, and in this time. His other hands placed over the flesh of your stomach, splaying at the skin where he was inside of you.

Studying.

A heavy hand clasped underneath your thigh, just as he pressed down onto the bulge, a sudden impatience racking his body, hips driving up into you from beneath, pressure from every side pushing onto your heat. He wanted this, even if he didn’t say it, his eyes faltered and fluttered, curses in a language you didn’t recognise falling from lips through your moans. You rocked into eachother, the crack of the chair scraping the floor as you connected, cunt sucking him greedily as the flood at your core pulled at you, eating at your very skin.

“I’m gonna..” You whined, eyes meeting his as your forehead rocked, sliding next to his as your breaths mingled, a heavy rumble vibrating his chest and into yours through silk. “Fuck..” A finger, long and protruding circled over your clit, harsh and fast, the sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the air as the dampened room scented with your sex.

You fell limbless into him, fingers curling at the skin of his neck as you rested, his cock twitching inside of you as he spilled free, neither of you bothering to move.

He did not coddle you, or hold you entirely. The arm circled around you retreating to rest back onto the arm of the chair, but he did not move you. His chest rose and fell against yours, your ear pressed into the wall of him, the steady thrumming, proof he was alive beneath you.

“We are even now.” He recognised. The pair of you taken things both, not that you owed it. There was no debt between either of you, only an understanding. You both took what you wanted.

Your senses fixated through the daze, nodding lowly. You breathed deeply once more, a familiar smell reaching you. Gunpowder, acrid like solvent. He had smelt of it before, the first time you had met him, not long after you had turned up on the same doorstep as he did.

It was a known smell, yes, but this was different. Your senses mixing with a realisation it took you back to. The same stench that had filled your home the night it was revealed your husband had died. Though he had been found in a ditch miles away. Someone had brought that smell into the house The same that was on his skin, clinging to it.

And as you had the closest look of him, chin poking into his collarbone as you looked up, he looked back down at you. It was him.

You didn’t startle, or begin to inch away. There was no fear, in fact the opposite. An understanding as always, and a heat punched into your chest. Leaving you to wonder, just how long he had watched you, followed you, chasing you to the same house you had seeked out for help.

And there in the house of a dead woman, not claimed nor owned, it left the pair of you, running from whatever it was you knew before, the washing away of sins leaving something knew.

A widow weaving her web around the very one sworn to protect it. And he would, as a man should.

it’s almost halloween now, and compared to your home here in the suburbs, all the others were lit up with different decorations of skeletons, pumpkins, witches and more. what cozy homes, you think. your’s only had two pumpkins you carved out of the whim, and it looked dull and pathetic. 

is home now really your home? you wonder sometimes, wondered if moving here was really right. you miss your family, friends, the beach, the laughter, and all things that felt like home. 

and now… 

everyday you come from work with no one to talk to. sure, you made some friends from work, the local coffee shop, neighbors and that. it was childish you felt this way, longing for something that you knew was the expense of getting a better job. 

you tap the ashes of your cigarette on the ash tray.  you lean back against your chair, watching as you see a family come home with smiles on their faces. the wife kisses her husband on the porch, and their kids make fake sounds of disgust, and they all laugh as they go into their warm home. 

i want that. your mind suddenly says, and you take another hit of your cigarette, enjoying the nicotine buzz as you brush that thought away. the cold doesn’t help your sudden blue mood as you finally crush the cigarette out and just sit there… wondering again if you will ever feel the warmth of your home like theirs. 

a man… a man however… 

a man walks through the quiet suburbs with his ear still having that numb sting. blood still sticks to his hair as he looks around the quiet neighborhood. the man is still reeling in his anger about the tiger and roy’s lack of payment for him. he had what was needed, and he expected half to be paid for the injury of his flesh and the lack of information that the tiger had claws that were sharp. and the rabbit, the blasted son, has continued to poke at him thinking he has claws. 

pride is the original sin. 

the rabbit and his father are both filled with it along with countless others. the man can almost taste it on his tongue. the bitterness of countless sins he has eaten, pride has always been the foulest one. lucifer was cast out of heaven for it… and the man sees the same fate for both. 

only… 

humans were always looking for a way to make themselves escape from sin. 

and the man was the one who swallowed it all because there was nothing else to eat. 

the man’s nostril flares, he feels too weak. there’s no home he can go to, for it was across the seas. only, he had no home back there as well. the man stops, the burden on him weighs heavy as he looks at the quiet neighborhood. the man is looking for somewhere to stay for awhile… to lay low and think of what he can do to get his rightful payment. the scent of smoke catches his nose for a moment as he merely stands beneath the street light, pondering. 

you take another cigarette from your almost empty pack, it’s a toxic habit you’ve been trying to cut off, but you always seem to reach for it. putting it between your lips, you’re about to click your lighter open until the most peculiar sight makes you pause. 

the man stares up to the sky, wondering if god is looking down at him with pity. does god care for a sin-eater like him? would He take away the sins the man ate and let him walk free at last? the man has been on this desolate earth for far too long that he doesn’t remember what it feels like to have a body that functions normally. he is a wandering soul trapped in sin, forever forced to roam the land with no other purpose. 

did lucifer felt the same as him when he fell from the heavens? did he as well crave to go back home? 

“h-hiya?” 

the man blinks, hearing a meek voice call for him. 

