#pervert!dalton

Summary: Dalton was just being curious and stumbles upon something he probably shouldn’t have. He then does something he shouldn’t have.

Warnings: Mentions of the Further, mentions of entities, Dalton being a creep, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation (f & m), sexual fantasies

All credit to @glodessa who wrote the imagine that inspired this, so much talent there and you’re feeding my Dalton addiction

Dalton was your friend. His primary art class was in the studio next to the orchestra rooms where you practiced in. He’d wandered in on you playing a section piece on the violin after he’d forgotten that his class was cancelled.

Since you two had obviously seen each other on multiple occasions when going to and leaving from class, he’d felt comfortable striking up a conversation. He usually wasn’t into initiating introductions, but Chris had started forcing him to interact with more people and make friends. You were the first person he had introduced himself to without her assistance.

In a way, he felt a sick sense of possession when it came to you because of that. It made him feel funny, like he was gross and he tried to stomp it down, but it would crawl it’s way up his throat whenever you talked to him. He’d met you all on his on, without a buffer or cleverly charming segue. You knew him for him from the get go, and still liked him. You liked him enough to start waiting for him before classes for a chat. You liked him enough to exchange contacts and let him take pictures of you to save for his own personal enjoyment put into his saved contacts.

You liked him enough to let him walk you back to your dorms every time he had the chance to. Which he did, considering he started walking a different path to insure that he would run into you more often.

He didn’t think he was odd, not really. Lots of friends took secret pictures of each other. For fun, it was funny, like a secret joke. And lots of friends walked together in between classes, it was normal. Even if they didn’t share certain classes. Or if one of the friends wasn’t completely aware that the other friend was nearby.

Dalton didn’t consider it strange that he didn’t like when you talked to Chris, or any of his other friends. Or anyone that might find you attractive. In his eyes, that should’ve meant everyone. You were gorgeous and people should be falling over themselves trying to be with you, in his opinion. But you were his. His friend, at least. And he hated not having your full attention.

Nighttime was the worst, in some ways. You two had met up on occasion to help each other study or wind down from an intense test. But most nights, you turned in early to spend time with your roommate. Dalton hated your roommate, she was so clingy and always convinced you to go back to the dorms, cutting off his time with you. He thought she was off, or at least very selfish, and that she used every opportunity to guilt you and take advantage of your kindness and naivety.

Dalton would never do that, he was lucky to get to be your friend. You were beautiful, talented, kind and accepting. You even accepted his ability of astral projection without hesitation. You were beyond perfect to him, and if he wasn’t with you, he was thinking about you. Constantly, and usually aloud, much to Chris’ annoyance.

“Dolphin! Please, for the love of fuck, ask that girl out already. You’re driving me nuts!” She threw herself back onto the spare bed in Dalton’s dorm in dramatic agony, groaning loudly in complaint.

“No, Chris. She’ll just think that I became friends with her because I wanted to get in her pants,” he dismissed, tossing a dirty t-shirt into his hamper a little too forcefully.

“Isn’t that what all guys do? What’s the big deal?” Chris sat up again to try to convince him. It wasn’t the first time either, but she was almost positive that you liked Dalton back and would rather you keep his mouth too occupied for him to verbally obsess over you. Like he was doing right now.

“I’m not going to do that, Chris. Just drop it.” His voice was unnervingly firm and Chris snapped her mouth shut before another incentive could fall out. Dalton was usually mild-mannered, at least when it came to anyone but his dad, not really the aggressive type. Anti-social and surly, but not aggressive. Unless it had something to do with you.

Chris thought there was something not quite right about Dalton’s crush on you but she figured his abnormal childhood and resulting trauma made it hard for him properly process his feelings. And she was reluctant to ask in case it set him off.

“I heard her roommate is going home to her parents’ for her dad’s birthday, maybe y’all can hang out more this weekend,” Chris suggested instead, unfettered by Dalton’s tone. “She left earlier this afternoon.”

