#peachmelty

each one of them echoing with the sounds of boys talking through the stalls, arguing, or pissing for 5 minutes at a time. like, seriously, it takes a guy that long to pee?

eddie huffs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and scans the hallway. he has a thought — despite high school girls' proclivities to linger in and outside of bathrooms together doing god knows what, the girls' bathroom by the female locker rooms has usually emptied by this time ; no normal teenage girl wanted to spend any prolonged amount of time sweaty and gross by the gymnasium. no, they definitely wanted to get the hell out of there so they could go back to gossiping or snogging their boyfriends in the hall.

quickly, practically skipping over that way before his bladder has a chance to explode, eddie hovers by the doorway, listening.

nothing. not even the squeak of a shoe.

❝ two seconds, ❞ he mutters to himself. ❝ get in, get out, don’t get suspended. ❞

he steps forward —

— and realizes the angle of the bathroom entrance gives him a clear view straight into the girls’ locker room.

who the hell designed this shit?

he freezes.

because someone is there.

he really doesn't mean to look. truly. he stops because he doesn't want to get caught trying to get into the girls' room, not because he's a creep.

but you . . . god, he'll blame you for this until the day he dies.

you're just pulling your pink t-shirt on, your plain white PE shirt discarded on the bench beside you. your arms are raised, hair falling over your shoulders in soft waves. and below the hem of that shirt . . . well, any self-respecting man wouldn't have been able to look away from you. and eddie munson certainly would not have described himself as ❛ self-respecting. ❜ his dark gaze hits soft, lacy pink panties — dainty white trim, pink satin bows, something so delicate and pretty they don’t even look real in the fluorescent lighting of the dingy locker room.

eddie’s brain short-circuits and he finds himself unable to move.

his lips actually part.

his heart jumps so hard against his ribcage that it startles him.

his cock strains immediately against the front of his jeans.

god hates him personally, he's sure of that.

and every fantasy he’s shoved down all year — the ones about you, about the popular girl with the smile much too pretty for him — flashes like lightning behind his eyes.

he doesn’t mean to make the sound he makes.

but something slips out anyway — a tiny, breathless little exhale, almost a whimper, definitely a sigh — the kind that only happens when your nervous system completely abandons all dignity.

and you hear it.

you turn.

slowly.

eyes wide.

expression shifting from bored to startled to something sharp and then, offended.

eddie’s stomach drops straight through the floor.

you caught him.

you caught him staring.

at you. half-naked.

and it looks like his worst nightmare. it looks exactly like he’s been standing there purposely to watch you getting dressed.

his face blanches. you've never seen anyone so white before.

❝ shit. hey. ❞ he stumbles back a step, hands up, panic rising. ❝ i — i wasn’t — i mean, i didn’t— ❞

he may have been able to mutter some excuse and just back up and leave, but.

his hard on is what kills him.

because your gaze is sinking lower and lower, your eyes widening.

the fact that you can tell how turned on he is only serves to ratchet his arousal even higher. the penis is a traitorous thing, if it's anything at all.

you quickly snatch up your PE shirt from the bench and use it to hide your lower half. not that there's any point — he's already seen everything there is to see. ❝ pervert! ❞ you accuse. your voice cracks on the last syllable, like you're not sure whether to throw something or hide your face in your hands.

only then does it occur to eddie to look away.

he turns his face away, covering his eyes with the palm of his hand for good measure. but the sight of you is well and truly seared onto his eyelids. ❝ no! i swear, i — i'm not. i was just coming to see if the bathroom was free. everyone's hogging the fucking stalls in the boys' room. i swear to god! ❞

there's a very pregnant pause, like third trimester pregnant, in which eddie separates two of his fingers to peek through at you.

standing there, breathing heavily, still with your PE shirt dangling in front of you. ❝ . . . seriously? you didn't come in here just to . . . try to see girls naked or something? ❞

❝ no! oh my god, no. i seriously . . . i have to pee so bad. ❞

❝ then go! ❞ you shout suddenly, and eddie flinches.

hurrying into the bathroom with a ❝ okayjesusi'msorryfuck! ❞

locking himself in one of the stalls, he pauses, leaning against it. his heart is racing, breath coming fast to match. god, you . . .

your legs, fuck, he can't help it. and those panties, jesus . . .

so pink and cute. eddie's never seen anyone wear such cute underwear, not even the few girls he's been with over the years. well, the girls he's had sex with probably wouldn't ever have been caught dead in a pink top let alone pink underwear.

but you. you had such wide eyes, pretty little lips, long, satisfying legs. not to mention that little sliver of ass that showed just below the lacy trim of those panties . . . eddie licks his lips, head rolling against the stall door.

his cock throbs and he palms himself through his jeans. how the hell is he ever supposed to pee like this?

well, he has to find some way to go ; if he walks out of here still with an enormous erection, you'd probably take the matter to the principle or some shit. and you'd be well within your right to.

god . . .

eddie does his best to piss and urge his hard on down in record time. he thinks of the most unsexy things he can bring to mind — santa clause, sad movies, the nightly news — and then finally feels well enough to leave.

it's only taken him a couple minutes, but he's hoping you've been able to get dressed and head out in that time.

but when he steps out of the bathroom you're still there. fully dressed now, but sitting on the nearby bench with your hands clasped together and your head hung low.

he would feel bad just leaving without saying anything, so he starts, ❝ hey. i really didn't mean to — ❞

❝ you have to promise, ❞ you tell him suddenly. the look on your face is fierce, and eddie has no doubt that you'd absolutely ruin him and his reputation ( what little is left ) and get him kicked out if he doesn't do as you say. you stand swiftly. ❝ promise me that you weren't looking on purpose. swear. like, swear on your mother's grave you weren't. ❞

his hand is over his heart before you can blink. ❝ i promise. and i swear. on my mother's life and her grave. i wasn't looking at you. i mean. that i didn't mean to. i seriously just came to use the bathroom. ❞ bad idea, now that he thinks back on it.

should have just held it.

you chew the inside of your cheek, apparently mulling over his words. ultimately finding him sincere enough, you nod. ❝ okay. you can go. ❞

there's a brief moment where the two of you look at each other, your eyes flicker down to eddie's jeans and then back up again, curious.

but eddie rushes out of there just as the homeroom bell rings.

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the halls between second and third period are always packed — lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, the usual high school cacophony. eddie’s doing what eddie does best after class : leaning against his locker with the hellfire guys clustered around him, ranting loudly about some especially cursed arc he's planning for the campaign on friday.

he’s mid-sentence, halfway through defending himself against wild accusations that he's a sadistic dungeon master, when he feels it.

that prickle down his neck.

that someone’s watching you feeling.

he looks up.

and there you are, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

and there he is, replaying the scene again in his mind for the 17th time in the last two hours ; pink lace hugging such a plump ass, gorgeous hips running down from under your shirt and into those adorable panties.

it's a miracle he doesn't pop a boner right there in front of all his friends.

and a good thing he doesn't, too, because he realizes you are walking straight toward him. you look like a girl who's on a mission, a girl who has the upper hand.

eddie panics immediately, because, he remembers, you do.

his voice cracks halfway through explaining, ❝ guys, your party hasn't really been tested heavily yet — ❞ he can't take his eyes off of you.

he's making no effort to disguise the fact that he's looking at someone across the hallway.

dustin follows his seemingly blank stare. ❝ dude . . . whoa. ❞

gareth mutters, ❝ what is . . . is she coming over here? to us? ❞

eddie doesn’t even have time to tell them to shut the hell up.

you stop right in front of him.

up close, god, you look even better than he remembers. and he absolutely does NOT look at your legs this time. or your hips. or anything he is scared of accidentally remembering too vividly. no, nothing else he's spent hours in bed at night fantasizing about. even though much of it was on display earlier, right there, just for him, if only you knew him. knew he wasn't a bad guy, didn't worship the devil or any of that bullshit people were saying about him and other people like him, kids who had ❛ weird ❜ interests.

he braces for you to publicly humiliate him. he deserves it, he supposes, for what happened earlier.

you say, very calmly, betraying nothing of what happened earlier, ❝ munson. i've decided you owe me. ❞

the hellfire boys collectively inhale like they’ve just witnessed a murder.

eddie can't decide what's worse — the fact that his friends are looking between the two of you, bewildered, and he's going to have to find some way to explain to them what happened earlier. or would it have been worse if you'd just screamed at him, gotten it all out in the open so the whole school would know what a disgusting pervert eddie munson was, along with being a freak and a devil worshipper?

eddie’s ears go nuclear red. ❝ i — i told you i didn’t mean — i didn’t, uh . . . invade anything or — ❞

you narrow your eyes. ❝ i know. you promised. i appreciate that . . . do you want to make it up to me or not? ❞

eddie nods so fast the ends of his long hair almost hit mike in the face.

❝ good. ❞ you step closer — close enough that he can smell you, something soft and sweet and some perfume that's definitely expensive. the hellfire club — in tandem — takes a step back and away from the two of you, but eddie somehow stands his ground in the face of you. ❝ take me for ice cream. at the mall. friday after school. ❞

there’s a half-second of stunned silence — the kind that doesn’t usually exist around eddie, because he typically fills every spare inch of air with noise. but right now? he’s speechless.

and of course that’s exactly when the club finds their voices again.

mike sputters first, ❝ wait — friday? but — but friday is hellfire. ❞

dustin’s eyes go wide under his cap. ❝ yeah, eddie. you literally said missing one session throws off the narrative structure of the whole campaign — your words, not mine — ❞

gareth throws his hands up. ❝ dude, you made us sign attendance sheets. attendance sheets. for dungeons & dragons. ❞

eddie whips around like a panicked, cornered animal. ❝ guys, guys — shut up — shut up — ❞ he hisses, waving at them without taking his eyes off you. ❝ i’m — busy. friday. okay? very important business. top secret. national security. ❞

mike looks like he’s about to faint. dustin looks personally betrayed.

you arch a brow, arms still crossed, entirely unbothered by the melodrama imploding behind him. ❝ is that a no, munson? you're really too busy fighting demons to buy me a scoop? ❞

and god, the way you say it — mocking him, but warm underneath, like you already know he’s going to fold — it just about finishes him off.

❝ saturday? ❞ he tries to offer quietly.

❝ i'm busy saturday. ❞

eddie straightens up, tries to pretend he has even one ounce of swagger left. ❝ uh — yeah. yes. absolutely. ice cream. friday. consider it . . . owed. ❞

dustin makes a noise like he’s swallowed a kazoo. ❝ you’re canceling hellfire for a girl? you've never cancelled hellfire, not even once. we still came to club even when you had bronchitis! i mean, what even . . . ❞

eddie doesn’t even look back this time. he just sticks an arm out and shoves dustin’s face gently away like he’s silencing a toddler. ❝ priorities, henderson. ❞

you almost smile — not fully, but enough that eddie feels it like a punch straight to the gut. he thinks he might actually die. it's almost better than seeing your ass in those delicious panties.

almost.

❝ good,❞ you say again, nodding softly. stamping an official seal on the arrangement. ❝ friday. after school. we can leave from here. don’t be late. ❞

and then you turn, disappearing back into the crowded hall without so much as a glance over your shoulder.

eddie stands there frozen, locker at his back, heart somewhere near his shoes, friends staring at him like he’s just announced he’s defecting to soviet russia.

mike is the first to break the silence, whispering, horrified, ❝ dude . . . what the hell? ❞

but eddie? eddie just stands there, feeling like a lump.

because he now has a date with one of the most popular girls in school and has to figure out how to explain to the boys exactly how that happened.

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the food court at starcourt always smells like an oil spill baking in the desert heat — fryer oil and fake cheese and that intense, cloyingly sweet smell from the pretzel place. you must, on some level, be immune to it by now, because you're sitting there like you own the place, leaning back, relaxed, a melting cup of roasted strawberry ice cream in front of you. you must come here every weekend with your friends.

eddie, however, is hyper-aware of everything else.

the way every table feels too close.

the way half the kids from hawkins high are filtering through, doing double takes.

the way two girls at the scoops ahoy counter that eddie recognizes as hawkins cheerleaders whisper behind their straws and stare.

one freshman boy literally almost falls into a trashcan because he’s so busy gawping, and apparently mesmerized, at the sight of you sitting pretty with eddie "the freak" munson across from you.

you don't seem to notice.

or maybe you do — maybe you're just pretending this is normal, like you come here all the time with the losers of the school.

eddie stirs his own ice cream, two scoops of mint chocolate chip, tapping the plastic spoon against the cup. ❝ so — technically — i don’t actually play, ❞ he says. he's clearly passionate about this game, this D&D — he's talking about it like it's something sacred and ancient. ❝ i’m the DM ; the dungeon master. i run the story. the monsters. the world. the . . . uh, chaos. ❞

you blink. ❝ so you don’t actually . . . fight anything? like, as a character? ❞

he snorts. ❝ no. hellfire is my kingdom. i’m basically a god. but, like, a very stressed out, underpaid god. ❞

you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding — a tiny, relieved little exhale. you look down into your soft serve like it just told you a secret.

eddie tilts his head. ❝ what? ❞

you hesitate, fiddling with your spoon before murmuring, ❝ i . . . thought D&D had something to do with, like . . . satanism. ❞

eddie chokes on absolutely nothing. seriously, he's not even swallowing any ice cream when he does.

and he really chokes.

full body cough.

a kid at the next table over jumps.

❝ jesus christ, sweetheart — ❞ he wheezes once he recovers, leaning in toward you, ❝ satanism? seriously? i mean, i like metal music, but we don’t, like, sacrifice goats in the woods on friday nights. i’ve barely got the energy to stay awake during homeroom. ❞

you laugh — a cute little tinkle that makes eddie's head spin — and shake your head. ❝ i know. i mean, now i know. it’s just . . . people say things, i don't know if you've heard. and the news . . . and one girl told me that your club played with actual spellbooks, so i kind of assumed . . . i don’t know. that you guys were doing something dangerous. ❞

eddie makes a face like you've personally offended him, and maybe you have. ❝ yeah, the most dangerous thing those kids do is eat an entire pizza while we're taking a break. dustin once drank a two liter of mountain dew in one go and almost died. that’s the level of danger we’re dealing with. ❞

your shoulders relax, and you look at him with those clear, bright eyes that eddie could just fall into.