“are you lost, sir? i couldn’t help but notice you were standing there for so long.” 

the man’s head turned to the woman’s- no… 

a lamb. 

a meek lamb. 

you laugh awkwardly as the strange man stares at you silently. you’re suddenly thinking that this was a dumb idea that you approached him. but he looked lost, and you thought he might have been having a problem for how long he’s been standing there. the strange man, whose face you can now properly see, blue eyes stare at you… questioning. he’s tall, unique haircut, and… blood on the side of his face- 

“are you alright?” you ask, worried, gesturing to his ear. “that looks like a nasty cut. d-do you want to wait out on my porch so i can call someone? maybe your family?” 

the lamb looks at the man like he’s… he doesn’t know what to describe it as he observes your face. the lamb’s brows are furrowed, eyes raking his form, checking if he has any other injuries. the lamb then gives her name, and he remembers it. 

“my house is right there. at least let me look at your wound…” the lamb points to the white house, and he follows your gesture. the lamb then quietly ushers him, and he follows… 

“a-are you from around here?” you ask again, hoping to get some information out of him. “this is a big neighborhood.” you chuckle as you glance back at him. “wouldn’t be the first time someone got lost here, ‘ya know?” 

the man doesn’t answer again, but stands awkwardly on your porch. the lamb gives him a small smile, gesturing to the chair. 

“sit, please, while i look for something to clean your cut. wouldn’t want it to be infected.” the lamb pleads, but the man merely stares at something. and your eyes follow his silent gaze to your… cigarettes. 

oh. 

“d-do you smoke?” the man finally looks at you again. “do you want one? feel free, please.” 

the lamb scurries to grab the pack of malboros, fishing one out, presenting it to him. the man looks at the cigarette then to the lamb, and he takes it. the lamb gestures to her lighter, and the man puts the cigarette between his lips, leaning forward as the lamb lights his cigarette with ease. he inhales, puffing out the first hit before inhaling again, the smoke filling in his lungs and the buzz that comes next makes his shoulders… relax. 

“thank you.” the man finally says, and the lamb looks surprised. the lamb merely smiles, and a tug inside him confuses the man for a moment. the man then waits for the lamb’s next move, always expecting something. 

“you’re welcome. always need a cigarette now and then to calm the nerves. d-do you have someone in mind to call? while i find some bandages and some iodine?” the lamb asks again, and he stares at you. wondering how you’re not scurrying to call the police or that, but you chose to ask him if he had anyone to call to. and offering to clean his bloodied appendage. 

the man is… intrigued. 

the man’s next words solidify the thought brewing in him as he admires the easy and soft look on the lamb’s face. 

kindness was not something he was given to all the time. 

“i live here… now.” 

・゜゜・．

the mysterious man that ended up on your porch was a strange turning point after the mundane week you had. his accent was not from here, that you can tell, it was a mix between something english… and old? you could not explain it. the cut on his ear was indeed nasty, but luckily didn’t need any stitching so you just cleaned it and bandaged it. you try to ask him what happened, but he seemed to tense at that, so you let it go. it was strange, of course, that he said he lived here now. you thought he was just pertaining to staying the night… but no. 

you tried asking him if he had anywhere to go… and the answers he gave were quite cryptic to understand at first. 

“a man is far from home…” he merely says when you let him inside after he finished his cigarette, worried that he’ll freeze since he was just wearing a wool sweater… and a kilt. huh. 

“oh, so you’re not around here, then?” you busy yourself making some hot cocoa for him and yourself. something to warm yourself up and ask again if he has someone to call for. you’re worried he has a family looking for him. he doesn’t answer as you look back at him. 

“i-i’m not really from around here too, ‘ya know?” you can’t help but share with him. you don’t know why. you always liked chattering around with people, part of your job as well. being a clerk in a hospital has its ups and downs, but you always manage to be friendly and kind. you never know when someone needs it is your motto everyday. 

“i grew up in california. and before you ask why minnesota, well it’s because of my job-“ you continue to ramble while the man behind you stands idly by the kitchen counter. touching his bandaged ear from time to time. 

but back to the topic now… 

“l-look, i’m all for helping you, but… uh, don’t you have anyone looking for you? they might be worried.” you tell him the day after when you were spooked the hell out when he appeared by the kitchen as you’re leaving for work. like he just appeared in mid-air. 

“trade.” the man says instead of answering you. “a man offers… trade for the lamb’s home. for refuge for a moment.” 

“trade, you say?” you’re… confused who’s he pertaining to a lamb. and your reaction seems to make the man’s eyes light up. your reaction not being out of fear. 

“yes.” the man says it like he’s happy to know you understand... in some way. 

“w-what kind of trade, then?” 

“a trade will be made, that is certain.” he merely says, and you’re trying to decipher what he meant, really. 

“i…” you don’t know what to say. he’s peculiar, and you’re not sure what his intentions are now, but you don’t really get a bad impression from what he’s offering. “…well, i don’t know your name. and this is a lot of trust you’re asking when i don’t know who you are-“ 

“munch.” 

“monk?” 

“ole munch.” 

“oolah monk?” you repeat again, it sounded so foreign you’re pretty sure it’s scandinavian or norwegian or something. “well, it’s nice to finally know your name, ole.” 

there’s a long stretch of silence when you expect him to say something. but he doesn’t, he just looks at you, waiting for your answer. you awkwardly fix your bag on your shoulder before finally speaking up again. might probably be the strangest morning you ever had. 

“i don’t want to kick you out, it’s freezing out there. and… uhm… i don’t know what problems you’re having. b-but if you say you’re just staying for awhile… well, it’s just me in this house you’ll bother, then… okay?” you again don’t know why you agreed. maybe you’re just too kind. “just promise me you’ll bring no trouble in this home.” 

the man stares at you again, this time his brows furrow for a moment. you don't know whether to leave now for work, considering you’re almost late. 

“you say trouble…” he begins. “trouble follows men long before they arrive.” 

another riddle. 