Something seized in Dalton’s chest. You hadn’t mentioned that to him. You didn’t have a reason not to. Was there someone else? Were you going to spend the whole weekend with another guy? Did you have a boyfriend? Anger and hatred for this secret man clouded his mind and he felt like throwing something against the wall until it broke.

“I hadn’t heard about that,” he replied to Chris coolly. “I’ve got some homework to finish, do you mind?”

Chris nodded slowly, grabbing her bag and quickly making her way to the door, watching Dalton worriedly. She gave a half-hearted wave goodbye and left without a word.

As soon as the door shut, he quickly locked it, tearing his ball cap from his head and flinging thoughtlessly towards his desk, knocking over a small stack of his sketchbooks and a tin of water. Cursing under his breath, Dalton begrudgingly trudged to clean up the mess before the water could stain or damage any of his work.

After mopping up the water, he flipped through his drawings to check if any of it ruined the paper. One of the sketchbooks was relatively new, but nearly full of pencil and ink sketches. Of you.

Most of them took up an entire page of their own. They were innocent, somewhat, just candids that he’d done while or after hanging out with you. You smiling, laughing, playing the violin, biting your lip awkwardly. Gorgeous and sweet.

There were some other ones, smaller in comparison to the rest and done with a light hand. You changing through the window of your room. You bending over at work. You crying to your mom on the phone after you tore your favorite dress right before a date you ended up not going on. Done in a hurry by someone who was sketching without a still reference.

It was not stalking. No, he wasn’t like that. He didn’t threaten you or send you lewd messages. He didn’t get off on scaring you or making you feel unsafe. He wanted you to feel safe around him, did everything in his power to make sure you were always comfortable with him. Plus, he never invaded your privacy, he just looked. Watched. It was friendly, protective even.

Plus, those sketches were nothing compared to the rest. Small enough for three separate drawings to fit on a page, and darkly filled in with a heavy and rough hand.

It wasn’t intentional, not at first. He was a guy. You were his crush. He couldn’t control his own thoughts, let alone his dreams. It happened, and it was completely normal and natural. Not at all creepy or perverted.

He dreamt of you often. He couldn’t keep his mind off you even in his sleep. Of course, his unconscious mind was different than his conscious mind. Mostly, anyway. A lot more eager for you, hungry for you.

The pencil drawings were of you as you appeared to him in his dreams. Bent over his desk, wearing a string of pearls and a sultry smile. You, on his bed with your legs spread out invitingly, your fingers scissoring your slick folds. There was even one featuring him, his lower face dripping with drool and your arousal as his tongue delved into your wet heat from under you. That one was his favorite, even if the drawing itself wasn’t exactly his best work skill-wise. He had a hard time balancing the pad with only one hand, which he was also using to draw.

Dalton sighed and picked up all of the sketch pads, putting them back where they were and collapsing on his back on his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he should bring up your roommate leaving and confront you about not telling him. You must have had a good reason, right? It’s not like you were getting tired of him or anything. Right?

As he drifted further and further into his thoughts, the room became darker around him. Standing up to fix his lamp, he caught the sight of himself sleeping in his peripheral. He’d fallen asleep and accidentally projected.

He didn’t do so often anymore, the Further was a scary and dangerous place and he was cautious of bringing something back with him. But it had its advantages, for pranks or finding out things that others couldn’t. Surprisingly, he’d never used his ability to watch you. You were too pure and beautiful to see through the lenses of the Further, he liked seeing you surrounded by light and color, with no potential of evil spirits ruining the experience for him.

But just this once…

No! He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

You trusted him, it would be so easy. And it’s not like he was trying to be a weirdo, he just wanted to see if you had plans that weekend without having to actually ask you. It would only be once, for a few minutes. He wouldn’t mess with you or your things. He would just listen in and leave.

