You leave your co-worker trailing after you in your rush to the revolving doors to freedom, the hurried click of your heels echoing off the polished marble floor. She manages to catch up to your retreating form, frantically chiming in, “I know, I know! Seriously, I am so grateful for all your help. I can’t thank you enough. Gosh, I’m so sorry-” She gets in the rotunda before you, swiftly pushing the door to guide you both out and onto the sidewalk. Your brisk, unforgiving pace is only rivalled by the biting chill of early fall as you storm out to the parking lot towards the one of the few cars remaining. Your companion continues to lament while struggling to stay at your side, “-I honestly had no idea that the meeting would run so late!”

Neither did you, honestly; If you had, then you would have never agreed to lend a hand, especially when the reward for your good deeds is two hours of unexpected overtime. It’s not like your salaried ass is going to see a bump in your paycheck for the trouble, either. What was meant to be a simple fix for a coworker you liked well enough has not only shredded the last of your patience, but also risked your after-work plans. You are seething at the idea that you might be late; You hate feeling rushed, and you abhor anything getting in the way of your plans. Of course, your coworker’s not entirely to blame for how this afternoon went, but that fact does little to ease your foul mood. The only consolation is that she offered to drive you all the way to your destination in the hopes of making it up to you and ensuring you make it there in the time you have left.

Tonight? You’re meeting up with Erik at a downtown bar/restaurant; The same bar where you unexpectedly bumped into each other three months ago. This time, however, you were going to catch up after the hectic week you both had that incidentally prevented you from meeting up until now. You’re ecstatic to see him, and what better way to kick off your weekend than with drinks, cheap appetizers, and good company. Your coworker unlocks her car, and you slide into the passenger seat, fastening your seatbelt before she’s even settled in behind the wheel. She shuts the driver’s side door before turning over the engine, the car humming to life as she asks, “Alrighty, where am I taking you?”

“That place down on Cherry Street; The Alibi.” You supply as she quickly buckles her own seat belt and pulls out of her designated parking spot. Some top forty hit song starts playing on the radio; one that you know Erik hates with a passion. You can recall the five-minute rant he went on about this very song. He insists that every lyric sung, and every note played were “-absolutely unlistenable. Just awful. Total. Fucking. Garbage.” You smile as you picture the disgusted sound he’d make before rushing to change the station if he were here right now. Your coworker pipes up as she pulls onto the road in a light tone, “So, you got a hot date?”

That’s quite the loaded question; more so than she will ever know. You chirp automatically, “No, I’m just meeting a friend.” 

Your clipped response effectively ends the conversation, so you opt to stare out the window, watching the scenery pass by as your mind begins to wander. You have been quietly ruminating over the fact that your feelings for your “friend” run deeper now than what you would have called platonic just a few months ago. You’ve been frantically pouring over the events of the past few months, desperate to find a rational explanation for these feelings. The alarm bells going off in your mind have been plaguing you since your initial realization, but the source of the disturbance still eludes you. After meticulous, and borderline obsessive, examination, you are only now bringing it all into focus. 

You’ve been going above and beyond for Erik in ways you never would have done for Brody. Quite a few things you’ve done so far are definitely outside the realm of typical ‘friends with benefits’ etiquette. Sure, with your old fuck buddy, you would hang out, talk and vent to each other like any normal friendship. But as far as the benefits go, you would kiss, fuck, and engage in some kink here and there, then call it a day. The overall arrangement is about letting off steam, having fun and getting off. You thought you were doing the same thing with Erik, but if this dull pang in your chest is anything to go by, then you clearly have been overlooking a few key details. It’s not like you want to complicate things between you, but it’s getting harder and harder to avoid the elephant in the room. You just hope you can come to your senses soon.

Before long, your coworker is pulling up outside the bar right on the dot, which is as good as late in your book. You abandon your earlier train of thought in favour of making a hasty exit from the vehicle before you are actually late. Your fingers wrap around the door handle as you make quick work of the seatbelt with your other hand. You say over your shoulder before stepping out onto the sidewalk, “See you next week.” 

She swiftly replies, “See you then! Sorry about today, but thanks again. Bye!”  