❝ i thought you’d be mean, too, ❞ you admit quietly. ❝ or scary. you know. the whole ❛ freak ❜ thing . . . the rumors. i figured you’d be . . . intense. or angry. i don’t know. i mean, you are intense. clearly. ❞ you laugh gently to show him you're not being rude, just making an observation. ❝ but you’re not mean. you’re actually . . . nice. surprisingly nice. ❞

eddie’s face goes pink — not the dramatic blush from earlier in the week, but something subtler. warmer. his ringed fingers twitch like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

❝ well, uh . . . thanks? i try not to be a jackass unless provoked. or unless someone insults my van. or my band. or my campaign. ❞

you grin into your spoon. ❝ so . . . often? ❞

❝ okay, wow. rude. ❞ he points at you with his spoon. ❝ i buy you one — extremely overpriced — cup of ice cream and suddenly i’m the punchline. ❞

you frown. ❝ i'm not a bully. ❞

❝ coulda fooled me, the kids you hang out with. ❞

your frown deepens, and you both look at each other for a long minute.

and that’s when you notice it — the stares. the looks. the not-at-all subtle curiosity of your peers.

a group of basketball players walks by, whispering. one of them lifts his brows at you like he’s silently asking if you're doing this as some kind of dare.

two sophomores pass by and giggle.

a girl from your math class keeps glancing between the two of you like she’s witnessing an honest to god miracle.

eddie shifts a little, shoulders tensing, but he doesn’t get small the way you expect. he doesn’t shrink. he just sits up straighter, tapping his rings against the table, pretending that the entire food court isn’t buzzing about the freak sitting with a girl way, way out of his league.

after a moment he mutters, ❝ you can leave, you know. if this is, uh . . . too weird. i mean, i know you asked me, but. ❞

you look up.

really look.

his eyes are dark and nervous and hopeful in a way that makes your chest do something uncomfortable. goodness, you realize he has the longest eyelashes you've ever seen on a man.

❝ i’m not leaving, ❞ you say, soft but firm. ❝ it’s just ice cream, munson. people can stare if they want. i don’t care. ❞

eddie blinks.

like he wasn’t expecting that.

like he doesn’t quite know what to do with the fact that you’re still here, that you’re not afraid being seen with him might turn you into a total social pariah.

you take another bite of your ice cream, pretending your heart isn’t beating too fast.

then: ❝ besides . . . the rumors were wrong about you anyway. you’re not a freak. ❞

eddie swallows, hard.

he doesn’t say anything for a second — just watches you, stunned, like no one has ever said something like that to him before. maybe they haven't. it's quite possible no one has ever been nice to eddie munson in his life. the hellfire club boys, sure. they've been friendly with him. but maybe what eddie needs is someone sweet, someone to baby him — just a little.

finally, he clears his throat. ❝ well… don’t say it too loud. people might think you actually like me or something. ❞

you look at him over the rim of your cup.

❝ maybe i do. ❞

eddie pulls a face. ❝ what, from one conversation over some ice cream? ❞

❝ do i have to remind you what happened earlier this week? ❞ eddie's entire face goes blood red ; he's remembering as you talk. ❝ i believe you. i know you weren't looking on purpose. i think you handled it better than most of the popular guys at school would have. they probably would’ve kept staring until i threw my backpack at them or something. and . . . ❞

you mull over what to tell him, how much to reveal. ❝ . . . maybe i noticed you before that. saw you in the halls between class, at lunch with your club. maybe i was . . . curious. ❞

eddie scowls, dark brows pulling close together over even darker eyes. ❝ even though you thought i was mean? that you thought i was an evil, satan worshipping freak? ❞ he says it like he thinks you're trying to pull the wool over his eyes, like he's trying to catch you in a lie.

❝ sure did. but . . . was hoping you weren't. was hoping you were secretly sweet, that you were even better than most of the boys i hang around with. they suck. ❞

eddie doesn’t know what to say, so he just very slowly eats another spoonful of his ice cream.

does he believe you? you hope he does. everything you’ve said is nothing but the truth.

❝ anyway, ❞ you sigh, playing idly with your ice cream and thinking of how to change the subject and make things less awkward. ❝ . . . i never knew D&D was just like lord of the rings. maybe i would’ve played sooner. ❞

there’s an aborted little movement from eddie’s side of the table that startles you. ❝ you’ve read the lord of the rings? ❞

❝ i’ve read just about every fantasy series there is to read, ❞ you explain with a shrug. ❝ i just . . . like reading. ❞

the look in eddie’s eyes changes now, becomes darker ; it looks like he has a secret he’s unwilling to tell you. ❝ jeez, princess. if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were the perfect girl. ❞

you try hard to just take what he’s said as a compliment. it’s hard, though, with that little caveat he snuck in there. ❝ oh, and you do? know better? ❞

your hand and eddie’s hand are laying side by side on the sticky tabletop. eddie’s fingers twitch toward yours. when he speaks, his voice is low, probably to avoid being overheard by any of your passing classmates. not because he’s ashamed of what he’s about to say, but because he doesn’t want to embarrass you. or have people start to spread nasty rumors about you the way they do about him.

❝ i know you’re pretty. very pretty. what i don’t know is why you’re sitting here with the school outcast giving people a reason to hate you. especially after i . . . y’know, on tuesday. ❞

in a microscopic movement, your fingers meet his, your knuckles now laying together. you aren’t sure who moves first, but eventually your fingers are brushing, back and forth, against each other’s, in the smallest of movements. even just that little bit of affection is enough to make you melt.

you lean toward him, trying to keep your cool and not just crawl all over him right here at the mall. ❝ eddie. in a year, none of these people will matter. their opinions, what they said, the things we did, it’ll all just be history. so let them talk. who gives a fuck? ❞

eddie blinks at you like you’ve just said something groundbreaking. your words — the way you just cursed casually, the confidence, your edge of defiance — they hit him straight in the gut. because that's not how you present. he feels it in a place he knows he shouldn’t, in that exact same traitorous spot from tuesday morning. his fingers twitch against yours, restless, and you let your thumb curl around his index finger, comforting. eddie looks at your entwined hands and then away, scanning for anyone still paying attention to the two of you.

❝ remember what i said, ❞ you mutter, pinkie extending to lay against his warm wrist. ❝ fuck ‘em. ❞

❝ jesus, you’re something else, you know that? ❞ his voice is low too, private, just for you.

you smile a mischievous smile, taking a slow lick of your ice cream, making sure his eyes are now locked on yours. ❝ something good? ❞

eddie swallows so hard you can see his throat working through it, because yes. very good. good enough to make his stomach twist and his cock throb in his jeans. ❝ yeah . . . definitely good. ❞

he leans closer, slowly, still careful not to attract any more attention than is necessary, though he can’t quite hide the way his entire body has gone taut as a bowstring. god, you want to make him come undone. ❝ so . . . uh . . . this is going to sound insane, but . . . jesus, please don’t call me a pervert again, but. ❞ his voice dips lower, teasing you, but still uncertain. ❝ those panties. tuesday. they . . . they were kind of . . . distracting. ❞

you pause, spoon frozen halfway to your lips, eyes flickering down to where he’s turned his hand over in yours, fingers full on skimming back and forth over the sensitive palm of your hand now. there’s a faint flush in your cheeks, and maybe — maybe — a smile that hints you’re enjoying the game he’s playing. ❝ distracting, huh? ❞ your tongue darts out, slices through the mound of soft ice cream on your spoon. ❝ oh really, eddie? kind of distracting? ❞

eddie’s teeth sink deep into his lower lip. ❝ yeah . . . kind of — no. you know what? not kind of. very. very distracting. don’t think i’m gonna forget what i saw. ❞

still his fingers sweep over your palm ; there are goosebumps prickling your entire arm.

you shiver in spite of yourself. ❝ eddie? ❞

your eyes are so wide, your tone so desperate . . . he panics. ❝ hm? hey, what’s wrong? did i say something? i still swear — i didn’t mean to look earlier, i promise it wasn’t on purpose. I would never — ❞

❝ eddie. take me somewhere we can be alone together. please. ❞ you’ve turned your hand over, effectively pinning his to the table. you are desperate, desperate for him. desperate for the way his lashes brush his cheeks every time he blinks, the way his lips move, the perfect timbre of his voice.

you’ve never wanted anyone this badly, and you’re sure he can tell.

he doesn’t have to be told twice. with a nod, he grabs your hand and starts to lead you back through the food court, abandoning your ice creams as you slip past curious glances and whispers until the large glass doors of the mall’s main entrance come into view.

but eddie doesn’t lead you there. he takes a hard turn and pulls you down a side hallway that looks like it might be just for maintenance.

you trust him, though, so you let him keep going, pushing through a small side door and into the brisk night air. into a world of abandoned furniture, wooden tables stacked crookedly, couches leaning against the wall, metal shelving scattered like a maze. the powerful docking bay flood lights hit the dust motes floating in the air, catching on your hair, making eddie catch his breath.

❝ wow, ❞ you sigh, looking around at all of the furniture. ❝ what is this? ❞

eddie shrugs, starting to pick his way past a garish settee. ❝ you told me to take you somewhere private. ❞

you can’t hold in a well-meaning giggle. ❝ yeah, i figured you were gonna take me back to your place. ❞

❝ oh. damn. well . . . i can still do that. ❞ he turns back, ready to leave.

❝ wait, wait. i wanna explore back here now. this is cool. i never knew this kind of stuff was back here.❞

❝ oh, yeah. back of the furniture store. i’ve only been here a couple times, but didn’t take me long to find this place. they don’t guard it very well. clearly. furniture graveyard back here. ❞

❝ you can hardly call it a graveyard, most of this shit is brand new. ❞ you stand on a plush red velvet footstool, trying to track eddie’s movements through the maze of furniture.

he seemingly picks out a suitable armchair the size of a small car, motioning you over.

grabbing your hand and helping you maneuver through the wreck of items, he makes sure you’re safe before taking a seat in the armchair.

eddie pats his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like of course this enormous abandoned armchair was meant for this — for you, for him, for whatever this is turning into.

you roll your eyes good-naturedly. ❝ seriously? ❞

eddie’s grin goes crooked, boyish, a little smug in that way he can’t quite hide around you. ❝ yeah. seriously. unless you’d rather sit on . . . ❞ he gestures vaguely at a nearby plastic patio chair missing one leg, the saddest item at the party. ❝ . . . that. ❞

you sigh, but it’s useless — you’re already moving toward him. already letting him guide you by the waist as you settle onto his lap.

his hands are warm. too warm, scorching your skin wherever they touch.

you sink into him, into the solid feel of his chest against you, the curve of the massive armchair cupping you both like a secret. you shift a little until you’re comfortable — which is sort of a lie, because there’s nothing comfortable about the way your heart is slamming around in its cage, nothing comfortable about the way his breath hitches when your thighs brush his.

eddie exhales through his nose like he’s trying very, very hard to be chill.

❝ well, hey there, princess, ❞ he murmurs, voice low enough to vibrate against your side. ❝ makin’ yourself right at home. ❞

❝ you told me to, didn’t you? ❞ you tease, turning halfway toward him. in this position, your legs are thrown over the side of the armchair, your bum seated comfortably atop his lap.

eddie’s eyes flicker briefly to your mouth. ❝ yeah, but i honestly didn’t expect you to be so . . . obedient. ❞

you shove his shoulder lightly. ❝ shut up. ❞

❝ no, i mean — ❞ his fingers flex on your hips, steadying you when you shift. ❝ — not complaining. definitely not. ❞

you can feel him adjusting under you, just slightly. enough that you know. enough that he knows you know.

your skirt drapes over your thighs, soft against his jeans, and when you move again — just a tiny test — eddie makes a noise like someone hit him with a truck.

you pretend you didn’t hear it.

he pretends he didn’t make it.

his hand — the one with all the rings — drops to your bare knee, barely touching. just fingertips. just testing. when you don’t flinch away, those fingertips glide up an inch. warm. slow. deliberate.

❝ you okay? ❞ eddie whispers, and you nod. your eyes feel hot, almost like you could cry. but it’s only that this is such a new sensation for you. you’ve never let anyone touch you like this, never trusted anyone to, not even some of the popular guys you’ve known for years.

why is eddie different?

instead of asking or saying any of that, you purse your lips. ❝ are you okay? ❞

❝ oh, sweetheart, ❞ eddie murmurs, thumb brushing the soft, tender underside of your knee now, ❝ not even close. ❞

you shift again — not on purpose, probably — but it doesn’t matter. his hand tightens on your knee, just enough to hold you still. just enough to tell you he feels everything.

you swallow, heat curling low in your stomach.

❝ eddie… ❞

❝ yeah? ❞ he nudges the side of your jaw with his nose, like he’s testing how close he can get before you push him away.

you don’t push him away.

his fingers slide higher, tracing the warm skin of your inner thigh, disappearing under the hem of your skirt like he’s trying not to rush but absolutely is.

your breath stutters.

eddie feels it.

he leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice a rasp.

❝ you tell me to stop if you want. otherwise . . . ❞ his thumb strokes higher, bolder, ❝ . . . i’m gonna keep going. ❞

your hand covers his on your thigh — not to stop him.

but to guide him.

eddie makes another noise, this one even more alarming, though you don’t know how that’s possible.

you pull back a bit, just enough to look at him, to make sure he’s okay.

eddie looks like he’s drowning, dark eyes melting into yours as you continue to push his hand higher. ❝ gonna let me see those pretty panties again? ❞ he demands to know. ❝ gonna let me touch ‘em? ❞

your hand stops. and so does his. you’re shivering, breathing heavily, feeling like you could shake apart if he left you right now.

❝ not here, ❞ you mumble pitifully, and eddie nods.