“that’s supposed to assure me?” you ask, wondering what he meant by that. was he running away from something? or someone?

the man says nothing in return. 

which somehow makes it stranger than before. 

you clear your throat, hyperaware that this situation has become more bizarre than what you expected of letting a stranger- an injured stranger in your home. and you agreed to let him stay despite warning signs that should be clear that he might be in trouble. 

or maybe you’re over-analyzing the situation. 

you don’t know. 

“okay…” you breathe out, looking at your phone out of habit to check the time. “we’ll talk more when i get back from work, okay? i just… well- this is all so bizarre right now. it’s not everyday i willingly let someone in my home.” 

the man stays silent again, and you’re about to leave before remembering you need to feed him after all. 

“oh, i made some pancakes. just heat them up in the microwave, and there’s juice in the fridge.” you point to the plate of fresh pancakes on the kitchen island. the man’s expression shifts for a moment, lightened by the mere word of ‘pancakes.’ that you just offered freely. the man nods, and you leave, feeling a little out of place for a moment. 

・゜゜・．

you never knew a weirder week in your life than what has been happening now. the man in your home was like a phantom, a tall and ominous phantom, always appearing from time to time, yet you never felt his presence completely. you had talked to him again about his ‘stay’ in your house. you mostly spewed out that he can use your guest room for the time being, and he mostly stayed silent like always. merely watching your every move with that stoic face he always puts on. 

you’re pretty sure you’ve gone mad that you’re housing a man with little to no information about him at all other than his name. 

sometimes, you’ll find him in his room, just sitting on his bed while he smokes your cigarettes. you had kindly asked him to open the window, at least, and you don’t know if he heard you or not. other times he’d appear when you’re in the kitchen, making breakfast, and he seems to show up when you’re making pancakes. 

other times… you’re kind of worried he doesn’t eat at all other than pancakes you make. 

he keeps his distance, you’ll give him that, but sometimes you’d check up on him from time to time. and he seems to disappear and you’re left wondering if you heard him go out the door. but when he’s looming behind you, you can’t help but speak about your day. 

it was refreshing… a nice change that you got someone to talk to after work. no matter how weird the situation was.

“… you know, i can’t believe someone would willingly shove something in their butt! it was so bizarre, and the poor man’s face was so red that he had to lay flat on his stomach while they wheeled him in.” you rambled as you flicked through the channels. the man sits on the other end, looking at your television as you continue to rant about your day. 

“it certainly made my day. it was a slow shift before he came in. i thought he was just complaining about a stomach ache. but martha always says that the most normal looking person always has the freakiest kinks.” you settle on the game show that you always binged on then you turn to him. “do you think so?” 

the man looks at you, and he seems to think about it which makes you let out an awkward laugh. 

“who am to say, really? we all got some weird kink still hidden inside us.” you shrug as you lean back on your couch. “i’m starving. you want some pizza? i can order.” 

it’s absurd how you talk to him like he’s been living here for a long time. like he’s your friend. the man doesn’t answer you, but watches the game show, looking curiously. 

“i’ll take that as a yes, then.” you mumble before grabbing your phone. you glance at him, watching him for a second, they way the tv screen shined on his eyes, your gaze trails to his side profile. the bandage you put on him is still there. 

and he’s still wearing his long sleeves and kilt, you had offered him some clothes he can wear. you think the clothes you gave him might be too snug on him. he’s a large man… and you make a note to buy some men’s clothing once you go grocery shopping. 

“is pepperoni okay?” you habitually ask, and you really don’t mind that he doesn’t respond.

the man merely stares at the contestant winning a prize for spinning the big gigantic wheel of colors. it was so peculiar to him, how luck seemed to be the key factor for the people playing the game to drive their hopes. but it was all planned, wasn’t it? it doesn’t take long for him to notice the disparities in how this ‘game’ works. only one was destined to win it, and yet the others didn't. the way their faces crumbled, they way the man hosting it only offers them a pat on the shoulder and lets them leave with fake sincerity. 

like a humiliation ritual it was. 

but it seems everyone likes to watch it. 

“oh wow, she won that fancy new car and the cash prize.” the lamb says, looking awed. “wish i had that car, it’s got that fancy touchscreen thingy.”

the man turns to the lamb slowly. 

the lamb looks at the glowing box, mesmerized by the mere fact someone had won something the lamb wanted. it’s peculiar to him, how the lamb feels joy for this- for someone. the man does not understand where the lamb’s unrelenting kindness comes from. he does not understand how freely the lamb let him. but what he does understand now is how the lamb has been living in this home all by herself. maybe that was why. 

humans are social creatures by nature. 

and he does not understand why the lamb lives alone. and to move here where family is far away. to work, to make a wage, to survive in this world that’s plagued with men’s greediness that meager people are forced to endure the hardship of living. even if it meant to be away from where home really is, the lamb had the courage to move away to live. 

where was the lamb’s anger? he thinks. to live in an unfair world while still being kind was always a confusing concept to him. yet the lamb still takes joy, like at this moment, seeing someone win something the lamb could have. in his years of living and seeing so many people come across his path, a lamb was new to him. not a pathetic rabbit, a fierce tiger, a corrupt king… but a lamb. 

the lamb of god was a title meant to take away the sins of the world. always uttered in prayers before he would consume the sins of the deceased. but wasn’t he the one who took them away rather than the lamb of god? he would often ponder about it once he had his fill. 

but his lamb, his lamb- 

despite sin, you were kind. he thinks. 

had there ever been someone truly sinless? 