He grabbed the lantern and walked out of his room. He could’ve found your dorm with his eyes closed, but since it was in a different building and he was traveling through the Further, it took him longer than he would’ve liked. But at least he didn’t encounter anyone. You lived on the second floor of your dorm house and yours was nicer and more expensive than his. You had your own bedroom and personal bathroom, not having to share with your roommate and the rest of your floor like Dalton did.

Your door was unlocked and after he entered your dorm, he locked it himself, knowing he’d have to unlock again it in order to leave. Your bedroom door was open and he could see you through it, sitting at your desk and typing on your phone. Silently and curiously, he peered over your shoulder to watch you text your roommate.

He rolled his eyes at seeing her contact but ignored it in favor of the messages being sent. Mostly average, just you being your considerate self and asking about her trip home. She, obviously, sent paragraph after paragraph detailing every insignificant second of her weekend away, not once asking anything about you. The entire conversation revolves around her and Dalton had to bite his tongue to avoid scoffing in your ear, which was inches from his mouth.

Finally she asked about you, specifically your plans for while she was gone. Luckily, she could serve a purpose for once, Dalton thought.

You mentioned work, homework and just relaxing and Dalton was tempted to leave and rid himself of his craving to kiss you. Then, he saw you type his name. You wanted to surprise him by inviting him over for a sleepover. Your roommate responded by teasing you about you and Dalton finally progressing to the next stage in your friendship; a relationship.

Huh, maybe your roommate wasn’t as bad as Dalton thought she was.

Dalton’s heart was racing as he continued to read all of your roommate’s suggestions for extremely sexual twists on common sleepover activities, all in order to seduce him. You didn’t have to try to seduce him, but trying any one of these wouldn’t hurt. He felt his cock hardening in his pants and knew that he probably should’ve left. Like, now.

But then you sighed loudly into the empty air. Your head dropped back, your lips parted and you shifted awkwardly in your seat, your thighs pressing together tightly. Dalton felt his mouth water just watching you and suddenly stopped in his tracks. He decided that he would wait until you either went to the bathroom or fell asleep. If he tried leaving before then, you might catch him.

So he stood off to the side and simply observed you from up close. You seemed more deflated when you weren’t around him, less animated and poise. Less…cheery. You continued to stay at your desk texting your roommate for a while before getting up for a glass of water. It seems like she was going to bed. You paced around the kitchen as you sipped your drink, looking slightly anxious about how the conversation ended. Dalton regretted not reading it along with you and now he couldn’t because your phone was off and locked.

Huffing out a tense laugh to yourself, you marched back into your room, passing Dalton to get to your phone. You continued pacing as you opened up your messages and scrolled until you found a particular contact, hesitating for a moment and then opening the chat thread. Dalton stood in front of you this time and read his own name from upside down. Why were you pausing when it came to texting him? Did this happen often? We’re you inviting him over?

He watched you type out a greeting and began pacing in your room. When the message delivered, Dalton panicked before remembering that his phone was next to his actual body. You wouldn’t catch him over his phone notifications sounding off in your otherwise silent room.

You turned off your phone and sat on your bed, your back straight and your eyes staring out into nothingness. Your leg bounced erratically and you started checking your phone every thirty seconds in case you missed his message. You were waiting for a response from him, Dalton realized. And he couldn’t do that while he was standing here with you.

Now was definitely the time to go and you gave him the perfect opportunity when you started collecting your things to take a shower, muttering to yourself about how desperate you were. It was clear that you were agitated from waiting on his message, and he supposed it was because he hardly ever took more than 20 seconds to start typing back. He only took long if he was busy, and he would always tell you beforehand if he was.

As much as he wanted to watch you undress yourself and shower, becoming aroused slightly once more at the idea, he wouldn’t cross that boundary when you were so vulnerable and unaware. It was completely different from the times he watched you change your shirt or remove your bra from outside your window. He was in your home and you were going to be completely naked. Dalton wanted go reserve that honor for when you would strip in front of him eagerly, at least for the first time he ever saw you naked.