❝ okay. ❞

unable to bear it anymore, you close your eyes.

and that’s when he kisses you.

eddie kisses like he’s been wanting you like this for years.

not timid, no longer even a touch hesitant. just hungry — that kind of desperate, relieved hunger reserved only for starving men faced with a meal and drug addicts who just got their fix.

his lips crash into yours, hard and warm, over and over, and your whole body jolts. you realize you’ve been hungry, too. starved for touch and affection and anyone who truly cared about you. he cups your jaw with one hand, thumb sweeping your cheekbone, the other arm locked tight over your legs like he thinks you might leave.

you melt instantly.

you don’t mean to — it’s instinct. the second his mouth opens against yours, your fingers go to his chest, clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer even though there’s nowhere left to go. he’s already pressed against you everywhere — chest firm, thighs solid under yours, the heat of him pushing up through the underside of your skirt.

the kiss deepens fast — too fast — like he’s been imagining it, like you’ve been torturing him just by existing. his breath tastes like the mint chocolate ice cream he’s been enjoying and something bitter underneath, but not unpleasant. something unmistakably eddie.

his nose bumps yours when he tilts his head, clumsy, eager, borderline messy, which only makes this more real. his mouth fits against yours in that perfect, greedy way that makes your thighs tense and your stomach leap into your throat.

eddie groans — a low, rough, startled sound — the second your lips part from his. it vibrates through his chest and into yours, and you swear you could come undone from that alone.

and then he’s pulling you up, hands strong on your waist. you gasp as he lifts you bodily and sets you down with your thighs now on either side of his. you can feel him now. really feel him. underneath your skirt, your underwear — similar to the pair you wore on tuesday, just with less bows and more lace — come into contact with the rough material of his jeans, tented by a very obvious erection. you really hope you’re not making an absolute mess down there.

his fingers slip into your hair, tugging gently, guiding your mouth open under his once more. his rings are cool against your neck when he cups the back of your head, holding you exactly where he wants you.

and you kiss him back with the same needy, aching urgency — because you want him, too. because you’ve wanted this longer than you’ll admit. because nothing has ever felt like this.

eddie breaks away just an inch, your foreheads pressed together, breathing hard.

❝ i have to admit something, ❞ he breathes.

you make a tiny sound, questioning. please don’t admit you’re actually a pervert who really does love spying on girls in the locker room, you think desperately.

❝ you said — ❞ he has to stop, catch his breath, swallow thickly. you soothe him with a hand at his jaw, thumb stroking over his heated skin. ❝ you said you noticed me before, in the halls at school? i noticed you, too. fucking everywhere, baby. in the halls, in class, at assembly, during PE. i’ve thought about you . . . fuck, i’ve thought about you so much. never thought i . . . i mean, what chance did i have with you? the freak of hawkins high? ❞

❝ don’t say that, ❞ you chide, grabbing for one of his hands, which you bring to your lips so you can kiss the inside of his wrist. that area smells so strongly of him you almost pass out. ❝ if we had just . . . i dunno, been paired for a project or . . . sat at the same lunch table, it sounds like this would have happened sooner. ❞

eddie’s dark gaze is cemented to yours, and his voice drops as he continues, like he’s afraid his words might shatter the moment if he speaks them too loudly.

❝ when i saw you standing there in those lace and bows, babe, you looked like — ❞ he exhales, shaking his head a little, disbelief curling at the edges of every syllable. ❝ like a fuckin’ elven princess straight out of one of my campaigns. swear to god, you looked all soft and pretty and . . . fuck. those panties. ❞

his fingers dig suddenly into the meat of your thigh, just under the edge of your skirt.

❝ pink lace. little bows. like you stepped right out of my brain and into that locker room. ❞ he kisses you again, softly, and against your lips he asks, ❝ . . . do they all look like that? or were you wearing those for like . . . a special occasion? ❞

you huff a laugh, smiling into the kiss. ❝ most of them. ❞

he pulls back and his brows lift, hope flaring.

❝ i mean, i have some normal pairs. but most of them are cute like that, yeah. ❞

eddie makes a sound that’s halfway between a choke and a moan and you grab anxiously for his fingers again, slipping them up and under your skirt. ❝ eddie, you can. you can touch. i just . . . i wanna wait until we’re back at your place to have sex. ❞

❝ we don’t have to, ❞ eddie tells you, and at your disappointed look he squeezes your thigh again, reassuring. ❝ i just mean, we can do whatever you want. i’m happy using my fingers or . . . my tongue. don’t feel like you owe me anything. ❞

❝ i want to, ❞ you let him know, urging his hand as high as it’s been now.

eddie watches you carefully as his fingers crawl up the tender skin of your thigh, and just as his thumb presses into the rough lacy edge of the cute lavender pair you’re wearing tonight —

❝ jesus christ, ❞ he mutters. ❝ you’re so fucking pretty, i don’t even deserve to look at you, let alone touch you. ❞

he’s suddenly tense against you, shoulders locking like he’s remembered who he is, where he stands in the pecking order of hawkins high. his hand falters under your skirt, like he’s about to pull it away entirely.

wanting anything in this moment but to lose his warm skin against yours, your palm slides to his cheek, warm and steady, fingers threading into his hair — which is surprisingly soft — to keep him right where he is.

❝ hey, ❞ you murmur. ❝ i told you not to think like that. or talk like that. ❞

his eyes flicker to yours, dark and uncertain.

❝ i’m not . . . too much for you? ❞ he asks quietly. ❝ or — i don’t know — wrong? ❞

you lean in and kiss him again, slow this time. not frantic. not rushed. just enough to make your meaning unmistakably clear.

when you pull back, you keep your nose brushing his.

❝ eddie munson, ❞ you whisper, ❝ i wouldn’t be letting you kiss me in the back of this mall if you weren’t exactly right for me. ❞

something in his face breaks open at that.

he swallows hard, then blurts, ❝ were you really gonna go to the principal? ❞

you blink. ❝ what? ❞

❝ after tuesday, ❞ he admits, embarrassed. ❝ i kept thinking you were gonna ruin my life, expel me or something. ❞ he may hate school, but there’s a reason he hasn’t dropped out yet.

you smile — remembering how you had indeed threatened to take the matter to the principle if eddie didn’t take you out. ❝ no. ❞

his eyes widen. ❝ no? ❞

❝ no, ❞ you repeat. ❝ i was just hoping you’d ask me out. ❞

eddie stares at you like you’ve just told him gravity isn’t real.

❝ you’re kidding. ❞

❝ i’m not. ❞ you shrug lightly, thumb again tracing the line of his jaw, that place you can’t stay away from. ❝ i figured if i scared you a little, you might actually do something. ❞

he lets out a breathy laugh, stunned. ❝ you are . . . terrifying. ❞

❝ worked, didn’t it? ❞

his answer is another kiss — deeper, slower. that thumb finally pushes its way beneath the band of your underwear, stroking the sensitive skin of your waist now. which leaves his other fingers reaching around, clenching at your backside.

you shiver, pressing in close to him. ❝ eddie? take me home now? ❞

eddie nods and stands immediately with you still in his arms.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the drive to eddie’s place is . . . tense, to say the least.

he keeps drumming his fingers nervously on the steering wheel and glancing over at you until you sigh and reach over for his hand, place it on your thigh for him.

only then does he seem to calm, hand ghosting back and forth over your leg, although he does still look over at you periodically, like he’s still expecting you to scream for him to stop touching you.

when he makes the final turn, he takes a sharp breath and says, ❝ guess i should’ve mentioned i live . . . here. ❞

the van rolls to a stop in front of a trailer — porch light humming, dirty metal stairs leading up to an even dirtier front door.

❝ mhm, and? ❞ you already knew eddie lived here with his uncle, it wasn’t a secret. it was one of the many things jason carver and his goons liked to make fun of eddie for.

❝ well, it’s not exactly a house. ❞

❝ duh. ❞ you tug on his hand and whine, ❝ eddie. come on. ❞

luckily, he obeys without much more obstinacy, hopping from the van and coming around to your side to open the door for you.

❝ my lady. ❞ he speaks in a very good british accent, bowing low, clearly putting his D&D skills to good use.

with a giggle, you take his hand and let him lead you to the door.

it’s gotten fairly cold out, so you stand shuffling from foot to foot as eddie unlocks the door.

even after you’ve gotten inside, you waffle by the entryway, shivering as eddie flits around turning on lights. ❝ if you’re hungry, i think there’s some pizza in the fridge. i also always have pretzels lying around here somewhere. ❞

he’s coming back for you down the hallway where he’s turned on a side light, mumbling something about, ❝ sorry it’s kind of a mess in here. my uncle works nights and — ❞

you greet him with a kiss, giving meaning to the phrase ❛ throwing yourself at him. ❜ his mouth is wet and hungry under yours, steadying the two of you as he stumbles back with his arms around you.

yours are flung around his shoulders, on tiptoe in order to be able to continue kissing him properly. ❝ eds. touch me. ❞

eddie makes a low sound into your mouth — one you can only describe as needy — and his hands find you instinctively, both under your skirt, suddenly gripping your ass.

❝ goddamn, is that . . . ❞ his breath catches in his throat and you step forward to latch your lips to his adam’s apple. ❝ is that . . . silk? ❞

❝ satin, ❞ you correct him with a smile, worrying your teeth over his skin. he’s going to have one hell of a hickey on his throat monday at school.

❝ god, ❞ he murmurs. ❝ you’re gonna kill me. ❞

you smile against his neck. ❝ bedroom, then? ❞

that does it.

he laughs and takes your hand, tugging you down the narrow hallway. he stops halfway down to bang on the thermostat. ❝ sorry it’s kinda cold. heating system’s ancient. it should warm up in here soon. ❞

you merely run your free hand down his arm, trying to convey the sentiment that you don’t care, that there are more important things to be taken care of.

eddie’s room is lit but dim, familiar, lived-in ; band posters, scattered clothes, the faint hum of something electric in the background.

the door barely clicks shut before he’s kissing you again.

slow and deep, eddie memorizing every single one of your gasps and moans.

his hands are careful but everywhere — skimming up under your shirt, on your waist, under your skirt again — grounding himself in the reality of you standing here with him.

at some point, foreheads pressed together, he exhales shakily.

❝ can i ask you something? ❞

you nod, nose brushing his again.

❝ are you . . . ❞ he takes a lock of your hair and places it gingerly over your shoulder, stroking your tresses like you’re a doll to be pampered. ❝ is this your first time? ❞

you nod.

eddie’s hand stills in your hair. ❝ really? figured you’d have guys throwing themselves at you. ❞ his hand meets your waist again, squeezing as if to say ❛ how are you a virgin, looking like this? ❜

❝ guys try, ❞ you admit. ❝ but i really need to trust someone to want to do that with them. ❞

he studies you for a long moment, thumb tracing slow circles at your hip.

❝ and you trust me? ❞

another nod ; you’ve never been more sure of anything.

something in his chest visibly gives.

❝ jesus, ❞ he whispers. ❝ you have no idea what that does to me. ❞

he kisses you again — reverent now — starting to shuffle you back toward his bed.

❝ we’ll go slow, ❞ he murmurs against your lips. ❝ okay? ❞

❝ okay. i trust you, ❞ you tell him again.

❝ thank you. ❞

the both of you toe your shoes off and when he pulls you down with him onto the bed, it’s with care, letting you scoot up the bed until your head is on his pillows. everything smells so much like him now you never want to leave.

he flattens the messy covers around you and when he opens his mouth, you can tell he’s about to apologize again. for what, this time? for how disorganized his room is? for how cold it still is? just for being eddie munson?

you cut him off before he can. ❝ shh. don’t apologize. ❞

you pull him down over you by his shoulders, and eddie covers your body with his.

and though you’ve never done this before, your legs instinctually know where they should go — right around eddie’s tight waist, squeezing, never wanting to let him go.

eddie braces himself with a hand beside your head, while the other cups the outside of your thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin.

❝ what you’ve been waiting for, ❞ you sigh, reaching for the zipper at your side.

eddie doesn’t answer, seemingly transfixed by your skirt or whatever’s beneath it.

tugging that zipper down, you let your skirt fall open around you and eddie takes a deep, sudden breath.

you’re encased in a pair of soft lavender satin panties tonight, the whole pair edged with lace with one big white bow at the front.

eddie has stopped moving.

his eyes drag slowly over you, dark and hungry and stunned, like he’s trying to convince himself you aren’t some cruel hallucination. his hand tightens on your thigh. ❝ baby . . . if this is some kinda prank, something your friends put you up to, you need to tell me now. ❞

❝ it’s not. ❞

❝ fuck, ❞ he breathes, barely louder than the hum of the heat finally kicking on. ❝ you’re . . . ❞

he’s seemingly unable to finish his sentence.

his fingers come to brush the lace edge just at the crux of your right thigh, tentative at first — still reverent, like he’s afraid he might ruin these delicate things just by touching. the satin, when he runs his fingers a little higher, is cool beneath his fingertips, smooth, impossibly soft.

❝ jesus christ, ❞ he mutters to himself.

his thumb now traces the line of lace, slow and deliberate, following the curve of your hip up to your waist. you hear him swallow above you.

❝ do you have any idea what you look like right now? ❞

you want to make a joke, you really do, but eddie looking at you like this, touching you like this, like you’re some precious thing, it takes away your ability to do much more than say his name.