“pizza’s on its way now.” the lamb interrupts his thoughts. “shouldn’t take too long now.” the lamb smiles at him before standing up. “wanna smoke?” 

he stares at the lamb, wondering if you’ll forgive him for the trouble he might bring in the following days. he stands up, and the lamb goes out, and he follows. 

・゜゜・．

there was always something weird going around in minnesota from time to time. maybe it was the long freezing winters or the isolating woods. maybe you were not used to it yet, maybe that was why you felt like something weird was always something happening to you. first time something weird happened was when you were freshly new in your neighborhood and minnesota itself. you were driving along the dark highway, headlights bright, and suddenly a flash of bright light erupted in the night sky. you guessed it might have been a meteor or something. yet the brightness of that flash was like someone had a gigantic flashlight. 

but oh well… 

you’re having even weirder instances that seem to be becoming normal now. 

like your routine you have with the man- ole, in your home. 

most of the time he still kept to himself in his room, others, you would find him in moments you expected to be alone. like when you come back from grocery shopping, you were used to hauling your heavy grocery bags by yourself, of course, but somehow he’d always appear right at the front door making you jump in surprise. you swear you might get a heart condition from how he’s been spooking you with his presence. but he’ll help you with the groceries silently, and you let him. 

it was nice that you got someone to help you with simple tasks that were difficult before you had no company. felt like what you’re doing finally meant a little bit more, now you had someone else other than yourself in your lonely home. that leaky pipe you’ve been meaning to call a plumber? suddenly fixed. your washer’s fan that’s been squeaking non-stop? fixed as well. 

it’s like he fits himself perfectly in your lonely abode. 

your shared smoke breaks were something that became the ones you look forward to after a chaotic shift back at the hospital. the emergency room was chaotic most of the time, and he’s a great listener when you’re ranting (by great listener, he just sits there and stares at you while you rant away.) 

sometimes you wonder if he listens at all. 

“and then she had the audacity to tell me i filed the paperwork wrong.” you tell him, flicking ash from your cigarette on the tray. “it’s her paperwork! i’m already doing the ones she missed.” 

the man beside you exhales his smoke out to the open. you take another inhale, the bitter taste spreading across your tongue, further making you upset about your lazy co-worker. 

silence was your only response as you exhaled out. snow flakes drift lazily across the neighborhood. 

“the woman with blonde hair.” 

you blink. “what?” 

“suzy.” 

the man merely looks ahead, as if there’s something he’s been spying out in the distance. 

“she complains much.” 

you look at him, surprised. “i told you her name weeks ago.” 

“a man remembers.” 

the man takes another hit of his cigarette as you force yourself not to smile. for some reason, that warms you more than a cigarette ever could. 

it was silly… you tell yourself now. 

and very strange. you had to remind yourself he got into your house in the weirdest way. but the comfort he brings changed the way you look at him. and you admit to yourself that he’s not a stranger anymore… more like… maybe a companion? you sometimes look at him, wondering how he came about. other times, you don’t notice you stare at his face. 

he’s handsome… a sort of rugged look he has with his hair and his whole attire. when he sometimes stands close to you, there’s a flicker of something you haven’t felt in such a long time. 

yet here he was. 

and here you. 

he had become apart of your routine. not the bleeding stranger that stood alone in the cold streets. looking ominous and intimidating. when you’re making coffee, you bring out two mugs. your pancakes that you can’t finish, he eats them with joy. he’s the second pair of footsteps, although quiet, that moves in your quiet home other than yours. he’s that quiet presence that spooks you when you’re in the kitchen. he hovers behind, looking over your shoulder while you cook. and he willingly sits and smokes with you on your porch, and you’re not met with the lonely cold night of minnesota as your companion. 

a companion. 

the thought makes your stomach flutter strangely. 

oh, it’s so silly! you think to yourself as you prepare dinner in your kitchen. you chop the potatoes, setting them aside as you move to your oven to check the roasted chicken. pretending that the sudden warmth across your cheeks comes from it. 

ridiculous. 

you’re ridiculous. 

and the thought of him leaving… settling his ‘debt’ with you makes you feel all gloomy all of the sudden. 

right, temporary. 

this whole thing is temporary. and maybe tomorrow or you hope at least next week, he’ll be gone with a cryptic answer for what he’ll supposedly give you in return. you’re a little bit on edge now, having not heard him move in the house or announce himself behind your back. you chalk it up that he must be in his room. 

“chicken’s almost done!” you yell out, but it feels like you’re shouting at nothing. you don’t usually eat with him most of the time, but you wanted to do something more than what you were cooking for yourself. maybe you can invite him for dinner rather than leaving out food for him that you’re half-sure if he ever eats it other than pancakes. you busy yourself with sautéing the potatoes with garlic and olive oil. 

the chicken is ready by the time you transfer the seared garlic potatoes on a fancy plate. the dining table is already set up and you can’t help but check on him, wondering where he is. 

as you step away from the kitchen, your slippers step on something… wet? 

you glance down, eyes widening, shocked to see you stepped on mud… mud? you tense up, seeing the mud as you follow its track to the hallway. the atmosphere turned heavy, you tense up, the dimness of your home doesn’t make it better as you grab whatever object near you as a makeshift weapon. afraid that someone else broke in, and your intimidating companion was nowhere to be found. which makes matters worse. the only defense class you took was back in 6th grade when you took wrestling as your P.E class for some reason. and that was years ago. 

you slowly follow the muddy footsteps, and it leads you to your staircase. you gulp, gripping the empty paper towel holder as you take a deep breath before having the courage to go up. your phone is upstairs in your bedroom, and you can’t call 911 without it. every step you take as the darkness grows each climb makes your hands shake. you cannot believe there’s an intruder in your home, and you’re pretty sure you locked everything. and the front door was closed, and you didn’t hear any footsteps as well. maybe the window? you think. but impossible. 

the muddy footsteps stop at the bathroom. the door was ajar, light was peaking through, and you brace yourself to open it. the door creaks open and a muddy hand suddenly opens it wide. you yell as you’re about to swing, only for a harsh grip on your wrist to stop your assault. you finally can see the intruder, and all nervousness seem to disperse. 

the man- ole, yes, your ole… stands before you covered in mud from head to toe… naked? no, not naked, but in underwear, thank god. the stench of earth and a metallic scent envelops your nose, making you wince but you don’t care about that now. all you care about is what the hell happened to him. 