You call out, “Bye!”  before swinging the door shut none too gently after you.

Despite the inconvenience that was today, you turn on your heel, and head to the entrance of the bar. You take a few deep breaths, trying to roll the rest of the tension off your shoulders and onto the pavement at your feet before greeting the weekend with open arms. 

You step inside and your eyes scan the crowd once, spotting Erik instantly. Warmth blooms in your chest and slowly trails up to your face as you make your way over to him. You greet him with a bright smile, “Hey, Erik! Hope you weren’t waiting long.” 

He looks up from his phone, returning your smile with one of his own as he responds, “Hey yourself, frea…” He trails off as his eyebrows knit together in shock before uttering a soft "-woah." instead.

You mirror his expression at his reaction, your features marred with confusion and slight alarm. You ask quickly, “What? What do you mean, woah? Why the stunned silence?”  

“Uhh, you’re dressed like this, and you’re surprised?” His hand drags over your outfit, and you glance down in recognition. Oh yeah, UGH. You drop your bag onto the table and sit down across from him, briefly explaining, “So, I helped out my coworker with this presentation she was doing for some out of town clients. It was kind of a big deal, so naturally I got a bit more dressed up-” You inhale deeply before letting it out slowly before diving back in, “-but then! The meeting ran ridiculously long, Erik! Two hours of unpaid overtime to be exact!”

“Jesus fucking Christ, that’s horrible.” He exhales in genuine sympathy. You continue your rant, “-because of that, I had absolutely no fucking time! I barely made it here in one piece, let alone go home and get changed, so unfortunately, you get me in my office attire tonight. Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize. Seriously. It sounds like you had a terrible enough day without me fucking piling on.” He leans his elbow on the table, his cheek resting on his hand as he admits, “Honestly, you look good.” 

It’s not like you don’t agree with him, you do look good, but you didn’t think he’d be so into it. You jibe sarcastically, “Oh yeah? Kinda hard to tell when the first thing outta your mouth at the sight of me is WOAH. What I didn’t expect was for you to be so surprised. I mean, I’ve sent you pictures of my work outfits in the morning before.” 

He defends,“ Okay fine my reaction might have been a little intense I admit, but c’mon it was a compliment. Can you really blame me? You know it's different seeing you like this in person.”

With a hum of acknowledgement, you circle back to ask one more time, wanting reassurance for some reason, “You really like it, though?”

He scoffs with a fond roll of his eyes, “What’s not to like? You wear it well.” 

From the feminine blouse, to the tight pencil skirt and heels, it was all exceptionally flattering on you. Just being here with him tonight is making you feel better, but the fact that he likes your outfit is boosting your mood tremendously. You clarify with a shrug, “Just didn’t expect you to be into the corporate look. You manage to surprise me yet again, music man.”  

Erik is quite satisfied with that and sincerely hopes he continues to surprise you. He fires back with a wink, “Stick around and find out, freak. Peel back the layers of the onion, as they say.” 

You laugh heartily at the analogy before asking, “So, is there a waitress or are we SOL?”

He lifts his hand to circle the air with his pointer finger, referring to the myriad patrons at the bar as he explains, “Apparently they’re swamped, so we’ll be waiting a little while ‘til she comes back around.” That just won’t do. You get up, announcing, “Well frankly, fuck that. I’ll just go up to the bar and get us some drinks at least. Then, we can order food whenever she shows up again.” 

He asks with a grin, “So, the first round’s on you, then?” You reply smoothly, “It is! So pick your poison. Whatcha feelin’?” 

“Just a beer. You know what I like.” He says easily, and you groan in approval, head tipping back as you agree, “God yes! A beer sounds like heaven. Be right back!” 

He watches as you weave through the crowd toward the bar with a swish of your hips and a click of your heels. Damn, you really do look phenomenal tonight. With his mind now occupied with the image of your retreating form, he can’t help but get lost in thought. 

Your jaw dropping office attire serves as ample fuel for his wandering mind to conjure a rather saucy daydream; Visiting you at your workplace, getting a private ‘tour’ only to end up fucking your brains out in the copy room while you try not to get caught. Seemed only fair considering you did the exact same thing in the bathroom of his workplace a few months back. 