❝ eddie? ❞

❝ i know. ❞ his big hand spreads out on your hip. ❝ i know, baby. ❞

you don’t know when you started shaking, but you realize eddie’s trying to soothe your tremors by scooping an arm beneath you, gathering you up against him as he presses a kiss to your neck. ❝ going too fast? ❞

❝ n-no. i mean, i didn’t think so. maybe . . . you show me something now. i can’t be the only one getting naked here. ❞ you knee him in the ribs as gently as you can.

with a grin, eddie pulls back.

when he does, you can see the very obvious tent in his jeans. just like in the locker room. if you were curious then, you’re very curious now.

eddie's grin widens at your words, his eyes darkening with pure lust as he looks down on you. ❝ oh sweetheart, aren’t you playing with fire now . . . ? ❞ he growls playfully, and leans in to nip at your lower lip.

his hands roam your curves possessively, squeezing and caressing every inch of exposed skin. he can feel the heat radiating off of your body and it makes his cock throb with need. ❝ you wanna see what you do to me, baby? how hard you make me? ❞

with a swift movement, eddie stands up and starts unbuckling his belt. his jeans fall to the floor with a soft sound as he kicks them aside. he's left standing there in his shirt and a pair of black briefs, which are straining against his massive erection.

he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear teasingly. ❝ like what you see so far, princess? nothin’ fancy like yours, but i think this works for me . . . ❞

and it definitely does work for him — the midnight black of those briefs against the pale porcelain of his thighs makes you want to attack him.

instead, you pull him down atop you once more, legs around his waist, one hand in his hair and the other snaking between the two of you to palm him through the thin cotton of his underwear. ❝ eds. you're so hard . . . is that all for me? ❞

your hand cupping his aching cock earns you a deep-seated groan, the worn, flimsy fabric of his boxers doing little to hide how hard he is for you. he grinds against your hand, wanting more. ❝ fuck yes, baby girl . . . all for you. every thick inch of me is yours. ❞

he captures your lips in another searing kiss, tongue diving into your mouth to taste and claim every inch. his hips rock against yours steadily now, the heat of your bodies mingling as you rut together.

❝ you feel that? feel how much I want you? how much i’ve been wanting you? ❞ he pants between kisses. ❝ i'm gonna fuck you so good tonight, sweetheart. gonna take my time and make that little pussy mine. ❞

one large hand slides down to grip your ass possessively while the other reaches up to tug at the hem of your shirt. ❝ got somethin’ pretty on up here, too? i wanna see, wanna suck on your nipples until you're begging for my cock . . . ❞

eddie's words make you shy ; you’ve never heard someone talk that dirty before. a soft pink blush starts at your cheeks and drips all the way down to the top of your chest.

you also realize that, if what eddie says is true, he's lain in this very bed before touching himself to the thought of you. ❝ oh god, ❞ you whisper, leaning up to take the bottom of your shirt in hand and yank it off.

laying it aside, you hear eddie exhale sharply. you’re wearing a matching set, so your bra is a nice soft purple too, with satin cups and lacy trim, another big white bow right in the middle of your chest.

eddie's eyes darken with lust, the sight of you in such a dainty set making his cock throb painfully. he licks his lips hungrily. ❝ fuck, you look so good like this . . . like a goddamn princess, i swear. ❞

he leans down to nuzzle at the swell of your breasts, pressing open mouthed kisses along the tops of them before reaching behind to unclasp your bra. his hair tickles you as the lacy garment falls away and eddie groans at the sight of your bare tits.

❝ so fucking perfect . . . ❞ he murmurs reverently before taking one pert nipple into his mouth. he suckles and laps greedily at it while he rolls the other between his fingers.

his hips continue to grind at your center, both of your underwear now soaked with your arousal and some of eddie’s precum. eddie can feel how wet you are even through the fabric. ❝ you're dripping for me already, aren't you, baby? such a needy little thing . . . ❞

you’re squirming, loving all the attention eddie's giving you, all the sweet things he's saying to you. ❝ eddie . . . ❞ you love saying his name, too, loves the way it feels in your mouth, between your teeth.

once eddie sucks that nipple between his lips, you let out an embarrassing moan, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the hard, lean planes of his back. ❝ eddie, eddie . . . want you. want you so bad! ❞

at your desperate plea, eddie groans around your nipple, the sound juddering against your sensitive flesh. he releases it with a wet pop before kissing his way to your other breast to give it the same treatment.

❝ fuck, i want you too, baby . . . want to bury my cock in your tight little pussy and make you scream my name, ❞ he growls, nibbling playfully at your breast.

he sits up suddenly, drawing your legs wider around him as he reaches down to hook his fingers into the waistband of those soft lavender panties. ❝ as much as i love these, ‘m gonna take ‘em off now . . . wanna see all of you. ❞

slowly, like he’s savoring every inch of you being revealed to him, he pulls those panties painstakingly down your legs before tossing them aside. he takes a moment to drink in the sight of you laid out naked beneath him, a feast for his eyes.

you’re embarrassed again, now only because he can see what he’s done to you. your little pussy is a mess, smeared with your own juices.

❝ so fucking gorgeous . . . can't wait to taste every inch of you, ❞ he murmurs, sliding suddenly down between your thighs. ❝ gonna eat this pretty pussy until you're shaking . . . is that okay? ❞

eddie's cheek is pressed to your thigh and your hand is in his hair, petting. more to soothe yourself than him. you nod, less embarrassed now and more nervous. what if eddie doesn't like how you taste? what if he thinks you’re too wet? what if —

eddie’s nuzzling into your thigh, hands sneaking around to cradle your hips. he can feel your nervousness and it makes him want to take extra care of you. ❝ shh, it's okay, baby . . . just relax for me. i’m gonna take such good care of you, i promise. ❞

he places a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh before trailing his lips lower. his breath ghosts over your slick folds and you shiver. ❝ you smell so good, sweetheart . . . can't wait any longer to taste you. ❞

eddie leans in and licks a slow stripe up your slit, groaning at the taste of your arousal. ❝ fuuuck, you taste amazing . . . so sweet. fuckin’ delicious. ❞

he seals his mouth over your pussy and starts lapping at you eagerly, tongue delving between your folds to collect every drop of your essence. eddie focuses on teasing around your clit with the tip of his tongue while sucking gently.

you’re really squirming now, breathing heavily, writhing on eddie’s bed and tightening your thighs around his head. ❝ e-eddie . . . oh god. ❞

❝ that's it, baby, ❞ he mumbles against your slick cunt, ❝ just let go . . . wanna make this pretty pussy cum all over my face. ❞

one particularly insistent swipe of his tongue over your clit makes you thrash, but eddie is holding you down by your hips. ❝ unh . . . eddie. fuck, i'm gonna — ❞

your thighs start to tremble around his head and he doubles his efforts, alternating between flicking his tongue rapidly over your clit and sucking at your entrance.

❝ that's it, baby, cum for me. wanna feel this pussy fuckin’ pulse against my mouth. ❞ he’s growling against you, dark gaze trained up on your heaving chest. ❝ gonna lap up every drop of your cum. ❞

eddie suddenly has two of his thick fingers plunging deep into your tight, hot channel. he pumps them in and out steadily, curling them just so.

as close as you are, you can’t hold back.

those fingers, his tongue, his voice . . . fuck, his voice might be your favorite thing about him. and he certainly knows how to use it in the bedroom.

you scream his name one last time, fingers tight in his hair as you give one last violent spasm atop his comforter and then start to flood his mouth.

he moans as you come undone, your pussy clenching around his fingers, release dripping down his chin. he laps eagerly at you, drinking down every drop just like he said he would.

❝ fuck yes, just like that, princess. cum all over my face. ❞ he keeps his tongue and fingers running in tandem to work you through your high until you come down.

then, gently, he eases those fingers out of you before kissing his way up your body.

eddie takes a moment to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. ❝ you did so good, sweetheart. came so hard for me. ❞

your trembling arms embrace him, and you turn your face to meet him for a tender kiss, still breathing hard as eddie holds you close.

but it isn’t long before he’s reaching down, palming at himself through his briefs. ❝ fuck, that made me even harder. i wanna bury my cock in that tight little pussy and fuck you until the only thing you know how to say is my name. ❞

with the way he's started to suck so gently on your tongue, it's a miracle you can even speak when the two of you part again.

❝ y-you said you'll be gentle, yeah? ❞

❝ yes. ❞ he nods, leaning back to take you in, hands worshipping you on their way back down to your hips. ❝ told you, i’ll take care of you. ❞

almost before you know what’s happening, eddie quickly strips out of the remainder of his clothes, revealing his lean, tattooed body and the thick erection jutting from between his thighs.

your heart starts to race and eddie goes for a condom from the bedside table while you try not to think about why he needs those there, what other girls from town he may have been with.

then you reach to still his hand, shaking your head. ❝ no. please? ❞

eddie’s eyes flicker with surprise. ❝ . . . you sure? i mean, i’m clean, to my knowledge. but i have . . . been with some other girls. ❞

you huff, cheeks going red with embarrassment. ❝ i figured as much. i just . . . don't wanna use one, ❞ you finish lamely.

you know it's stupid, know it's risky. but god, if you don't get to feel him sliding bare into you you’re going to lose your mind.

looking as though he knows it’s a bad idea, but wanting to make you happy anyway, eddie sets the unopened condom back on the table and comes to hover over you again. ❝ okay. anything for my princess. ❞

another soft, doting kiss shared between the two of you has you seeing stars.

just before eddie reaches down to line himself up with your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock through your still-slick folds.

his gaze meets yours and you nod and with a subtle push of his hips, the head of eddie munson’s cock pops right into your tight cunt.

❝ fuck . . . i dunno how long i’m gonna last, baby. you feel . . . nngh, god, fuck! you feel so fucking good. ❞ his fingers are bruising on your hips, though you’re sure he doesn’t mean them to be.

you know how he’s feeling, like it’s too much and not enough all at once.

❝ eddie? do i feel . . . do i feel better than those other girls? the — the ones you’ve been with before? ❞ silly, jealousy at this point, when he’s already inside of you. but you can’t help it, can’t help imagining what girls eddie munson has fucked up until now. probably sammy from your fifth period history class. she’s alternative enough. or — god — heather in band who loves to paint her face like those KISS guys. she’s exactly eddie’s type.

elbows now cushioned on either side of your head, eddie pets your hair back from your sweaty forehead. ❝ what are you thinking about? ❞ he questions softly, a smirk on his face like he knows exactly what's going through your head. ❝ there’s no contest — you’re the best fucking thing i’ve ever felt in my life. including the first time i heard metallica. ❞

your eyes go wide. ❝ wow, that's. you mean that? ❞

eddie nods solemnly. ❝ i do. and if you don't believe me, then maybe i should fuck you until you do. ❞

hips inching forward, eddie slips another inch or two more of his aching cock inside of you.

the noise you make is embarrassing, to say the least. it feels way too good to be filled up with him and there are still a few more inches to go.

he grunts, sinking into your tight heat, face buried in the crook of your neck.

❝ you’re so tight, baby. like a vice around my cock. ❞ slowly, he begins to rock his hips, easing more and more of himself inside of you with each thrust. at the same time, his hands roam protectively over your body as he fills you up completely. ❝ i think . . . you were made for me. no one else could ever feel this good. ❞

❝ i honestly . . . i expected it to hurt. fr — from what i've heard from my friends. but. it just feels good, eddie, so good. ❞ you’re surprised, completely blissed out on his cock as he starts to speed up.

eddie chuckles breathlessly against your neck. ❝ i promised i’d be gentle . . . and i always keep my promises. ❞

it doesn’t even hurt when he starts to fuck you harder, slamming deep inside of you with each snap of his hips. his hands slide down to grip your ass, canting your hips up so he can fuck you that much better. ❝ does it still feel good, baby? d’you like feeling my cock stretch this tight little pussy out? ❞

you nod fervently, sure that your fingernails are doing quite a number on eddie's back by now. ❝ you're so big, eds. i feel s — so full . . . ❞

eddie’s movements stutter and he chokes a little. ❝ mm, baby, i’m sorry — i’m so close already. but i want you to cum again first, wanna make you cream on my dick. ❞ in an effort to make that happen, eddie’s calloused fingers drop between your thighs, rubbing at your clit in tight little circles.

and that just makes you go absolutely ballistic, blindsided by your second orgasm of the night as you shake underneath of him, holding him as close as possible.

eddie practically whimpers as your pussy clamps down around him, inner walls fluttering and squeezing at his pistoning cock. and though he must be teetering on the edge as he does so, he thrusts through your orgasm, drawing it out until you’re a shaking, whimpering mess.

❝ god, you’re perfect. so fucking perfect . . . gonna fill this pussy up now, babe . . . mark you as mine. ❞

a few more hard thrusts and eddie buries himself to the hilt inside of you with a guttural moan. his cock pulses as he spills his hot spunk deep into your aching cunt.

you hold him as he cums, breath coming hot and damp against your shoulder, making the prettiest little noises you’ve ever heard a man make.

eddie collapses on top of you, his softening cock still nestled inside your quivering walls.

he nuzzles into your neck with a contented sigh. ❝ feelin’ okay? ❞

when you nod with a giggle, he rolls you onto your sides so he's no longer crushing you under his weight, his arms wrapped protectively around you. he presses a kiss to your shoulder before letting out a satisfied yawn. ❝ i could stay like this forever . . . just you and me. ❞

and wouldn’t that be nice? just you and eddie here in his room, making out and having sex forever.

but, you remember specifically the conversation that was had in the hallway on tuesday. ❝ i don’t think hellfire would take too kindly to that. ❞

❝ i’m gonna make it up to them next friday with an extra long session. but i did have to give a reasonable explanation for why i missed tonight. fair warning. ❞

you tilt your head. ❝ yeah, that you had to take me on a date. ❞

the look on eddie’s face is mischievous, dark eyes glinting. ❝ yeah, sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but that’s not a suitable explanation for my boys. ❞

frowning, you mutter, ❝ what exactly did you tell them? ❞

❝ the truth. ❞ he apologizes by way of another wet kiss to your shoulder, mouthing at the skin there.

you groan, hiding your face in eddie’s hair. ❝ that’s embarrassing . . . ❞

❝ hey, more for me than for you. i’m the one who comes off as a pervert. ❞

❝ and i’m the one who forced you to ask me out after you were a pervert, oh my god. ❞

eddie shushes you, a hand at the back of your head, cool rings ghosting back and forth over the nape of your neck. ❝ they won’t ever say anything to anyone. and i promise they don’t think less of you because of that. my boys are . . . they’re cool. ❞

nerves calming, you listen to the chilly breeze blow past outside, rattling the trailer windows and sending a draft across the bed. eddie wrestles with the tangled blankets, pulling them higher around you, although it is starting to heat up a little now that the heat has clicked on.

❝ stay? ❞ he mutters against your shoulder.

you tuck yourself in closer against him, skin to skin like eddie is your own personal space heater. ❝ i wasn’t planning on leaving. ❞

you’re already a couple drinks in — enough to loosen the tightness in your shoulders, enough that seeing your ex for the first time in 5 years doesn’t scare you as much as it should.