“oh my god, it’s just you! w-what happened? are you alright?” you blabbered, dropping the towel rack as you cup his muddied face. 

the man… stands still as the lamb’s hands cup his face so gently. he flinches for a moment as he feels your fingers shakily wipe the mud off under his eyes. 

“god…” he mumbles, yet his other words are interrupted by the lamb.

“i-is that blood on your arms? are you hurt?” the lamb’s hands drop, and he almost chases the warmth of the lamb’s palms. palms that were gentle and soft, not calloused and harsh palms that forced him to his knees and maul his face while he begged for coin and food. but palms that hold… care. 

“oh god, you’re hurt! you’re bleeding…” the lamb panics as he stands still, his head swimming a bit. it has been awhile since he had done that ritual. to connect with the earth and take on the sins he ate, and gather strength for the vengeance he will have against that blasted family. he lets the lamb fuss over him, the soft hushed whisper of the lamb’s words makes him forget about the burden of his acts. just only the lamb’s hands filled with comfort makes him feel sinless again. 

“lamb…” he utters, and the lamb pulls him back into the bathroom. 

you’re distressed. you push him into the bath, turning the shower on really quickly. making sure the temperature is warm as you see him sit down in the tub. the cuts on his arm looked self-inflected, and you don’t have the darndest clue of what the hell he just did to himself. it scares you, and it seems he notices your distraught as his brows furrow and he frowns. 

“yeah?” you hear him utter that nickname he gave to you. 

“a lamb takes away the sins of the world.” he mumbles as you grab a washcloth, soaking it in the faucet. “a lamb of god…” he continues to ramble on while you grab the first aid kit in the drawer. “lamb…” 

“don’t soak your arms in the tub please. let me clean and bandage them first.” you shakily say, too focused to entertain his rambling. the bathwater turned murky and brown when you kneeled beside him, gesturing for his arms. 

“what did you do to yourself?” you don’t notice the tears swelling in your eyes. the lacerations on his arms were huge, and you thought for the worse. “you can tell me everything, ‘ya know? you’re not… y-you’re not a stranger anymore, you can tell me what’s happening. d-did someone make you do this?” 

he looks at the lamb. 

fear written all over the lamb’s face. poor lamb. not fear of him, but fearing for him. the distinction settles strangely in him as he feels the lamb wipe his wounds. he ignores the stinging pain. 

for centuries fear has been his only source of drive for survival. fear had worn many faces for him.

fear of starvation. 

fear of pain. 

fear of death. 

the lamb’s were not this. 

“no.” he quietly says. 

“no?” the lamb breathes out, shakily wiping the mud and blood off his flesh. 

“it is the man’s burden.” the lamb looks at him confused, but carefully wipes his arms again. 

“ole…” his name on the lamb’s tongue sounds like warm pancakes. “that’s not reassuring.” 

the man watches the lamb’s brows knit. watches tears gathering in your eyes, and something inside him twists unpleasantly. 

the lamb should not weep over a man such as him. 

“the burden belongs to the man alone, lamb.” 

“that’s stupid.” the lamb’s response is immediate. no hesitation. the man blinks at that. 

“i… the man does not understand.” he asks weakly. 

“that’s stupid.” the lamb repeats, done with wiping his arms as the lamb pulls out an ointment of some kind. gently dabbing it on a cotton pad and presses against his mauled skin. the coldness of it makes him flinch, the lamb notices it immediately. “s-sorry.”

“nobody should bear it alone.” the lamb quietly tells him. “you don’t have to tell me everything.” another wipe, but the lamb’s words were the ones that make him freeze. “but you don’t have to sit here hurting by yourself either.” 

silence follows. only the sound of water slightly splashing and the lamb’s breathing fills the bathroom. 

warm… 

scent of the antiseptic. 

remnants of the mud and blood are already faint. 

the lamb is kneeling beside him, focused on tending to him. 

the man cannot remember when someone tend to him with this much care. he does not even remember his own mother’s nurturing embrace… 

his gaze lowers to the lamb’s hands. small hands compared to his, but steady despite the lamb’s worry and fear. hands that patch his wounds. who offered shelter, food, comfort, kindness… without naming a price. the lamb did not name a price for him, and yet he could not function properly if he did not make a trade with the lamb. 

“lamb…” the man says, and you glance up. for a moment, neither of you speak. 

“when munch was a boy…” he begins. “freedom was a potato.” 

your eyes widened, as if what he said just made you feel relieved. you don’t say anything, letting him speak. 

“was you did not get killed today… freedom from hunger… from the rusty blade.” he stares into the distance as you gently wrap his arm with a clean gauze. “but to free himself- the man ate.” 

your breath hitches for a moment. 

“first… so others could not. he killed before he was killed. he wanted nothing more because only… kings… had the freedom to want.” there’s a bitterness in his tone that intrigues you. “but now… everywhere you look, you’ll see kings… everything they want, they call their own, and if they cannot have it, they say they are not free.” 

his tone turns into something akin to anger. roy tillman and his son’s face flashes through the man’s mind.