*~*~*

Gasping, Dalton sat up in his own bed, his erection pressing against his sweats and his body feeling sweaty. He immediately opened his messages and read your message asking him what he was doing. Getting his own clothing, he walked to the common bathroom in his dorm house and stripped, sending you a picture of his shower stall with the reflection of his bare torso halfway in the frame.

He’d never been so forward with you before. You’d seen him shirtless on occasion, he wasn’t shy about his body, but never on purpose and he hardly ever sent you pictures instead of just telling you what he was doing. But now that he knew you felt the same way he did, he felt confident enough to give actual signals to tell you that.

He turned on the shower and waited for the ancient water settings to actually heat up the water. As he was about to step in, you messaged him back with a photo of your own.

You were wearing nothing but a robe, tied at the waist, but doing a very poor job at concealing your cleavage, and your hair was soaked. The mirror that you had taken the picture in was fogged and he could see streams of steam swirling in the air around your head. So you liked really hot showers, fuck, that was attractive to him. You smiled shyly into the camera with one of your hands clutching a towel in your hands.

You: “I just got out of the shower, how funny is that?”

God, you were adorable without even trying. He wondered if the placement of your robe was intentional or if you were just that sexy without trying to be. It could go either way, you were as effortlessly cunning as you were absurdly oblivious to your affect on others.

He quickly went through his shower routine quickly, not taking his time to enjoy the water and relax like he usually did. He didn’t want to keep you waiting again. He decided to toe the line of flirtation and idle conversation once more by sending you another photo. This time following your lead with a mirror pic. He was still shirtless and brushing his teeth with an overly wide and sud-filled smile. His shorts hung low on his hips and his entire frame was centered in the photo this time.

D: “What’s up?”

It was a lame line, but he wanted to keep the conversation going and see if you were going to invite him over. He spit out his toothpaste and gargled mouthwash, accidentally swallowing some as you replied back. Coughing at the strong taste burning his throat, his eyes widened as he memorized every pixel of the photo you sent, catching on to his little provocation.

The mirror in your bathroom was still slightly fogged but he could clearly see that all you were wearing was a t-shirt. It was big enough to cover your thighs, so Dalton didn’t know what you were wearing under it and he could see your nipples poking through the material ever so slightly. He dragged his lip into his mouth and bit down hard, hand clenching on the edge of the counter. He gathered his shower stuff and walked back to his room, keeping his towel gathered in a ball in front of his crotch in case he ran into anyone this late.

It didn’t occur to him to read the message you sent until he was about to send one himself. He was so distracted by your selfie that he completely forgot that he was in the middle of a conversation with you. He wondered if it was weird to be more turned on by you in your pajamas than you soaking wet and in a towel.

You: “Nothing much? What are you doing right now?”

He sat down on his art stool, and angled the camera at the mirror that sat in the corner between his spare bed and the wall. He hadn’t gotten the motivation to actually put it up so it laid on its side and only showed from his waist down at this angle. The picture showed his bare stomach, shorts and legs, with one of his feet braced up on the leg of his seat.

D: “Chilling in my room now, you?”

You responded a minute later in much the same fashion. This photo didn’t show your face either, but he could see your hair and the junction between your neck and shoulder at the top of the photo. You were stretched out on your bed, your legs propped up in front of you and you holding the weight of your upper body on your other arm as you snapped a photo of yourself. From the way your shirt rode up on your thighs, you weren’t wearing any shorts, but he couldn’t see your underwear.

You: “Same. My roommate left to her parents’ house so I have the place to myself.”

Was this your way of implying that you wanted him to come over? How does he respond to that information without sounding weird or letting on that he’d already known? Should he tell you that he already knew? He decided that now was the perfect time to reorganize his desk and actually put up the mirror in his room. It took fifteen minutes for him to respond and the guilt ate at him now that he knew how you reacted when he didn’t message back quickly.