❝ so, ❞ joe says, nodding toward the ballroom behind you, ❝ how’re you finding all . . . this? ❞

you glance over your shoulder at the chandeliers, the clusters of people leaning in close, laughing a little too hard at some joke a studio exec just cracked. anything to get their film funded.

❝ overstimulating, ❞ you mutter, wondering how much he remembers about you, if anything at all. you two frequently used to talk about how high end social events like this exhausted — and, quite frankly, terrified — you. ❝ i keep forgetting how many people in hollywood i still don’t know. ❞

he smiles at that, dimples carving semi half moons into his cheeks. ❝ right? i keep wondering why i’m meant to care so deeply about strangers’ investment portfolios. ❞

you laugh despite yourself, the kind of deep belly laugh you haven’t experienced in a while, the kind that takes you off guard. ❝ hey, at least the drinks are better than they normally are. ❞ there’s a small coupe glass in your hand and you raise it to toast him.

❝ shockingly so, don’t you think? ❞ his collins glass tinks daintily against yours. ❝ always incredibly watered down elsewhere, aren’t they? ❞

there’s a beat where you both sip, legs just barely brushing.

❝ i saw dana earlier, ❞ he says, as if suddenly remembering. ❝ she asked about you. ❞

❝ dana still works these? ❞ you ask, impressed.

dana was a mutual friend of yours and joe’s back then, a promoter for all of LA’s most elegant parties, auctions, and fundraisers. you haven’t spoken to her nearly as much as you’d have liked since your split from joe, however.

❝ she apparently runs half of them now. still frightening. still wearing heels she could take off and stab a man with. ❞ joe looks inspired and scared at the same time. he used to look at you like that.

❝ some things never change. ❞ you look closely at him, fingers traipsing back and forth over your glass now.

❝ like her trying to blacklist people who don’t RSVP, ❞ he adds, completely oblivious to your staring.

❝ or you hiding out near the bar, ❞ you tease before you can stop yourself.

his smile turns sheepish. ❝ guilty. i do the rounds and then immediately look for an escape route. ❞

❝ that tracks, from what i remember about you. ❞

another sip. another quiet second. both of you looking around anywhere but at each other.

❝ so what are you working on now? ❞ he asks, presumably in an attempt to shatter the awkward silence. ❝ you’ve always been busy, but i feel like i blinked and you were suddenly everywhere. ❞

you shrug, deliberately modest. ❝ a couple good films. an HBO series that’s eating my life. it’s good work. intense, though. ❞

❝ yeah? ❞ his intense gaze is on you as he takes a big swig from his drink. ❝ i feel like you did always thrive under pressure. ❞

he would say that.

back then, joe was always the one to push you, make sure you got out of your comfort zone just a little. but he was also always the person you could come home to if things ever got to be too much. the person who would coddle you when you needed it. your person.

there’s a knowing look on his face, one that tugs the corners of his delicious lips up into a smirk.

❝ i remember a lot, ❞ he admits, unprompted by you. he clears his throat quickly, apparently eager to change the subject. ❝ i’ve just wrapped something in prague. period drama. lots of coats, very serious walking. ❞

you giggle, hating how childish it sounds. ❝ you do love a dramatic coat. ❞

❝ i really do. ❞ luckily, joe’s answering chuckle echoes your laughter. ❝ it’s become a problem. ❞

there’s an ease settling between the two of you now, a familiarity that could turn dangerous if you aren’t careful.

this, seeing him again after so long, it feels like slipping into a well-worn sweater you could have sworn you donated years ago.

that and the two cocktails you’ve already downed tonight are making you want to play a risky game. so you say, ❝ i saw your play, in london. ❞

he’s taking a swig of his drink and has to hide his choking on it with a clearing of his throat, his cheeks gone suddenly pink. ❝ you did? ❞

❝ i did. opening week. ❞

something limps between the two of you, bruised and broken. but all joe says is, ❝ i wish i’d known. ❞

❝ i didn’t want to . . . make it weird. ❞

❝ still. it means a lot you came to support. ❞

what you don’t tell him is why you went to see that play in the first place. the only reason, because you don’t typically care for live performances. which he would remember if what he said was true, that he ❛ remembers a lot ❜ about you.

when you heard he was going to be the lead in a big production on the west end, you booked tickets immediately. you had just gotten out of a volatile situationship with some guy you hoped to never see again, and you were hurting.

hurting and missing joseph and hoping for even one glance of him at a party or premiere or film festival. but knowing the chances of that were slim, you flew to london for one night to see him in that play.

the really sad thing was that it had worked ; it was enough to hear his voice after so long, to see him in person right in front of you, even if you weren’t directly interacting. his mere presence was like a blanket, lending you the much needed comfort that you needed, that you had missed since parting ways.

the bar grows quieter, starting to empty out now that the event is officially over.

joe shifts, angling more toward you. your knees touch and neither of you make any effort to change that.

a passing cocktail waitress breezes by and sends joe’s scent drifting in your direction. your fingers tighten on your coupe, and your eyes flutter for a moment.

if joe notices, he gives no indication.

eventually his gaze flickers to yours and stays there as he swirls his straw around in its glass enclosure. ❝ i’ve, uh . . . i’ve seen you pop up in the tabloids a bit. ❞

you hum, wondering where he’s going with that statement. ❝ occupational hazard. ❞

❝ with a couple guys, ❞ he adds, trying for casual and missing by a mile. ❝ . . . anything serious? ❞

❝ nope. ❞ the question doesn’t need much more clarification than that, and you really wish he hadn’t asked.

joe blinks, eyebrows raised, looking questioningly at you over the rim of his glass. ❝ so, what? you’ve not dated at all since we broke up? ❞

you take a deep breath and try not to let it out on the annoyed sigh you’re holding in.

the bar hums around you, glasses clinking, music low and expensive. what is left of the gala’s attendees are all engrossed in their own conversations, but you still pitch your voice lower ; if anyone could overhear the conversation you two are about to have it would be all over page six in less than 12 hours.

❝ no. i haven’t. ❞

those dark eyes across from you widen, and joe shifts in his seat. ❝ it’s been five years. ❞

he says this as though you don’t know how long it’s been. as though you aren’t aware of exactly how much time has passed — 5 years, 2 months, 3 weeks, and 6 days to be exact.

❝ you were so beautiful. i mean, you still are. clearly. ❞ he gestures at you, at your shimmering, floor-length gown and your valentino platform pumps.  ❝ why? ❞

so much for remembering a lot.

your cheeks start to burn as you realize you’re actually about to have this conversation, and it’s surely not from the alcohol.

you had never dated before joe and certainly didn’t see the point in doing so after. especially because you had banked on him being your forever. too much was — is — wrong with you. emotional hangups, relationship hangups. too many family issues, mental illness and health problems.

and then there was your vagina — the way it fought you and never wanted to play with the team. until joe came along, the only one patient enough to teach it you weren’t in any danger.

fingers tightening on your glass, you sit up straight and fix him with a Look. ❝ you know why i don’t date. ❞

❝ i do? ❞

there’s a heat flooding your face, a shame bubbling up in you that makes you grip your glass even tighter. has he really forgotten? after all the times you talked about it, all the ways you struggled in the beginning, even with his help?

❝ you know. ❞

part of you wants to just stand up and walk away — it took you a long time in your life to realize you could just do that. if someone is pissing you off or making you uncomfortable, you don’t have to stick around for it just for the sake of being polite.

but part of you really wants to know if he did forget. and if he did . . . maybe he was never as perfect for you as you thought.

his smile, which has been waning the past few moments, finally dies completely. ❝ i — ❞

he frowns, scooting toward you in an effort to hear you better. both of you are whispering now, unwilling to let anyone else hear. your legs are fitting like puzzle pieces, side by side. his, then yours, then his, then yours.

❝ i’m sorry if i’m meant to know why, but . . . i truly don’t. ❞

the glass in your hand makes a small, tense noise as you squeeze it even harder. it’s taking all of the strength in your tipsy body not to throw your drink in his face.

but you’ll give him one more chance.

❝ joe. ❞ there are hot tears stinging your eyes, making you grateful for the dim lighting of the bar.

if he’s still oblivious after this, after the thousand yard stare you’re giving him, begging him to remember, begging him to tell you it’s okay to be the way you are, even after all this time . . . then you’ll walk away.

then you’ll know he probably never truly cared at all. just like everyone fucking else.

but recognition finally flickers across his face. a hint of a raised eyebrow, a slight quirking of his lips — not in amusement, but in perplexed disbelief, like he can’t believe that’s the reason you’ve not been dating anyone.

❝ because of that? ❞ he queries, and you can barely hear him.

the first time you brought up your little . . . issue with him, you almost couldn’t speak, shaking and hyperventilating as he held you close with a hand petting at the back of your head. you couldn’t believe anyone could overlook it, that anyone would want you because of it or even in spite of it. indeed, no one had before him. or after.

you had been sure, positive, brooking no argument, that he would leave. that he would be just like everyone else.

but by some miracle he’d stayed.

until he hadn’t.

luckily no tears have actually fallen yet, but they’re still sitting heavily along your lashline, smudging your mascara.

❝ that’s nothing, ❞ he finally says, and one of his hands — his hands that used to be so gentle holding you, touching you, coaxing you to orgasm again and again like it was nothing to dote on you and want nothing in return — is cradling your elbow, thumb catching on the tender skin there, back and forth.

you swallow past the lump in your throat to be able to say, ❝ to you. ❞ those tears threaten to spill, but still you hold them back as you take a shuddering breath. you can feel yourself starting to lose it, breath quickening, because that’s just the thing — to joseph quinn, all the most terrible, disgusting things about you may as well have not existed. he used to look at you like the sun shone out of your ass, despite all the revolting things it had to shine through to reach him.

a great, trembling breath saves you from a full on breakdown as you croak, ❝ to you it was nothing. to everyone else? i may as well be worthless. ❞

you know it’s the truth ; your lived experience has cemented that reality in stone. and even when you found someone who you thought was different . . . well, he eventually left, too, didn’t he?

❝ hey . . . ❞ joe’s hand travels an inch or two up your bicep, gripping, and that’s when you finally squeeze your glass a little too hard.

a piece of the rim chips off under your finger and a flare of pain shoots up and across your knuckle.

❝ shit! ❞ you’re on your feet with just enough time to register a dollop of blood blooming before joe is standing as well, his napkin wrapped quickly around your finger, his other hand abandoning your bicep to rest against your back. you’re grateful, for once, that your stylist chose a backless number for you tonight. you could just about melt into the floor with joe’s hands on you again.

❝ hurts, ❞ you hiss, finger throbbing where it’s encased in his napkin.

❝ deep breaths, ❞ joe commands you, just like he used to. always talking you through it, making sure you were okay, that you were more than okay. ❝ deep breaths, remember? ❞ his hand is rubbing tight, soothing circles on your back and you would be an idiot to have forgotten.

those deep breaths, how deep he used to reach inside of you with no pain at all . . .

you glance around — the bar is almost empty, and the few folks still in attendance are still engrossed in their own conversations. even the bartender hasn’t noticed, polishing glasses at the far end away from the two of you.

still, your mind gets carried away, as it loves to do. ❝ if there’s anyone in this place taking pictures right now, we are so screwed . . . ❞

❝ relax, ❞ joe orders, and you can’t help yourself ; you do. his voice rumbles through you, close as you are to his chest. ❝ no one’s taking pictures. dana always makes sure the guest list is tight, remember? no paps. she’s good at her job. ❞

you look up and joe looks down and his smile. like there’s nothing even wrong. like your finger hasn’t just been sliced open and the thick, fluffy napkin that was so white before hasn’t turned red and limp with your blood.

❝ . . . how do you always do that? ❞

you expect him to ask you what you mean, but he just grins wider and leans down to bump his chin to your forehead. ❝ it’s my superpower. ❞

the laugh you give is breathless, and you realize you’ve been gripping his arm this whole time, maybe a little too tightly. your fingers go slack, but you keep your palm on him, just resting.

❝ i didn’t forget, ❞ he lets you know, and now his nails are dancing over your back, prickling your skin with pleasure, making all of you feel hot and way more drunk than you actually are. ❝ i just thought . . . you know that doesn’t define you. ❞

❝ says you, ❞ you snap, bratty.

joe laughs, drawing the attention of a nearby woman who eventually loses interest and looks away. ❝ so stubborn. ❞

❝ so stubborn, ❞ he repeats, and you can hear the fondness in his voice.

you list against him.

the hand on your back trails down, down, to the small of your back and presses in. ❝ this needs more than a cocktail napkin. and i don’t exactly trust whatever first aid kit they’re pretending to have back there. ❞ he nods toward the bar.

❝ i’ll be fine. ❞ you shake your head, prepared to pull your hand away, but joe is insistent, not letting you.

❝ you always say that. ❞ his nose bumps the top of your head, then drops lower, breath hot against your ear. ❝ just let me take care of you. ❞

you open your mouth to argue, but find yourself at a loss for words. isn’t this what you’ve been wanting? to have joe back, to have him making things right again?

the tears from before had vanished in the wake of the adrenaline coursing through you when you cut your finger, but they’re back now. you look up at him, imploring.

he nods. ❝ i’m staying upstairs. i’ve got bandaids, antiseptic, the works. ❞

five years ago, you remember you would have trusted him with anything. with everything.

❝ okay. ❞

relief washes over his face so plainly it’s almost hard to watch. ❝ yeah? ❞

❝ yeah. ❞

joe pulls you gently away from the bar, still keeping pressure on your finger, and you fall into step beside him, not caring who sees you go.

-

the hotel door clicks shut behind you with a soft, final sound. whatever is going to happen between the two of you now is going to happen whether it’s a good idea or not.

❝ keep that tight, ❞ joe tells you, hand squeezing around your finger.

you nod.

he turns to hang his suit jacket by the door and then takes a step forward into the room, but when you try to follow, the heel of your shoe gets stuck on the runner in the hallway and you stumble, cursing again.