“they even pretend freedom should be free, that it has no cost.” he breathes out. “but the cost is always… death.” that settles something in you, something uncomfortable. “life for life… me…” 

he slowly turns to look at the lamb. 

“or you…” the lamb does not notice the tear running down the lamb’s cheek. his bandaged arm slowly lifts up, reaching to cup the lamb’s cheek as his thumb swipes the stray tear hesitantly. the lamb leans into his touch and breathes out a sigh. his chest feels heavy all of the sudden. 

“whoever… whoever made you hurt yourself, i don’t know if that’s why you’re here… but i’m glad you told me this even if…” you let out a small laugh, feeling ridiculous that you can’t process his cryptic words. “even if i don’t understand it all yet.” 

the man’s hand falls back to his lap. 

“i made roasted chicken by the way… and garlic potatoes. d-do you want that after you clean yourself up?” the man looks at you, the tension on him disappears for a moment. “do you want anything else?” 

his eyes light up for a moment and he suddenly stands up. your cheeks turn warm as you look to the floor, and immediately rise to his height as you grab a towel for him. 

the man almost smiles. “pancakes.” 

・゜゜・．

the day after was a blur. 

you had the day off, and he quietly asked you if he could borrow your car over breakfast. although it sounded more of a command rather than a question. but he had the decency to ask, and you agreed. before he could leave, you noticed he didn’t have a thick enough coat, and the snow outside was heavier than yesterday. you did not want him to freeze as you stopped him. 

“take the coat, please? it’s shit-freezing outside. i don’t want you getting hypothermia.” you say to him as you shove the old grandma coat you had that’s been hanging on your coat rack since forever. he glances down at the coat then to you. 

“thank you.” he says, grabbing it and putting it on. you smile at him before you watch him walk away. wondering where he’s going. 

yet you did not expect what he brought after that. 

you were sitting in the kitchen when all of the sudden, he appears out of thin air again, making you yelp. 

“you scared me.” you say, and he suddenly drops a bag on the table. “what’s this-“

“trade.” he merely says, gesturing to the bag. “for you, lamb.” 

you blink, and you guess he wants you to open it how hard his gaze is as he tracks your every move. you hesitantly open it, and you swear your eyes were going to bulge out when you finally saw the contents in it. 

“where did you get this?” you ask, bewildered. the amount of cash in here look like it summed to at least a hundred thousand or something. “ole, no, no, no- listen, i can’t accept this-“ 

“a trade has been agreed upon.” he reminds you, and you shake your head. 

“i’m not really struggling with money, and i don’t know what to do with this- okay, wait, where the hell did you get this cash?“ you push the bag towards him, and he frowns… more confused with your reaction. 

“the man’s debt has been repaid. it is… done. a man has no use for half of it…” he tells you, and you’re more bewildered saying that’s half of what he’s giving to you! you sigh, standing up as you walk towards him. 

“i don’t feel comfortable accepting it. you’re kind that you thought about this, thank you for that. but ‘ya know… all this-“ you gesture to him and you. “all this doesn’t have to be repaid.” 

his brows furrow. “the lamb offers a man a warm home and food for his burden. a debt is expected… it is required.”

“not all good things… well… uhm, not all good things have to be given something in return.” you tell him gently. “i offered you my home because you needed it, right? you did not bring trouble here, and i think that’s enough for what you can give me in return. and you already paid it.”

“the lamb desires for more… you say you desire for a better vehicle. this is enough for the lamb’s want.” he presses on, and you huff out a laugh. it surprises you how much he remembers, which makes you feel all warm. 

“i do… yeah, i do want more. but sometimes you have to work the hard way to get it. it is nice to be able to get in the easier way but… what’s life without the hardship of living?” you shrug, feeling ridiculous about your own ethics. the man stays silent, almost upset but very confused still. 

“hey…” you reach to grasp his hand. “thank you for this. this was very thoughtful of you.” 

you’re so close to him that you can feel his breath fan across your face. he looks at you, features slowly softening as you can’t help but lean up and press a chaste kiss on his cheek. when you lean back, you can see the pupil of his eyes widen, and he looks away… sheepishly. 

“a gift then… for you, lamb.” he mutters. you giggle loudly, amused he still wants you to have the money. 

“don’t.” you warn him teasingly. “i don’t know where you got this, but i’m not gonna ask again. it’s yours.” 

he looks at the money then to you. 

he still can’t understand you. 

but it feels nice… a nice change for once. 

“you’re leaving, then?” you suddenly ask, and the man doesn’t answer for a moment. you frown, feeling a little disappointed. “if you’re leaving… please tell me, don’t disappear.” 

“the man will not.” he tells you with no hesitation. you wonder if it’s him leaving or telling you he’ll give a word before he leaves. you give him a tight smile, nodding. 

“the man’s debt is paid… yes… but it is not over, yet.” he confesses. “no trouble to be brought into this home, you say… there will be trouble, but it will be taken care of.” 

“i…okay.” you breathe out, wondering what the hell was that supposed to mean. “but you’ll be alright, right?” 

“the man will not disappoint the lamb.” he reaches to touch your cheek again, as if he’s remembering your face as you glance at his lips while his thumb gently caresses the apple of your cheek. so he is leaving, you think. you don’t want to picture what your home will feel like again when he leaves. not when he’s looking at you like this. gentle and soft.

you like him so much. you confess to yourself, and you don’t want to make things awkward if you tell him so. you’re not even sure if he feels the same way. 