He pictures your elegant skirt rumpled and bunched up around your waist as you grip onto his shoulders, the drafting table he’s got you laying on squeaks louder and louder as he pounds into you at a bruising pace. He imagines the top buttons on your blouse are undone, allowing one of those gorgeous bras of yours to peek out as your breasts jiggle with the force of his thrusts. Erik imagines you switching positions to avoid detection, the way your ass glistens with sweat as he bends you over the photo copier before pulling your underwear aside and sliding into you to the hilt. He can see you moving backwards to meet his thrusts, panting breathlessly, and exhaling his name louder than you should. 

He can hear the slight creaking of the machine, the slapping of skin on skin, and you breathing out a strained, “Oh my God, yesss, right there-” He can feel the smooth, cool fabric giving way to warm soft expanses of your skin as he runs his greedy hands all over your body while fucking you harder. 

Zeroing in on his fingernails resting on the table-top, Erik taps them to the rhythm of the thrusts in his little debauched scenario. It’s an extremely hot thought, dare he say his best fantasy about you to date. Reality comes barrelling in with a glance down at the now chipped remains of the black polish you applied during your end-of-summer sleepover. He’s yanked out of the fantasy, similar to lying fast asleep in bed only to be woken to the sound of an air-horn in your ear much too early in the morning.

For what it’s worth, it was an exciting thing to imagine, but the chance of such a thing to actually happen is slim to none. Erik doubts he’d even be admitted into the building, let alone able to surprise you with lunch, or a quick fuck during office hours. He can imagine the stares he’d draw and the questions you’d surely get if you were both seen together. He just doesn’t fit in with that corporate scene, and he knows he never will. Painful as it is to admit, this is just another reminder that this arrangement and your relationship really has its limitations. There are certain boxes in your life, same as everyone else, and the ‘Work’ box is pretty high on the shelf compared to the ‘Play’ box he’s in at the moment.

Erik has mostly been able to keep the thoughts of you at bay, but recently he’s been slacking. With that slack, comes overthinking and overanalyzing. You’re a habit he just can’t break. All it takes is a text or call from you, and he’s hooked again, like a starving fish on a line. You’ve somehow got him wrapped around your finger. He has been throwing himself into other things, keeping busy, but you linger on his mind still. His fingers stop their rhythm against the wood, spreading flat on the table while his other hand rakes through his hair, as if he could reach in and pull out the thoughts that have been plaguing his mind for the past week. He repeats one thought like a mantra, “Leave it alone, leave it alone, leave it alone-”  God, this is too fucking depressing even for him.

The sight of you sliding back up to him with two beers in your hands provides a welcome distraction from his internal monologue. Your voice takes on a professional tone as you announce much like a courier delivering a package might, “I’ve got a beer delivery for aaaa Erik Campbell. Is that you, sir?”

He plays along immediately as he jokes, “I’m just the guy you’re looking for. Do you need me to sign for it?” 

“Oh yeah, you can sign riiiight here-” You tease with a half turn and a gesture to your backside. He snickers, taking you up on the offer and delivering a hard but playful slap to your ass, a grin stretching across his face at your antics.

You set his glass down right in front of him as you hum in gratitude, “Thank you kindly.” 

When you place his ‘delivery’ in front of him, he notices your freshly painted nails just before you retract your hand from around the glass. He recalls you saying that you paint them every week, and it’s been over a week since your sleepover, so it makes sense. The deep burgundy red colour suits you, given that it’s the middle of autumn. He loves it, for sure, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling a tad disappointed that you no longer match. He wasn’t expecting such a small thing to get to him, but he wills himself to move on from it sooner rather than later.

Once you settle into your seat, you tip your glass towards him, “To your health.” He picks up his own glass before tipping it to yours with a clink, “And to yours.” 

Your first sip of beer soothes and refreshes you both to the point that you nearly moan in delight. After setting your drinks down again, Erik points to his glass, asking in wonder, “What is this?”