❝ here. ❞ joe kneels in front of you, and you think he’s going to move the rug out of the way, but instead his hands are gathering the folds of your dress and moving them aside so he can start to undo the clasp of your right heel.

❝ oh. you don’t have to — ❞ gently, you try to tug your foot away from him, but just wind up losing your footing again, pitching close to the wall.

he’s probably wondering how the hell you’ve survived these last five years without him.

although,  ❝ let me ❞ is all that he says, those big, beautiful brown eyes turned up to yours.

so you let him, his sleeves now rolled to his elbows, hands working deftly on the miniscule straps that have been strangling your ankles all night.

one heel goes first, and you step down, then he works on the other, cradling a hand at your heel as he slips you out of it. ❝ you’re gonna break your neck in these one day. ❞

now that is something you’re surprised he remembers. these are your favorite pair of heels, despite how treacherous they are to actually wear. you just love the way they make your legs look, and if you’re not mistaken joe did too. though he always used to tell you he preferred you alive and with no broken bones to prone in a hospital bed with nice-looking legs.

heels set aside, you’re just placing your second foot down when joe’s fingers graze the arch of that foot. it’s enough to make you gasp.

joe looks up at you, knuckles against your calf, for half a second. then sets your dress to rights and stands. ❝ better? ❞

❝ ahem. much. ❞

he takes your hand, making sure you’re putting proper pressure on that finger, and leads you to the bed so you can sit and relax.

from here, you can see the room properly — joe’s clothes are ripped from his suitcase and strewn carelessly about the room ( except you know joseph quinn rarely does anything carelessly ) like he was deciding what to wear. from the bathroom comes the faintest trace of his body wash, steam-sweet and spicy and still exactly the kind he used when you were together.

joe’s knelt by his suitcase, rummaging through it with single-minded focus.

❝ i know i’ve got one. ❞ he pushes aside folded shirts, socks, a dog-eared paperback. ❝ i always overpack. like i’m preparing for minor disasters. ❞

you laugh softly, agreeing, remembering this too.

❝ got it, ❞ he says triumphantly, holding up a small first-aid kit like proof of competence.

the mattress dips as he sits beside you, taking your wrists gently in hand as he turns you to face him. both of you now sit with one foot on the floor and the other leg crossed in front of you, him with his slacks going tight, you with your gown now tangled about your legs.

❝ let me see, ❞ he mutters, gingerly allowing you to take that pressure off of your finger so he can unwrap the blood-soaked napkin.

joe holds your mangled finger closer to the bedside lamp, turning it this way and that as he examines it closely. there’s dried blood staining your finger all the way down to the second knuckle, but he seems satisfied as he murmurs, ❝ i don’t see any glass . . . ❞

❝ good, ❞ is all you can think to say.

this feels way more right to you than it should, having him take care of you again. just like five years ago. if it weren’t for the facial hair he’s grown, you could almost fool yourself into thinking it’s still 2020 and you cut your finger doing the dishes and joe is just being the dutiful boyfriend in patching you up.

he rips the antiseptic wipe open with his teeth, the sharp, sterile smell of alcohol filling the room as he spits the packaging onto the floor. ❝ ready? ❞

you whimper, recoiling. ❝ you know i don’t do well with pain. ❞

❝ i know, ❞ he mutters, holding your wrist, squeezing comfortingly. ❝ and you’d probably be fine without it, but. better to be safe than sorry. ❞

you grimace, looking back and forth between him and the alcohol-drenched pad. ❝ yeah . . . okay. ❞

trying to be careful, he swipes the wipe over the cut.

❝ fuck! ❞ you tense, instinctually trying to pull away from him.

but joe holds you firm. ❝ you’re okay, you’re okay. i’ve got you. ❞

he continues to rub the pad over the cut, and every time he does it stings a little less and less until you’re trembling over nothing.

joe’s fingers eventually still, the antiseptic wipe discarded on the bedside table. he blows softly over your finger, brows knit in concentration, before peeling open a bandage and wrapping it around with gentle care.

❝ there. ❞ he flashes you a quick, sweet smile. ❝ all patched up. ❞

you watch his hands linger against yours, thumbs smoothing themselves over your wrists, pressing into your pulse points. he does finally let go, though, hands braced on his knees.

❝ how’s it feeling? didn’t look like it was too deep, thank goodness. ❞

you flex your finger in its beige prison, nodding. ❝ still hurts a little, but. better than it was. ❞

the silence that settles is heavy, full.

joe’s gaze flickers over you, taking you in as you continue to flex your finger back and forth.

he must have sensed all along that something was wrong with you, beyond the obvious sliced open finger. your shoulders have been tense all night, and he’s been waiting for the right time to bring it up.

❝ family? ❞

it shouldn’t surprise you that he guesses right. it still does.

you pick at the edge of the bandage. ❝ among other things. ❞

one of joe’s hands drops to the bedspread, knuckles against your knee. ❝ d’you want to talk about it? ❞ you look up at him and he gives you a wry little smile. ❝ you don’t have to, if you prefer not to. i won’t push. you know that. ❞

you do know that. it’s part of the reason you miss him so much.

❝ they still think everything would magically be okay if i just tried harder. ❞ you laugh humorlessly. ❝ if i were less . . . me. ❞

joe only met your family a handful of times, at holidays and birthday parties. but you’re sure if he remembers anything about you, he would remember them. the prim and proper type, the ❛ children are meant to be seen and not heard ❜ type, the sweep everything under the carpet and hope to god the guests don’t see the giant lump type.

❝ which isn’t helping my mental issues, ❞ you continue, words just spilling out now that you’ve turned on the faucet. ❝ everything is so loud lately, everything . . . everything’s gotten so mean again. still convinced i’m going to make one wrong move and ruin everything. ❞

unbidden, you glare at joe, daring him to contradict you.

and of course he does, never one to let you sit and wallow. always a ray of shining fucking hope. ❝ your family never defined you, my love. neither did what goes on in your head. ❞

you don’t know if it’s whiplash from hearing him call you something as sweet as ❛ my love ❜ or what, but you suddenly want to be very unkind to him. ❝ all those things didn’t go away just because you weren’t around to see them. ❞

❝ i never said they did, ❞ he sighs immediately, catching your wrist, holding it in both of his big hands. ❝ those are the things you carry. they don’t make you you. ❞

❝ guess you wouldn’t really know anyway, ❞ you snarl. ❝ considering you left. ❞

and that’s when the tears start to fall.

❝ don’t fucking say that. ❞ you expect him to drop your wrist, to recoil from you — you can be cruel at the best of times. when you’re feeling like you are now, it can be downright nauseating, the shit that comes out of your mouth. you wouldn’t blame him for wanting to get away from you.

but he doesn’t let go of you, only holds your wrist tighter. ❝ let’s not try to rewrite history. you know that’s not true. ❞

❝ you walked away, ❞ you insist, your voice dagger sharp despite the way his hands are now gathering your other wrist together, holding you, cradling you almost like he used to. almost. if only you were a couple feet closer.

joe exhales through his nose, slow and controlled. ❝ i left for work. ❞

❝ for months, ❞ you fire back. ❝ again and again. ❞

❝ as did you! ❞ he explodes, and that’s when he finally stops touching you, arms spread wide. ❝ we’re both actors, darling. let’s not pretend we didn’t both know what our schedules would be like when we got together. you’re the one who stopped answering my calls, by the way, or don’t you remember? ❞

❝ that’s not fair, ❞ you sniffle, again wondering why you don’t just get up and leave. this fight could be over easily, if you just stood, gathered your heels, and walked out.

but you know the truth — and the truth is that if you leave now it will be just like abandoning him a second time.

❝ it is. ❞ joe pillows both elbows on his knees and leans in close to you. ❝ i could feel you pulling away weeks before i ever got on that plane. you kept telling me you were fine when i knew damn well you weren’t. ❞

you never told him then, but it feels freeing to say it now — ❝ i got tired of always being the sad one, the one who complained all the time, the one who needed saving. didn’t you get annoyed that i was always having issues? that i was always sad or confused or frustrated about something? that i couldn’t just be normal? ❞

joe’s jaw, held taut since you started arguing, visibly relaxes. ❝ you were always normal to me. always. ❞

you can’t help it ; you scoff. ❝ yeah, right — ❞

❝ i mean it, ❞ he cuts you off and you shrink, wanting this bed to just swallow you whole. ❝ everyone has their problems. yours were never any better or worse than anyone else’s. ❞

❝ oh, but far more numerous, ❞ you try to argue.

❝ no. ❞ joe shuts you down again, hands slipping into yours, pulling you up straight before you practically sink into the sheets. ❝ you don’t have to tally them like that, like there’s some quota for how many issues you’re allowed to have before they’re deemed too much. ❞

easy for him to say — joe’s biggest issue was always that he sometimes got bad migraines.

his fingers are at your cheeks, brushing the tears away, scraping gently over your heated skin. ❝ you were never exhausting. you weren’t a burden . . . you were a gift, one i never got to finish unwrapping before you ripped yourself away from me. ❞

he cradles your jaw preciously, treating you like the present he apparently always thought you were. ❝ i never left because i stopped wanting you. i left because you told me to. ❞

you could kiss him, you want to.

but something else is gnawing at your mind, begging you to ask the biggest question, the one you’ve been dying to know the answer to.

you turn your tear-stained face up to him, blinking away even more that threaten to fall. ❝ tell me the truth, joe. tell me if it ever pissed you off. tell me you never wished you were with a girl you could just fuck whenever you wanted to. tell me you didn’t think about leaving me for someone whose body wasn’t a fucking joke. tell me. and if you’re lying, i’ll know. ❞

and you would know. all the men — both before and after him — who had lied to you. told you it didn’t bother them when it did. told you they could work around it when they couldn’t. told you that it didn’t matter to them, but then packed up and left you alone anyway when it became apparent you weren’t just bent, but well and truly broken.

all the men who had left you believing your worth was inextricably linked to what was between your legs and if you couldn’t use that? well, you were useless.

you have your eyes squeezed tight, dreading his answer, dreading him telling you that yes, he kept you around for convenience, that he was always secretly hoping you’d wake up one day miraculously ❛ cured. ❜

he doesn’t answer right away, which you know doesn’t bode well. thinking of some way to let you down easily, probably.

then you feel his forehead against yours, breath warm and familiar against your lips, breathing into each other’s mouths a muscle memory you could never forget.

❝ look at me, darling. ❞

you do.

his hands are steadily gentle at your jaw, petting you, soothing you.

❝ i never cared about that. not once. not in the way you think i did. i didn’t ever care what you could or couldn’t give me physically. i didn’t keep score. i didn’t lie awake at night wishing i were dating someone else with an easier body. ❞ his nose brushes yours and your lashes flutter. ❝ i wanted you. all of you. the way you laughed, the way you cried, the way you always overthought yourself into knots. there was never some imaginary girl who could’ve replaced you just because she was simpler to touch. ❞

he’s not lying, you know it in your heart.

you feel it then — the awful, seismic truth of the matter cracking open inside of you.

you let go of the best thing you ever had because you thought you weren’t enough.

and joe just keeps going, ❝ you were scared. and i don’t blame you, what you’ve been through. but just know. i would have stayed with you even if sex had been off the table completely. because i — i love you. i always fucking will. ❞

you answer him with your mouth, unable to keep to yourself any longer. part of you expects him to push you away ; after all, just because someone loves you doesn’t mean they want to be with you.

but joe reciprocates with his fingers in your hair, pulling you into his lap. your dress rides up around your thighs, but you could care less. you should be just about naked by now, you’ve waited so long to have him again like this.

joe breathes against you, words hot and lush against your lips, ❝ what d’you want? ❞

❝ i want you to touch me. ❞

maybe that’s all you’ve wanted all night, since you saw him from across that crowded ballroom at 6PM. maybe you were expecting this.

joe lays you back, your legs a vice around his hips he has to press down in order to thread a hand between the two of you.

as his mouth busies itself with your neck, the pads of three of his fingers press down on your panties, just over your clit. he does remember more than you gave him credit for, like how the gritty scrape of your underwear over that sensitive little nub always made you so impossibly wet before his skin ever even touched yours.

he remembers how you like to be rubbed, too, in slow, tight little circles that leave your legs quivering.

joe is still half on top of you, one of his legs pinning yours down to the bed, holding you open as he continues his assault on your neck. the hand not busy between your legs slips beneath your shoulders, holding you close.

and all you can do is moan and thrash and cling to him with your shaking arms.

eventually, joe’s fingers slip down, pressing just over your entrance, where your panties are soaked through.

apparently satisfied, he leans up, hooks his thumbs into the waist of your underwear and peels them slowly down your legs. he’s looking down at those legs, mesmerized, until his hand disappears back underneath your gown.

and then he looks at you, fingers spread around your folds, rubbing gently up and down. he gives your clit a second or two of extra attention before the tip of one of his fingers finds your dripping hole. he rubs slowly, feeling the slick, silky flesh of your insides start to part for him.

❝ okay? ❞ he asks quietly ; he won’t move his finger until you give him the go ahead.

you swallow thickly, taking measured breaths through pursed lips. ❝ should be fine. ❞

❝ if it’s not — ❞

❝ i know. i’ll tell you. ❞

in the past, you almost never had a problem with his fingers except on the worst of days. but it’s been a while and you haven’t been in a great headspace recently, so you still take a deep breath and push out as hard as you can to accommodate his middle finger as he pushes it in.

❝ that’s it, ❞ he groans, and you feel him hard against your hip for the first time in forever. ❝ doing so well, baby. ❞

even just that one finger makes your breathing speed up, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. you’re so tight, which for any other woman might be great. for you, it often spells disaster.

but joe keeps that finger sliding in and out of you at an easy, steady pace, letting you get used to him. you’ve barely even used any toys since your separation, didn’t see the point. the one person you would have tried so hard for was gone and he wasn’t coming back.

joe waits until your hips are bucking, silently begging for more, before he pulls that finger out and places two at your entrance instead.

you tense, but he just rubs, dipping first the tip of one finger in and then the other, alternating over and over until you beg, ❝ please, joey. ❞

a gentle kiss is pressed to your forehead, joe’s breath ruffling your hair as he slowly starts to push.

there’s an initial sting of pain, but nothing you’re not used to, nothing you can’t push through. your face barely even flickers, betraying nothing as joe’s thick fingers sink deep inside of you.

once there, he rocks them gently, the heel of his hand brushing your clit with every movement.

the stretch makes you close your eyes, your own fingers scrabbling for purchase on the back of joe’s starchy dress shirt.