“okay…” you pull away from his touch, and the man falls silent, letting you walk away. he senses your disappointment, but he cannot bring himself to soothe you. he does not know how. 

he watches the lamb leave, and he broods alone in the kitchen. 

・゜゜・．

you smoke more than what you consume tonight. there’s a noticeable shift, and you don’t know if he senses that, and ignores it as he stays in his room. you blow the smoke away, even the nicotine doesn’t lighten your mood as you think about him leaving. you feel so pathetic that you don’t want him to leave. you know he has his own life… no matter how strange you view it. but he became someone that mattered to you despite knowing him for almost a month. 

it would be selfish of you to load what you felt for him when he’s dealing with something. and it irks you that you want to know more. but he’s good at putting up a wall when it comes to that. you take another hit of your cigarette before putting it out on the ashtray. a sudden sound causes you to look up, and you see a man looking over your car suspiciously. as if trying to find something in it.

“hey!” you yell out, and the man quickly turns to look at you. the young man is dressed in a vest, hair slicked back, and wearing a cast on his arm. he looks mildly surprised when he sees you. “that’s my car. what the fuck are you doing?” 

“just checking something, lady.” he says, and you grab your phone.

“leave, please. or i’m calling 911.” you threatened, staying still where you are, but ready to bolt inside if the young man tries anything. the man’s gaze shifts to you, he squints, seeming to turn his attention towards you now. 

“that won’t be necessary, lady.” he says, slowly walking over before stopping to take a good look at you. “is he in there?” 

“what?” 

“i asked, is he in your fucking house?” he says, and your mind clicks. dread fills your mind as you grip your phone tighter in your hand. 

“i don’t know what the hell you want, sir. i live alone.” you inch closer to your front door. the young man scoffs, and suddenly bolts towards you making you scramble to get in. 

“help!” you yell out when he manages to grip your wrist as he pulls you both in your home. 

“shut the fuck up.” he clasps his gloved hand above your mouth while he clumsily kicks your door shut, tackling you to the ground. you let out a noise of pain as he holds you down. “just tell me where he is, i know you have him in your house so don’t try to play dumb with me, bitch- ow!” 

you manage to bite hard on his hand as you run up the stairs. the man follows as you run up the steps, sprinting to the hallway through dark until you trip. your head hitting the wooden floor loudly, making you wince and moan out in pain. 

“fucking bitch-“ you hear the intruder say as you look back to see him glaring at you. you scramble to stand up until your eyes widened seeing ole appear out of the corner, holding a baseball bat that you had and swinging it towards the intruder’s head. you gasp, seeing the young man’s body fall to the ground with a thud. you shakily stand up, and ole kicks the intruder’s body for a good second as he finally diverts his attention to you. 

“who’s that?” you manage to ask despite being out of breath. “he…he was asking about you- i-i-“ 

he takes a step towards you, and you let him. 

“…you were not supposed to see him.” he finally says, and you blink dumbly. 

“…i should call the cops.” 

“no.” 

“no?” you look at him, bewildered. “please tell me what’s going on! i’m so confused-“ 

the man touches the side of your head. a bruise has formed on the side of your face, and you wince in pain. 

“the man will take care of it.” he merely says. “all will be gone, lamb.” 

“you say that…” you sigh. “please… stop saying that.” 

you don’t want to look at the unconscious body laying in your home. you swat away his hand as you walk past him to get to your room. the man follows, looking sorry. 

“it is almost finished. the man’s trouble will be resolved-“ 

“stop saying that!” you plead. “you’re leaving, i get it. i’m… i’m just so confused.” you sit on your bed as he stands in front of you. “you don’t have to leave just yet… if someone else is trying to find you, you’re safer here-“ 

“no.” he immediately says. “a man has failed to protect you, he will not let anything else happen. this was a mistake. a man will not burden you longer, he will leave tonight-“ 

“what if i don’t want you to leave?” you ask brokenly. taking the courage to look at him. the man’s expression shifts. 

“i don’t want you to leave.” you whisper, standing up. inching closer to him. “stay here. you can solve whatever shit you’re dealing with… but come back here. back to me.” 

he stays silent for a moment. 

“a man does not deserve a lamb…” he mutters, taking in your face as his gaze roams around to your eyes then to your lips. 

“you don’t get to decide for me.” you tell him and you had enough of this. you hesitately tiptoed up, cupping his face as you press your lips to his. he stiffens, his hands flying to grasp your waist. the softness of your lips, warm and enticing, reels him in. you feel him hesitating to kiss you back, but sigh softly when you feel his lips move against yours. your hands drop down to paw at his chest. your heart beats so loudly, you're scared that he can hear it. 

“lamb…” he says between kisses, mind foggy with want. want that was suppressed because he did not see himself deserving of this. but you- his lamb says otherwise. 

“just for tonight…” you plead, pulling away as his forehead presses against yours. your eyelashes are almost touching with his. “don’t go yet.” 

he does not have the heart to say no. 

because he does not want to leave as well. 

“yes.” he shakily says, and you smile. you kiss him again, this time with more heat and want. something you’ve been waiting for all let loose. you lick the seam of his lower lip, enticing him to open up as you taste him. he makes a noise, the taste of you ripe on his tongue. 

no sin or delicacy tasted as sweet and pure as you. 

you let out little moans as you clumsily kiss him, not caring if it was messy. you’re enveloped in his warmth, the heavy feel of him makes you swimming with want. he towers over you, and slowly pull him closer. wanting to feel his chest against yours. you suddenly pull back abruptly from the kiss, making him chase after. his gaze looks so hazy and beautiful, you can’t help but press kisses along his cheeks. 