D: “Oh, really? Yeah, I kinda always have my place to myself, haha :)Look what I finally did.”

The added “haha” looked so stupid that he wanted to jump out his window. He hoped the selfie he sent to you would make up for it. He was standing in front of his mirror, acting as if he was only trying to show you the mirror you’d been bugging him about putting up. He was still shirtless and a light sheen of sweat made his body glow slightly from the exertion of his impromptu redecorating. He angled his phone to show a grin, but the rest of his face was covered.

You took a few minutes to respond yourself and Dalton thought he understood your anxiety about having to wait for messages. He felt the anxiety was all the more potent now that you were sending each other photos of yourselves. But he couldn’t deny that he liked the tension, the anticipation ate him up and he was beyond keyed up.

You: “I got bored being here by myself so I’m doing my makeup :p”

You: “Oml, finally!”

You were kneeling in front of the camera with your legs slightly spread. The lighting in your room made it hard for him to see what your underwear looked like and he felt like a pervert for being disappointed. Probably not as bad as he would’ve felt before he knew that you reciprocated his feelings. Your hair was put up into an updo so it was out of your face and it reminded him of that Pamela Anderson hairdo that you complained about not being able to do. You looked beautiful, your makeup was darker than you normally had it, more like dark seduction than pretty fairy. Dalton wondered if that was on purpose.

He sent you a closeup selfie of half of his face, his eyes mostly angled down at the phone screen instead of the actual camera and a slight smirk on his lips. His neck, collarbones and one of his shoulders were on display for you as well

D: “Guess I got bored too. Your hair looks like Pamela Anderson’s, btw”

D: “I like your makeup, it looks good!”

You responded quickly and without a photo.

You: “Are you joking me?! The one time I’m not bending over backwards trying to do it right…”

Dalton had to take a minute to recover from the mental image of you bending over backwards, particularly the image of how your breasts would look at that angle when your next message came in with another photo.

You: “Come over?”

This time, your phone was placed close to the floor and angled up for Dalton to see your knees pulled up to your chest and you dramatically and exaggeratedly pouted at the camera, your dark red lips shining in the camera flash. The flash also, probably unintentionally, highlighted the junction between your legs and he could actually see your panties this time. White lace. Son of a bitch!

Instead of responding, he jumped around his room and tried to gather all of his shit to take to your place and was pulling up his jacket when he noticed some papers on his bed. His homework that he had told Chris about earlier and completely forgot about. It was due at midnight and his teacher was a hardass about homework.

“Fuck!” His curse echoed loudly in his empty and otherwise silent room and he slammed his things down on the bed in anger.

As desperate as he was to go to your room and potentially spend the night inside you, he was stuck inside his dorm unless he wanted his grade to tank. With a heavy heart and tense motions, he sat in his chair, a different one from his stool, and faced his mirror. He spread his legs so that he was man-spreading and propped a leg up on the edge of his bed. He held up his homework in one hand above his head and made a faux-angry face at the camera, his expression not even making at dent when it came to showing just how angry he actually was. He gave himself a minute of fantasizing about your lips kissing marks all over his body before snapping the picture and sending it to you.

D: “I was on my way when I remembered I had homework. Fucking sucks! Raincheck? I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning?”

He ordinarily didn’t curse over text, or in general. He wasn’t a prude about swearing, but he just didn’t feel the need to do it. However, he also needed you to understand that he wasn’t blowing you off, and then he genuinely was upset about not being able to spend the night with you. He felt it was probably too risky sending you a picture where he was very obviously at half-mast and worried that he was being too forward and would make you uncomfortable.

Two minutes of complete agony imagining all of the ways that you would dismiss him and tell him to forget about it, or get angry and misinterpret what he was telling you. Now that the conversation couldn’t go anywhere, the anticipation wasn’t alluring and fun, it felt like acid burning his skin.