You proudly explain, “It’s actually a seasonal release they just got on tap from Hice Pale Ale! It’s more of a spiced amber ale. The bartender recommended it and I figured it was a must.”

“Fuck. I’m definitely telling my dad, he’s gonna flip.” Erik says easily, and you ask genuinely, “Oh? Howard’s a fan, I take it?”

Erik elaborates, “God, it’s his favourite brand and has been since forever. The first beer I ever stole from the garage fridge as a teenager was a Hice Pale Ale.”

You get a kick out of imagining a young Erik sneaking into the garage late at night, moving as slowly and quietly as possible to pull off the mini beer heist. You can see him reaching for one of the bottles at the back of the fridge so it wouldn’t look suspicious. Hearing about Erik’s life before you came into it is always a treat; His words always paint such a pretty picture, which only endears him to you further. You admit with a smirk, “As a teenager, you had far better taste than I. My first drink was this godawful pomegranate cooler, you know the kind that has that like a battery acid aftertaste and hurts your teeth?”

Erik sucks his own teeth in sympathy at the thought before asking, “Are every one of your firsts this utterly fucking tragic?” 

You laugh and tell him, “Not every first, but this one sure as hell was” You go on to explain how you got your hands on those aforementioned coolers, “I didn’t even buy them. One of my friends had an older sister who didn’t want them at the time. So, as most young teenagers do, we took them without hesitation and suffered through every terrible sip until we were drunk off our asses.”

Snatching up the bar menu, you suddenly ask, “Food?”

“Food.” Erik agrees, the menu finding its way between you both as you look over the appetizers. After a minute, you slip into a tone that’s much too serious for what you are about to ask, “I don’t know if the nachos will be any good. What do you think?” 

He reaches out, his eyebrows raising in faux concern and his hand closing around yours as he asks, “Oh, I don’t know, Freak… Should we risk it?”  You laugh and shake out of his gentle grasp, choosing to focus on his joking words instead of the warmth his touch elicits on your skin. “I think so. We’ll see if we want more food after we try these questionable nachos.” 

While you wait for the waitress to come by, you start up the conversation again. “You’ll never guess what happened to me when I went up to the bar earlier.”

He takes a second before conceding, “You’ve got me there. I dunno, what happened?” You fill him in immediately, “So I finally get up to the counter, but before I could wave down a bartender, some fucking dude starts hitting on me.” 

Erik’s grip tightens around his glass, his mind filling in the blanks as he waits for you to elaborate, the image of some chud practically undressing you with his eyes, close enough to run his hands all over you if he got bold enough. Fuck. This isn’t a train of thought he wants to ride for much longer. He feels his emotions unravelling his attempt at a poker face, before he manages to school them again. Somehow, he lets out a neutral, “Oh?” in response.

You continue, “Yeah! He instantly starts spewing total fucking cornball shit. He was leaning into me and was all like-” You clear your throat with a small cough, leaning both arms on the table as you look down before raising your head and mimicking the ridiculous expression he gave you. Erik immediately stifles a laugh at your parody of the encounter.

Your voice drops into your best impression of him, quoting him word for word. “-‘You look like you work hard, but I bet you play hard too. You need some help relieving your stress?’-” 

Your voice goes back to normal as you let out an overexaggerated gag, your body leaning back in your chair in disgust before you exclaim, “Like Oh my fucking GOD!” Erik is doubled over in laughter now; he’s more than a little relieved at how unaffected you were by getting hit on. In fact, it lifts his spirits so high that he chimes in, “Aww really? But you do play hard, freak.” 

“Yeah, with you! Not with random try-hards who look like they bathed in a tub of Vaseline before going on the prowl for the first girl drunk enough to consider their sorry asses.” The passionate way you defend against his comment makes his laughter bubble up again.

Erik playfully fishes for the most important detail. “So, you clearly didn’t succumb to his endless charm. But what did you say to him, exactly?” You take another sip of your beer, pulling the glass back before piping up, “I told him to save the spiel for someone who cares and to please go sweat somewhere else.”

He chuckles at the mental image of you swiftly and thoroughly kicking that loser to the curb, taking this as an opportunity to segway the conversation to one of his most recent burning questions. Erik probes as lightly and playfully as possible, “So you shot down the assclown. What about the rest of the circus? Anyone else catch your eye, or-?”