❝ feeling okay? ❞ he checks in on you.

❝ more, ❞ is your only answer, and joe huffs a laugh, fingers starting to pump gently.

you turn toward him on a particularly delicious thrust and moan into his mouth.

joe seems torn between kissing you and turning to watch his fingers sink inside of you, your gown now rucked up intentionally around your waist.

his hips are jerking, rutting his hard on against your thigh, and you reach down to palm him through his pants. ❝ joe . . . want this. ❞

he’s clearly struggling to keep it together, cheeks stained a deep crimson, chest heaving as he plants the heel of his palm tightly over your clit and grinds.

❝ please. ❞ you squeeze him, maybe a little roughly, but joe doesn’t seem to mind, just bucks his hips harder against your hand.

❝ d’you want to cum on my fingers or . . . ? ❞

❝ nuh-uh. wanna cum on your cock, joey, please. ❞

those fingers still inside of you and he takes your chin in hand and forces you to look at him. ❝ we don’t have to — ❞

it was always like this with him — you always wanted to, but sometimes your body just wouldn’t let you. and joe never cared.

❝ don’t get all chivalrous on me now. it’s been five fucking years, joseph. i’m going to have you inside of me. ❞

with one last little nip to your neck, joe slips his fingers from your tightness, leaving you clenching wantonly around nothing.

he stands to toe his shoes off, pants following suit, then starts to unbutton his shirt. but he catches you on a pitiful whine, rubbing yourself, plush thighs spread so wide for him, and he crawls back over you with his shirt still on, only half unbuttoned.

the kiss you share takes your breath away and you gasp into his mouth as he mutters, ❝ i missed you, ❞ as if that weren’t now the most obvious thing in the world. ❝ i missed you so much. ❞

his cock, hard and twitching, is slipping through your wet folds, the sticky head nudging your clit with every slide.

you reach down to press, just on the shaft, pushing him down to prod gently at your entrance.

❝ you let me know. ❞ he grabs for one of your hands, slotting your fingers tightly together.

❝ of course. ❞

without having to be asked, joe maneuvers your legs — one of them bent with your foot on the bed, the other curled tightly about his waist. back then, the two of you tried nearly every position there was to try and this was always one of the ones that worked best for you.

even now, just being in this position with him — like a pavlovian response — you feel yourself leaking, soaking his cock as the head nudges inside.

you wish you could say there’s no pain, that he slides in just as easily as he used to when you’d spent months training yourself together, learning what worked and what didn’t.

but it’s been too long, and you haven’t been keeping up with your exercises.

he gets about halfway inside before it starts to hurt.

you tense, make a small noise in the back of your throat, and brace a hand on his arm.

he goes immediately still. ❝ d’you need to stop? ❞

a shake of your head, and nails digging into his flesh as you relax. ❝ no. just slow. ❞

joe has a thumb pressed into the tender skin of your inner thigh, just beside where he’s spearing you open. that used to help, a gentle massage around your opening to help you relax.

❝ you let me know, and i’ll stop any time. ❞

oh, but it’s been so long. you’d burn the place down if your body made you stop now.

❝ deep breaths, ❞ joe commands again, tugging the neckline of your gown down so he can pepper kisses across the tops of your breasts. ❝ deep breaths, baby. you’re doing so good for me. ❞

the pain subsides as joe works you through his entrance and before you know it, he’s buried so deep inside of you you can feel the head of his cock pulsing against your cervix.

❝ there she is, ❞ joe coos, breathing rushed and moist across your chest. ❝ there’s my girl. ❞

you keen, high in the back of your throat, and buck your hips, commanding him to move.

as amazing as he is, as well as he takes care of you, you can tell it takes all of his willpower to go slow.

more soft kisses are laid upon your chest, joe’s fingers tight at your hips, voice low and soothing — ❝ it’s okay, baby, i’ve got you. just relax and let me take care of you. ❞

those slow thrusts evolve only slightly, still steady, not too rough, just a little bit faster. blessedly, your body accommodates him with minimal discomfort. there’s a soft burning that starts at first, but subsides as you hitch your leg just a little higher around him.

joe leans up, one hand planted firmly on your hip as the other trails up your side, cupping and kneading at the soft flesh of your breast, plucking the nipple between his fingers.

when your head thrashes wildly on the pillow, caught between the sensation of him fucking you and the feeling of his fingers teasing your sensitive nipple, joe groans, ❝ you look incredible, you feel incredible. you haven’t changed, still so perfect. ❞

the praise falls easily from his lips as you lose yourselves in the feeling of each other after so long.

❝ harder, ❞ you command suddenly, a hand cupping the back of his neck as he blankets over you for another kiss.

❝ you’re sure? ❞ eyes searching yours, he slows for just a moment.

❝ i can take it. ❞

as his thrusts start to speed up again, you anchor yourself with your fingers scraping down his arms, holding fast.

joe chokes, ❝ i’m not sure how long i’ll last like this. god, it’s been too fucking long . . . ❞

you wouldn’t say you’re familiar with the sound of skin slapping skin that starts to fill the room, but you’re certainly no stranger to it. with enough foreplay and lube and toys, the two of you used to fuck like this often. not all the time, but enough that you felt it was satisfactory for both of you.

now, you throw your arms around him, that leg tight around his lower back, pulling him in. ❝ it’s perfect, joe. you feel so fucking good . . . ❞

❝ just like before? ❞

❝ just like — ❞ that’s when you start to tighten, orgasm hitting you along with a wave of pain that you grit your teeth against. this is typically how it happens — the pain can really come at any time, but almost always the contractions of an orgasm will bring it on, especially if joe is fucking you like he is now.

joe can see it in your face. you can feel him start to falter, but you grab him by the jaw and make him look at you.

❝ don’t you dare fucking stop right now. ❞ taking those deep breaths you’re all too familiar with, you work yourself through your climax with joe’s help, whose forearm has come to support your lower back, holding you up into that perfect position where the pain vanishes and all you can feel is pleasure washing over your entire body.

with a cry, you feel yourself go limp as though you’re having an out of body experience. distantly, you can hear joe’s desperate grunts as he starts to cum, flooding you completely with a ❝ shit, i should’ve asked, i’m sorry. i should’ve asked . . . ❞

doesn’t really matter to you, though, as you — devoid of mostly all of your strength — reach imploringly for him. bringing him to you and kissing him on the mouth.

❝ fuck, i’m sorry — ❞

❝ shhh. ❞ you pet his sweaty hair, his neck, his shoulders. your head is lolling sleepily on the pillow and somewhere down below you can feel his cum start to leak from you. ❝ that was . . . fuck. almost better than how it used to be. ❞

joe tsks, sliding an insistent finger along your lower lip. ❝ even though it hurt? ❞

❝ it wasn’t that bad. i’ve had worse. i just might need a hot bath soon, to soak. ❞

❝ mind if i join? ❞ joe giggles, making to pick you up and — presumably — carry you to the bathroom.

but you push against his shoulder and instead he hovers over you, questioning.

❝ promise you won’t leave again. even if i try to push you away. ❞

❝ i hope you won’t. ❞

❝ you know me. ❞

there’s a stillness in the air ; you honestly aren’t quite sure what he’s going to say. then his hand meets yours for a pinkie promise. ❝ promise. ❞

he stands at the edge of the peristyle garden, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the darkened fountain where moonlight breaks itself into fragments upon the water’s surface. somewhere inside, voices carry — measured, satisfied, final. his mother has spoken. the future has been decided with the same careless precision used to choose a new mosaic or a favored horse.

you.

your name sits in his chest like a blade twisted sideways.

he had known before the words were spoken, had felt it in the way his mother would not meet his eyes, in the way his brother’s mouth curved — not quite a smile, and not quite surprise. ownership, perhaps. or triumph. geta has tasted that same bitterness often enough to recognize it.

still, when the sentence came — she will be wed to caracalla — it had struck with the dull finality of a death knell.

and geta had left before anyone could look too closely at him.

now, alone, he allows himself what rome never seems able to give him : a moment’s respite.

you had not been careless with one another. that was the cruelest part. you had never been a dalliance, never just a warm body hidden behind silk and shadows. you had been chosen. by him. by his heart, against his better judgment, against the empire itself. in quieter moments — your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing idle patterns at his wrist — he had let himself imagine a life that did not feel like a battlefield.

betrothal. legitimacy. a future that was yours.

instead, rome has reached in and torn the thread clean through.

geta closes his eyes, and memory betrays him instantly : the warmth of your skin, the soft certainty with which you always say his name, as though it belongs to you alone. as though it will always be safe in your mouth.

now you, and every beautiful thing that comes with you, will be given to his brother.

caracalla — who takes and breaks and burns everything he touches. who will never see you as geta does. who will never kneel to listen when you speak, never soften his voice for you alone.

the thought makes that same knife twist beneath geta’s ribs.

he turns at the sound of approaching footsteps, already knowing who it will be. he had felt your presence long before he saw you — like a change in the air, like a wound reopening.

geta says your name quietly.

there is so much he cannot say. so much he should not. walls have ears. rome devours weakness.

but when his gaze meets yours, all that discipline fractures.

❝ i am sorry, ❞ he says instead — not for loving you, not for what you have shared, but for the impossible cruelty of it all. for the fact that in a mere fortnight, the world will begin calling you someone else’s.

and though he stands only a few paces away, he has never felt farther from you in his life.

you’ve stopped to make sure you are truly alone. company at this moment would spell disaster for you both.

and then you move.

geta’s apology cracks something open in you, and your body reacts faster than your brain — feet carrying you across the marble stepping stones, breath hitching, his name rising unbidden to your lips. for a heartbeat you forget everything except the simple truth of him standing there alone, waiting for you.

then you see his face.

you stop again, the distance between you suddenly vast.

he is still, as always, carved into a careful composure — but there are fractures in it tonight. his eyes, beneath that ghastly black makeup, are rimmed red, his jaw set too tightly, grief held with the discipline of someone long practiced in swallowing pain whole. and there is something else there too, something that makes your chest seize : fear, perhaps, or the expectation of blame.

you fold your hands together in front of you, fingers twisting.

for a terrible moment, you wonder if he thinks this is your doing. if he believes — even a little — that you should have spoken, refused, clawed fate back with your bare hands. you imagine his disappointment, the quiet withdrawal of his affection, and it hurts almost as much as the betrothal itself.

❝ i — ❞ you start, but you falter.

you notice wet tracks smudging the white smeared onto his face, that makeup he and caracalla are always wearing, the kind you cannot stand. geta is so handsome, you cannot fathom why he paints himself in such tawdry oils.

yet even now, even like this, he is devastating to you.

the realization settles heavily in your chest : nothing has changed where it matters most.

geta watches the hesitation play across your face, and something in him shifts. his shoulders loosen a fraction, as though he has been bracing for a blow that never came. slowly — carefully — he steps closer, closing some of the space but not all of it, as if afraid to frighten you away.

❝ you need not explain, ❞ he says quietly. ❝ i know. ❞

his hand lifts, then pauses in the air between you, fingers flexing once before settling — not on you, but against the stone balustrade beside your arm. close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the nearness that has always undone you.

it is an almost-touch. a memory of one.

❝ i would never think you capable of betrayal, ❞ he continues, voice low, steady with effort. ❝ not of me. ❞

the unspoken words hang there : not of us.

for a moment, neither of you moves. the night presses in around you, heavy with jasmine and the distant murmur of rome, indifferent and eternal. you are acutely aware of the line that now exists — not yet marked by law, but already real — a future that no longer belongs to him.

still, he does not step back.

his fingers brush, barely, against the edge of your sleeve — a touch so light it could be mistaken for accident or nothing at all. it is reverent. hesitant. as though he is reminding himself of what this feels like, committing it to memory while he still may.

❝ i do not know how we are meant to stand now, ❞ geta admits softly. ❝ but i know i cannot pretend you are a stranger to me. ❞

his gaze drops, for only a moment, to your hands — close enough to take, yet held so carefully apart.

and in that fragile space between you, everything you were — and everything you are no longer allowed to be — trembles, unresolved.

you inhale, steadying yourself, and then you cross the remaining distance.

not rushing toward him, but not fleeing either.

you step close enough that the hem of your robe brushes his sandals, close enough that the warmth of him presses faintly against you, undeniable. geta stills completely, breath catching in a way he cannot hide, as though even this small defiance of the new order might undo him.

you lower your voice until it is meant only for him.

❝ tonight, ❞ you whisper.

his gaze, so impossibly dark, lifts to yours instantly.

❝ i will be in my quarters. ❞

the words tremble, but they do not falter. you are keenly aware of the garden around you — the open arches, the shadows that might conceal a servant, a guard, any other listening ear. the danger sharpens your resolve.

❝ he won’t come, ❞ you add, softer still. ❝ not yet. caracalla will follow the rules — he always does when they are lain by your mother. ❞

you hate that you know this. hate that it gives you certainty.

your fingers rise, hesitating, then rest lightly against geta’s wrist — you can feel his pulse jumping against his warm skin.

❝ if you wish . . . ❞ you murmur, ❝ come to me. ❞

your thumb brushes once against his skin, a ghost of the intimacy you have shared a hundred times before. then you draw your hand back, deliberately, leaving the choice where it must be.

❝ i will wait. ❞

geta does not answer at once.

the silence stretches, taut as a drawn bowstring. his jaw tightens, chest rising and falling as he weighs the risk — the treason of it, the danger of wanting something rome has already claimed. his gaze searches your face as if committing it to memory, as if deciding whether one last night will be mercy or ruin.

somewhere nearby, a laugh echoes. footsteps. proof that the world is very much awake, and that you are not alone.

you step back then, just enough to put distance between you again, just enough to protect you both.