You: “Oh, please do your homework! Grades are important. Breakfast sounds good! Goodnight x”

A kiss, you messaged him a kiss. And you were completely fine with it. For the first time in his life, Dalton felt the urge to do a chest bump with a bro. He was on top of the world right now. He was tempted to rush his homework and run over to you as soon as possible, but as soon as he sat down to do it, he knew that the assignment required all of his time and attention. Fortunately, the assignment itself was relatively simple, but it was incredibly time consuming, which is why he’d been putting it off.

Two hours later, he took some pictures of his completed homework and sent them to his professor’s email. It was fifteen minutes til midnight and he wondered if he should risk going over to you now. You weren’t expecting him, though, and for all he knew, you were asleep or something. He debated texting you that he was done and seeing if you’d extend the invitation to come over again, but you hadn’t even brought up his last picture and that made him a bit insecure. What if you were trying to just ignore it as a way to say you weren’t interested? Even back in your room, when your roommate was encouraging you to take advantage of having your dorm to yourself, you had only denied all of her sexual innuendos. He knew you liked him back, but maybe sending you a picture of like the one he sent was too much too fast?

Oh yeah, astral projector. He could always just pop in and check without actually having to check. It was fine the first time, right? No big deal anymore. He wasn’t hurting anyone.

He relaxed on his bed and before long, he was picking up that lantern once more and leaving his body behind, making sure that all of his lights were on to protect his body before he left the room.

You had been in your room with your door mostly closed when he came in again. You really should make sure your front door was locked, he thought. He heard little whimpers coming from your room and was immediately concerned, automatically assuming that you were crying. Your bedroom door was swaying on account of the industrial fan that you insisted was the only thing strong enough to keep you cool at night. He had no problem opening your door and putting it back in place, making it look completely natural in case you noticed.

From what he could see, you were looking at your phone and were mostly covered by your blanket. Only one of your hands was holding your phone, which Dalton found odd because you normally preferred using both hands. Finally seeing your face, Dalton noticed that you had no tears on your cheeks or in your eyes. You weren’t crying. What the hell were you looking at on your phone?

Him. You were looking at a picture of Dalton that he’d sent to you. More accurately, you were looking at the second photo he had sent you, the one where he was brushing his teeth. It took Dalton several moments to begin thinking again to put the dots together.

Oh. Oh.

Just as Dalton registered what you were actually doing, you threw your blanket aside in frustration and essentially showed him that he was correct. He watched in rapt fascination as you rubbed your clothed center over your panties with two fingers. You kept focused on your phone, swiping over to the photo of him after he hung up his mirror, as your index fingers slipped beneath your lacy white underwear and into your slick heat. Your breathing was loud and shallow, the occasional moan slipping through as you touched yourself.

Dalton should not be here. He knew that. He knew what was and what wasn’t appropriate, his mom made sure he knew how to respect women, so he knew what he was doing was the furthest thing from okay. He also knew that he would have to be dragged by his teeth to get him out of your room. His cock swelled and twitched from under his shorts as he stood over, watching you masturbate to a picture of him. In the low lighting of your mostly dark room, he could see the shine of your wetness on your fingers and over your folds. He wanted to drag his tongue over your labia and savor every drop you gave him. It was all for him, after all, he was entitled to it.

You groaned in annoyance through your teeth and yanked your panties down your legs. Dalton’s severely dilated gaze zeroed in on them and he made a mental note to grab them before he left when your shirt joined it in the floor. You were completely nude and sitting up on your bed, in a very similar position to the photo where you had shown him your makeup. He’d never look at it again without thinking of this. He wished he had a picture of this.