You exhale, amused, sweeping your hand between you as you reply, “God, no! I haven’t been looking at all! Haven’t fucked anyone else since we started doing this. Hasn’t been on my mind either, really.” 

Erik leans into being overconfident and cocky, hoping to cover up how happy he is to hear that; To hear that you haven’t even entertained the idea of being with another guy in the months you’ve been fucking him. Erik boastfully muses, “I mean, why would you when I am just that good, right?” 

You use his words as the perfect opportunity to compliment him heavily as you agree, “Exactly! I’m being so serious! Why even take the risk of bad sex with a stranger when I can guarantee phenomenal sex with my slut on speed dial?” You can’t help hurling his question back at him, too curious to pass it up. “What about you, Erik? Have you been slutting it up in that leather jacket, getting hot and heavy elsewhere when I’m not free?” 

Erik easily retorts, “Nah, you're incorrigible. How would I have the time? You’re already a handful and I rather like warming your bed, thanks.” That makes you smile so hard it makes your cheeks ache slightly. You lean closer, mostly ignoring the giddiness bubbling inside you at this new bit of information, as you nudge, “Tell me, has it been hard not letting loose?”

He leans in as well, holding your gaze as he teases you, “No harder than I imagine it’s been for you, cuck.” Then he gets an idea, jumping right into it before he can talk himself out of it, “Hey, if you’re seriously not in the mood for these assholes, you know what might keep 'em away?”

You shoot him a curious look, prompting him to elaborate, “If I pretend to be your boyfriend.” 

Your eyes widen in shock at the offer, allowing Erik to follow up with, “Guys like that, they don’t always take no for an answer, right? But one thing they have to respect is if someone else got there first.” 

“Ah yes, of course. If they see that another guy has planted their flag, so to speak, they’ll back off, right?” You evaluate, and he readily agrees, “Yes, exactly! Sometimes the archaic way is the only way. Unfortunately, it’s the only thing that gets through to macho, mediocre man-children like them.” 

You are all too familiar with the type, so you don’t need much more convincing than that. The promise of a more intimate night out sounds appealing in itself. You waste no time agreeing with him. “Well, I would love for us to hang out in peace without some meathead interrupting us. Sure, why not!” 

“Really, just like that?” He asks, slightly taken aback at how easily you agreed to what he assumed was a shot in the dark. Then again, it isn’t as far-fetched when he recalls the impromptu fake date you had a while back, which was your idea at the time. 

You snap your fingers for emphasis as you confidently reiterate, “Yep. Just like that.” 

With that, Erik gets up, holding his beer in one hand, while the other drags the chair next to you a bit closer to yours. When you had arrived, you had been sitting directly across from him, but now he’s close enough that you could rest your head on his shoulder with little to no effort. What’s more, he slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his side as he places his beer back onto the table, all while holding your gaze. With his face inches from yours, he challenges, “Think you can play the part convincingly, freak?”

Why use your words when you can let actions speak for themselves? The hand that isn’t cradling your glass comes up to lightly trace your fingers on the edge of his jaw, before tilting his face towards your own as you lean in and kiss him. The easy display of intimacy momentarily stuns him, shocked at just how convincing you can be. He melts into you, his craving for you coming back with a vengeance when you part his lips with yours. He greedily deepens the kiss, and his tongue brushes yours in tantalizing circles that make your breath hitch slightly. Hearing the effect he has on you will never get old. You linger for just a bit longer before pulling back with a soft smile on your face. At last, you answer him, “I think I can handle it, music man.”

You sure as shit have him convinced.

You’re both about half a beer in when the waitress finally comes by, his arm still draped around you as you ask for the nachos. When the waitress dashes off to put in the order, you reveal your latest observation. “Hey, you know what I just noticed?”

“I dunno, what?” He supplies, encouraging you to elaborate, “I don’t have any pictures of us together.” 