❝ we should not linger, ❞ you say quietly, though every part of you rebels against the words.

you turn before he can answer, before courage or fear can change either of you, and begin to walk away through the colonnade — slow, unhurried, the picture of propriety.

yet even as you go, you know he is watching.

and he knows exactly where to find you, should he decide that one last act of defiance is worth whatever tomorrow may bring.

-

the night is long without him, the darkness pressing in close ; you feel as though you can’t think, cannot even breathe. the news of the day has drained you, and you think geta won’t come. how could he, possibly?

you’ve found yourself in a right mess with no way out. even if he did materialize at your door, what could he do for you? emperor he may be, but only one of two.

and betrothals in rome are writ in blood.

you are a fool for thinking he would want to spend even one more night with you . . .

there is a soft knock at the door.

your head has just hit the pillow when you quickly sit once more, scrambling out of the mounds of sheets and blankets to hurry to the door.

you crack it only an inch or two, and catch sight of the burnished red robe gilt all in gold that you are so familiar with. you once told geta seeing him in this robe made the pressure come quick and easy between your thighs; of course he would wear it tonight.

yanking him inside by that robe, you run your hands down his chest, fingers catching on the silken material.

❝ geta . . . ❞ you are at a loss for words, however, upset as you are.

you don’t have to wait long for what to say, as geta is pulling you close, insistent lips upon yours, his kisses filled with jealousy and pain and anger. he backs you up to the now closed door, body pressing hard against yours.

❝ mine, ❞ he hisses between love-bitten kisses. ❝ you are mine. not his. ❞

❝ i know, ❞ you sob into his mouth. you cling to him. ❝ help me, geta. help me fix this. ❞

geta breaks the kiss just long enough to take a great, rattling breath against your lips. his forehead meets yours, and his hands tremble as they cradle your face.

❝ i will fix this, ❞ he whispers, voice raw. ❝ i don’t care what rome wants. i don’t care about duty or blood or my brother . . . ❞

he pulls back to look properly at you, his eyes a fierce, golden fire in the dim light of the candles.

❝ we’ll leave tonight. flee to alexandria, greece . . . anywhere beyond their reach. ❞

a beat.

❝ . . . if you’ll have me. ❞

❝ do you mean it? ❞ you press against him, hopeful for the first time since the wedding announcement. ❝ but . . . geta. could we leave tomorrow? at first light? tonight i . . . i want you. it’s been so long. ❞

and if all goes to shit, you really don’t want a month ago to be the last time the two of you made love.

teasingly, you spread the lapels of his beautiful robe and touch his chest.

geta’s breath catches as you glide your hands along his chest. it’s been so long since last he held you . . . he craves your touch. ❝ we’ll leave tomorrow. i promise. ❞

one of his hands finds your hair, the other gripping your waist, pulling you even closer. his lips are at your neck, trailing burning kisses along the sensitive skin there.

❝ tonight, ❞ he manages hoarsely, ❝ tonight i want to remind you . . . who you belong to. ❞

❝ yes, ❞ you hiss, feeling yourself already slick between your thighs. ❝ yes, claim me, geta. i’m yours. ❞

at your words, that possessive fire burns bright in geta’s eyes. he urges you into the hard wood of the door once again, trapping you against it. he captures your lips, kissing you hungrily, tongue demanding entrance so it can touch yours. his hand in your hair tightens, drawing your head back to give him better access as he takes your mouth.

❝ mine, ❞ he murmurs again, into the kiss, hands roaming your body over your thin nightgown. they slide down, gripping your thighs and lifting, wanting to hoist you up to him.

❝ wait. ❞

the word leaves your mouth breathless but firm, cutting through the urgency that has gathered between you like heat.

geta stills instantly.

not in irritation. not in frustration. in obedience — the kind he gives only to you. his hands loosen in your hair, easing their grip, though his forehead remains pressed to yours, his breath still uneven against your lips.

❝ wait, ❞ you repeat more softly, lifting a hand between you, resting it against his chest where you feel his heart beating hard. ❝ please. ❞

for a moment, he looks at you as though you have struck him — nostrils flared, lips parted. want held in check by trust.

he nods once.

you take his hand, threading your fingers through his, and lead him deeper into your chambers — past the bed with its disheveled sheets, past the flickering lamps — to the marble wash basin tucked beneath an arched niche in the wall. you move with quiet purpose ; you are afraid that if you hesitate even once, the night will steal him away.

geta watches you the entire time.

when you reach the basin, you release his hand to pour water from the ewer, testing it with your fingers until steam claws at the air above. you take a linen cloth, dip it into the warmth, wring it out carefully.

only then do you turn back to him.

❝ sit, ❞ you murmur.

another flicker of surprise crosses his face — then he lowers himself onto the edge of the bench beside the basin, shoulders tense, hands braced on his knees like a man awaiting judgment. the candlelight catches the gold threaded through his robe, the dark paint wet around his eyes — grief made visible.

you step between his knees.

slowly. deliberately.

you lift the cloth, hesitating just a moment — giving him time to pull away, to protest — but he does neither. his gaze never leaves yours.

the cloth touches his cheek.

geta inhales sharply.

the warmth loosens the stiff lines of his composure almost at once. you wipe gently, careful around his eyes, where the makeup has mixed with tears he would never admit to shedding. black smears the linen. white fades beneath your touch, revealing the skin you know so well.

❝ there, ❞ you whisper, more to yourself than to him. ❝ you know i never liked this infernal makeup. ❞

a faint sound leaves him — not quite a laugh, not quite a breath. his eyes close as you continue, the careful ritual of it grounding both of you. you clean his other cheek, his jaw, the bridge of his nose. with each pass of the cloth, he seems to soften, the emperor peeling away until only the man remains.

when you reach his mouth, you pause.

your thumb lifts, brushing gently over his lower lip.

geta’s eyes open again — dark, intent, undone.

❝ you’re ruining me, ❞ he murmurs hoarsely.

you smile, small and sad. ❝ that makeup ruins you. now you look better. much more handsome. ❞

when his face is clean, you turn the cloth back to yourself, wiping gently at your own cheeks, your jaw, the places where his kisses left their mark — white smudges against your skin, proof of how quickly control had slipped away from both of you. he watches you with naked hunger now, but there is something else there too. relief. awe.

when you are finished, you set the cloth aside.

the silence between you is different now. quiet. heavy.

you lift his chin with two fingers, forcing him to look at you — really look.

❝ this, ❞ you tell him softly, ❝ is what i will remember. if tomorrow goes wrong. if they take everything from us. ❞

his hand comes up, trembling, to cradle your wrist.

❝ they will not, ❞ he says, fierce again — but tempered now by something steady. ❝ i swear it. ❞

you lean forward, resting your forehead against his. ❝ then prove it. show me how safe we are. ❞

geta stands suddenly, clearly desiring you in the position he tried for earlier. stooping, grabbing you about your thighs so he can lift you.

you gasp at the unexpected movement, arms and legs around him, the tip of his hard cock already pressing into your own wet arousal through your flimsy garments. ❝ geta. do you love me, my emperor? ❞

❝ i burn for you, ❞ geta growls, grinding against you so that the thick heat of him slides through your folds. his breath is ragged, voice trembling with devotion and fire. ❝ you are my heart, my breath, the only truth i’ve ever known. ❞

he captures your lips again — softer this time, aching — before pulling back to get a good look at you.

❝ say it again, amor meus. say you’re mine. ❞

❝ i am yours, geta. take me now. i cannot wait any longer. ❞ we mustn’t, you think, but do not say.

you rut down against him as best you can, caged as you are by his hold.

you can see geta’s restraint slipping with every movement of your body against his. he can barely stand it anymore. he has to have you now, has to remind you — and himself — that you belong to him. with a low growl, he turns, carrying you from the basin to the edge of your bed.

❝ so impatient. ❞ his voice is rough as he lays you down, crawling over you with a possessive gleam in his eyes.

you smile softly, laid out on the bed like a pretty plaything just for him. you reach, rubbing the soft material of his beautiful robe between your fingers. ❝ may i wear this? while you claim me? ❞

a low, possessive hum reverberates in geta’s throat as he watches your fingers toying with the golden edge of the robe. his gaze darkens, burning with desire, but also with something tender beneath it all.

❝ keep it, ❞ he murmurs, peeling it from his shoulders and draping it around you like a sacred offering. the gold-trimmed fabric pools around your body like firelight. ❝ wear it, so no matter where i am, you carry my scent, my mark — my claim. ❞

he leans in, pressing a searing kiss to your collarbone.

❝ and now . . . ❞ his hands slip greedily under the soft cotton of your nightclothes. ❝ i will remind every part of you who makes you tremble. ❞

you gather the robe around you, bringing the edges to your nose so you can smell him. the scent makes you lightheaded. ❝ geta. i want out of this infernal nightgown. i want to wear nothing but your robe as you fuck me. help me? ❞

geta lets out a ragged breath, full of need. ❝ such a demanding little bride. my brother could never handle you, ❞ he teases, eyes blazing as he pins you to the bed with his gaze. in one swift motion, he tugs the robe from your shoulders and then your nightgown up, baring you to him inch by inch.

then he stills . . . just to look. to worship what is truly his.

❝ you are so beautiful, ❞ he whispers, and his eyes drop lower, between your thighs. ❝ and so wet for me already . . . ❞

he leans down, knelt at the edge of your bed as he kisses a slow trail from your hip to your inner thigh before dragging the soft silk of the robe over your skin like an offering.

❝ lie back, ❞ he commands, ❝ and let me show you how an emperor claims what was always meant to be his. ❞

you feel hot all over, intensely in love with geta and the way he touches you. ❝ geta, my love, my emperor, my everything . . . ❞

you squirm in his robe, smelling him all over you, loving the silky feeling of the material against your skin.

you ultimately obey, however, laying back and looking down on him between your legs.

with you laid out before him — his robe covering your exquisite skin, you breathing his scent in so deeply — geta loses what little control he’s still holding onto. your obedience only stokes the possessive fire in him, makes him want to consume you entirely.

he stands once more and the tip of his hard cock brushes at your entrance, teasing, testing . . . but his eyes stay fixed firmly on your face. ❝ you are mine, my dear. ❞

his voice is a raw whisper, nothing but gravel and need. ❝ say it. i need to hear you say it again. ❞

❝ i’m yours. i belong to you and no one else. ❞ your hand finds itself in his hair, petting through his beautiful golden tresses.

his eyes flutter shut at your touch, his breath hitching as your fingers weave through his hair. for a moment, he looks absolutely and inherently reverent . . . wrecked by your touch and your words.

then, with a grunt, he leans forward — and claims your cunt and your mouth in one molten stroke. his hands grip your thighs, pulling you to him, needing more — every breathless moan, every twitch of your body beneath him.

❝ you taste like mine, ❞ he growls against you — a dark promise — before his hips find the rhythm that makes your body arch up to meet him.

gripped in one of your hands is his robe, the other back in his hair, holding him close, kissing him hard. if you let go of him, rome might take him from you, as it has taken so much else.

geta groans into your mouth, desperate and rough. he needs this — needs you, your touch, your scent, your taste. it is all that keeps him going, keeps him grounded as the world tries to take it all away.

his hands are inside the robe, slipping between your skin and the silken material to hold you, arms tight around your body. he starts to pull, tugging you roughly down onto his cock until you have no choice but to steady yourself with one hand on his shoulder and one on the jumbled sheets.

this new position rips a cry from your throat, geta's large cock bullying its way into your warm, silken walls over and over again.

he grins, feral and wild. he loves the sounds you make, loves knowing that he is the only one making you cry out — the only one he wants you to think about, the only name he wants on your lips . . .

geta leans forward and changes your position once again. one hand now pins your wrists to the bed, the other is like a vice at your hip, his knuckles gone white as he presses you forcefully down into the bed, hips snapping voraciously against yours. the sounds are obscene, and neither of you is cognizant of how much noise you’re making, what that might mean for both of you.

❝ i want — ❞ he chokes, and you soothe him with a gentle hand down the valley of his spine.

❝ please, geta. inside. ❞

❝ oh, my love . . . ❞ geta sighs, his eyes darkening again. his breathing has grown harsh, his fingers twitching against your sex-warmed skin. your soft pleading clearly does something to him, makes him feel feverish and very much in control of you.

his hand on your hip is hard, mouth hungry. he presses his lips to yours over and over again in fierce, open-mouthed kisses that brook no argument.

❝ you need me to claim you that badly? beg for it. ❞

you don’t have to be told twice ; you would obey your emperor even if he ordered you to set fire to the palace and everyone in it. ❝ please. pleasepleaseplease finish inside me, geta. i need it. need to know i still belong to you and only you. ❞

❝ gods. ❞ geta snaps, hips stilling as they press snugly to yours, fingers digging bruises into your hips as his body anchors itself in yours.

you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, spraying everything he has to give.

and you take it greedily, coming undone quickly after him, muscles contracting and milking him even as he collapses atop you, both of you sweaty and spent with geta’s head pillowed at your breasts.

his heart thuds against your chest, lips finding the hollow just beneath your clavicle with a reverent tenderness. slowly, his breathing returns to normal.

for a few moments, you simply lie there, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of fabric and your own still-frantic panting.

finally, geta lifts his head, gaze finding yours.

that fire is still in his eyes, just smoldering now, a hand possessively at your back, a gentleness to the touch, vulnerability yawning between the two of you.

❝ you . . . ❞ he starts, has to swallow thickly and start over. ❝ you’re alright? ❞

❝ i am always alright with you, geta. you could never hurt me. ❞ your thighs are sore, surely, from the pounding he's given you. but he doesn't need to know that.

geta presses a kiss to your hair and draws the robe more securely around you both, as though fabric alone could hold the world at bay. for a long while, neither of you speaks. the candles gutter low. somewhere beyond the walls, rome breathes and waits.

❝ rest, ❞ he murmurs at last, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against your back. ❝ we leave at first light. ❞

you nod, and geta maneuvers you so that you are on his chest instead, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart — proof that he is real, that this night was not a dream you will wake from alone. fear still coils beneath your ribs, but it no longer rules you. not when he is here. not when tomorrow has a shape, however dangerous.