“i want to… i want you.” you whispered, hands caressing his chest. “w-we don’t have to do anything yet-“ 

“a man wants too much.” he whispers hoarsely. “the man is in the lamb’s hands now.” 

his hands squeeze gently around your waist. your eyes darken as you take a step back, gripping the hem of your shirt to shrug it off. 

“take off your clothes, then.” you say sweetly. the man shudders, seeing you strip for him as he watches you peel off your outer clothing. he obeys, shrugging off his long sleeves and kilt, and everything else. when he’s done, his cock twitches at the sight of you bare. you giggle when you see his eyes wandering, and you can’t help but entice him further. gaze dropping down to his crotch, and you mouth waters seeing the sheer size of it. your hand teases your breast, and the other boldly touching yourself in front of him. 

you tease your clit with a slow rub. “touch yourself… go on. want you to watch me.” 

he almost whimpers as he shakily grips himself. your gaze rakes his bare body, admiring the way freckles adorn his arms and chest. he’s fairly built, muscles contracting as he grips his cock that’s leaking. his hand slowly moves up and down, in tandem with yours. you let out tiny noises of pleasure, rolling your nipples between your fingers as you rub yourself while you watch him jerk off. 

“does it feel good?” you ask in a hush whisper. he nods, twisting his hand up and down, squeezing himself as his gaze stays down at your hand rubbing your sweet little cunt. wondering what you’ll feel and taste like as he sees it glistening just for him.

“lamb…” he whispers, pleading. his cock jerks up when you moan loudly. “i…i want, ugh-“ 

“you want what?” you ask breathlessly. you’re so wet, that you think you’ll slip in just as easily on his cock. 

“a man wants whatever the lamb o-offers-“ he gasps out when you suddenly touch his swollen and red tip. your soft hands that cared for him, wrapping warmly around his cock as you press kisses on his skin. you push him to bed, grabbing a condom in your drawer as you stand between his legs. for a big man like him, he sure does look small as you tower over him. his cock stands proud and tall, leaking precum just for you. you tear the foil open, then look into his eyes again. 

“…do you still want this?” you ask, wanting to make sure he’s comfortable. 

“yes.” he nods furiously. hands reaching to touch grasp your thighs, softly caressing them. you roll the condom on his cock, and wet your lips as you straddle him. he guides you, seeming unsure what to do but you smile softly at him. 

“i really like you, ‘ya know?” you tell him. grasping him again as you rub the tip of cock across your glistening folds. “don’t want you to leave me…” 

“to want… me?” he whispered, as if you said something so strange. 

“yes…” you whine out as you continue to rub your pussy on him. “i want you. just didn’t want to bother you… or if you don’t want me.” 

“i want you.” he strongly says despite the overwhelming pleasure he’s feeling. he has not known this touch for such a long time. “lamb…” 

you let out a loud whine as you slowly sink down on his cock. he grips your hips, gently guiding you down. you let out another moan when you hear your juices squelching as your pussy stretches out to welcome him. 

“oh, fuck-“ you whimper as you finally take him all in. you feel so full, so full of him. you begin to move your hips, grinding slowly against him. the loud squelching noises make it so obscene as you ride him. you pinch your nipples, looking into his eyes. those eyes looking up at you that were once so intimidating. the man sits up, and shakily kisses your delicate flesh. you grip his shoulders, letting him explore. 

he kisses your neck down to your collarbone, whispering jumbled words as he sucks one of your breasts in his hot mouth. he groans, as you grind down harder. his hips jerk up, adding to the friction as you let out another whine. 

“you feel so good, baby.” you tell him, kissing the side of his face. “feels so full.” 

he kneads your other breast, while the other hand grips your waist to keep you steady as he starts to thrust up in you. you hug his broad shoulders, feeling a little dizzy as you bounce on him faster. you feel the hand on your hip slowly dive down to rub your clit clumsily. 

“my lamb-“ he whispers against your chest. 

“oh, oh- right there- please, pleasepleasplease-“ you cry out as his thrusts started to become erratic and quick. your nails dig into his back, his cock massaging your tight walls so good. so big, so fucking wet. 

“yes… yes.” he rubs your clit faster, feeling your walls clench around him so tightly. he knows you’re almost close the way you’re begging for him to make you cum. he’s almost there as well, the way you’re clenching around him makes him thrust up faster. 

“oh f-fuck, yesyesyes-“ you blabbered, feeling your high near. the sound of skin slapping and your combined juices squelching fills the room as you feel yourself let go. he hits that spot inside you, and you cum so hard as you cry out his name. 

“sweet, sweet lamb-“ he kisses your cheek as he sloppily thrusts up to follow after your high. he lets out a tiny whine as he grips your hips, grinding down on him as you let out a whimper. his hips buck up, finally shooting his load inside the condom as his head rests against your shoulder. the two of you are out of breath as you caress his back, soothing him through his orgasm. his cock slips out, and you whine at the loss of him. 

you gently lean back to kiss him. he kisses you back, more softly this time as you smile against his lips. the two of you collapse on the bed as you settle against his bare chest. his bangs are sticking on his forehead, hair all messy, making you grin at his state. he looks so in peace as he holds you in his arms. 

“you good?” you ask him, voice a little hoarse. 

the man glances down to his lamb. he softly caresses his lamb’s back, feeling complete. 

“thank you.” he says gently. you giggle, seeing him so fucked out because of your doing makes you feel all fluttery. and your heart skips a beat, remembering he wanted you just as much as you do. before you could even kiss him again, you remember about the unconscious intruder laying right outside your room. 

“about the man knocked out in the hallway…” 

“the rabbit will be fine.” 

・゜゜・．