You looked like a goddess or some kind of celestial siren as you arched your back and groped at one of your breasts and toyed with your clit. The chill of your room and the sudden banishment of your blanket had your flesh covered in goosebumps and your nipples hard. Dalton wanted nothing more than to cover your body with his and discover new forms of pleasure using his tongue, hands and cock. You were everything, you surrounded him and took up so much everything. And yet, he wasn’t actually with you, no matter how much he wished he could be. He didn’t know why he couldn’t try, you were his now. You admitted to it. Maybe not to him directly, and maybe you didn’t know he was there, but it didn’t make it any less true.

Dalton approached your bed and was about to rest his weight on it when you grabbed a decorative throw pillow from the mountain of pillows you had on your bed. You shoved it between your legs and adjusted it so that the woven seams pressed between your folds. You rested your weight on it and rolled your hips experimentally to find a rhythm and angle that felt best. Soon, you were panting and gasping, and Dalton could barely hear you over the stupid fan.

As you rode the pillow, Dalton lost his restraint. He either had to take care of himself now and fully condemn himself as an actual peeping tom and a pervert, or take care of you and risk you freaking out and losing you before he could actually have you. He’d rather hate himself for a little while than you hate him forever. He reached into his shorts, cupping his erection and squeezing lightly. He bit his lips and tried to keep quiet. He didn’t think he would last long, and he didn’t really care to either. He’d worry about that once he was actually inside you.

Dalton started off with slow and trading strokes before working up to the rhythm you set for yourself. You were grinding down on the pillow with slow and long thrusts, lowering your body slightly so that the seam of the pillow rubbed your clit. Dalton imagined his face replacing the pillow and started speeding up the movements of his hand, spitting on himself to help his hand move more fluidly along his shaft. Coincidentally, you started to quicken as well, humping the pillow desperately instead of steadily rolling your hips.

“Dalton! Oh…fuck! Daltonnn…” you cried out softly into the seemingly empty room. As the waves of your orgasm crashed over you, you lost strength in your arms and fell to the mattress, your hips still moving rhythmically as you came. Your limbs felt electrocuted and twitchy, and you could do nothing but gasp and whimper as you came down from your high. Rolling over, you reached down and caressed your soaked folds, moaning softly as your fingers became coated in the stringy remnants of your wetness.

Dalton nearly fell to his knees in his desire to suck your fingers into his mouth and devour your cunt. Luckily, he managed to stay upright and went rigid as he came in his hands, making sure the pearly white spurts of semen didn’t make a mess anywhere in your room, if they could. He wasn’t actually entirely sure how it all worked when he was in this state, but he wasn’t going to risk it.

He waited until you fell asleep to grab your panties and leave your dorm, falling back into his own body and finding it a mess. His shorts were soaked at the crotch with his cum because his actual hands couldn’t stop his real orgasm from staining his clothes. He tore off his shorts and decided to sleep naked, hiding your panties in his pillow case.

*~*~*

You woke up refreshed and well-rested the next morning, still not used to the stillness and quiet in the absence of your roommate, Carla. Usually, she was up by now blaring metal music while she got ready for the day and you would make the two of you breakfast. You went to do just that when you heard a knock at your door and remembered that Dalton was supposed to come over with breakfast.

You told him to wait through a text message and grabbed a pair of athletic shorts, yanking them on as you made your way to let him in. Much to your surprise, the door was unlocked, though you don’t remember leaving it that way. In all fairness, you also don’t remember the last time you had locked it, so it was fair game.

Dalton greeted you with a large smile, showing off his extended canines, and a bag from your favorite pastry shop. It was hard not to blush after what you did when you saw the pictures he sent you, but the food was also distracting. You excitedly took the bag from him and started rifling through it as he guided the both of you to your room. Had he ever been inside your dorm before? How did he know which room was yours?

Before you could ask him, he plopped himself onto your bed and settled onto his stomach. He then used a pillow to prop up his chin. The same pillow you had used last night.

There was something about the way he was smiling at you. The way he was watching you.

“So, did you sleep well last night?”

********

Lemme know if you want a part two or maybe a “What if Dalton hadn’t had any homework?” situation.