It was something you picked up on the other night. You’d scrolled through your camera roll while thinking of him, finding the usual fare: various photos of baked goods you made, meals you had, selfies of you in different outfits, and solo pictures you’d taken of Erik. However, it was abundantly clear that you lacked any photos of you both, despite all the time you’ve spent together the last few months. The realization made you inexplicably sad, fuelling you with a determination to rectify this tragedy that could rival the thirsty patrons vying for the bartender’s attention just behind you. You quickly follow up with, “Do you?”

He considers your words, recalling that his phone’s gallery has pictures he’s saved that you’ve sent him, a few he’s taken himself, but funnily enough, none of you together, either. He tells you, “No, neither do I, as far as I recall.”

You reach down into your bag and pull out your phone, exclaiming, “We should definitely fix that! What kind of friends are we if we don’t even have pictures together?!” 

“Couldn’t agree more.” He affirms. You raise up the device and turn, leaning back into his chest while his arm tightens around you. His face turns up to the camera with a smile without any complaints, almost as excited as you are to fix this asap. You snap the photo and bring it back down to check it out; For a first attempt, it’s honestly a great picture! The intimacy and closeness you share reflects so perfectly in the photo, that it evokes an overwhelmingly warm feeling in your chest the more you stare at it. 

You can’t help thinking, “We look right together.” 

It’s like your heart is swelling well past its means, cracking your ribs open and flooding your body with a rich, gooey sentimentality that feels like a cozy blanket wrapping around your soul. This feeling is addicting, dangerous even. 

Erik is staring at your phone screen while his chin rests on your shoulder, the easy smile still planted on his face as he comments on the photo. “Came out great! Send that to me?”

You take a mouthful of beer, hoping that the taste of cool foamy hops might drown out the feelings bubbling up inside of you; It doesn’t. With a nod, you pull up your text chain and send him the picture. “Sent.” 

“Thanks.” He imparts his gratitude with such sincerity you can feel it.

The conversation comes to a pause when the nachos arrive, you both tentatively try them, only to dig in hungrily; They’re better than expected. Erik doesn’t have his arm around you any more, but you remain rather close, one of your heels resting on the bottom run of his chair and your legs brushing every so often. Throughout the night, you make yourself more comfortable, rolling up the sleeves and undoing a few extra buttons of your blouse. As you unfold into a more relaxed version of yourself, the more skin you expose makes Erik want you even more. He fights the urge to touch every inch of skin you present to him. 

You’re both on your second beer, and you’ve killed almost all the nachos, a few chips lingering on the mostly empty tray. Exercising the last of his self-control to carry conversation up to this point, he can’t ignore the urge any longer, running the pads of his fingers back and forth just above your nylon covered knee. The contact prompts you to question, “You like, ‘em? How do they feel?”

His eyes meet yours briefly before dropping back down to watch as he shifts from the light touch to an affectionate squeeze. He quips, “Yeah, the material feels nice. Soft. Inviting. I guess you could say I’m a fan of tights.”

“Mmm inviting. Very nice word choice, Music Man.” You bring your glass up to take a sip while your fingers curl around his hand, dragging it up your skirt as your legs part. 

His voice quiets, brows rising a bit as he asks, “What are you doing?” 

You don’t grant him a response, giving him a half shrug and a look that implores him to humour you for a sec. He lets you guide his fingers to creep higher under your skirt. With the way the table and your bodies are situated, there’s no way anyone can see what you are doing, but still; this is a pretty scandalous thing to do in such a crowded public place. Erik isn’t sure what you are going for at first. He gets his answer when he can feel the intricate lace detailing at the top of your stocking and the clasp of your garter belt holding it in place. You lean in closer, your own voice softening as you jibe, “The fact that you thought I would even own a pair of tights is insanely fucking hilarious.”

He smiles, fingers catch under the thin but sturdy strap of your garter belt and tugs lightly as he says, “Ahh, of course, I should have known. For a freak like you, it’s stockings or nothing, right?”

“Exactly, Erik! Now you’re getting it.” His hand reluctantly retreats from under your skirt, and reaches for his beer once more. You decide that now is the time to shift the conversation to a topic you’ve been considering bringing up for a while now. “So! I actually have something very important to talk to you about.” 

Oh. Oh, God! What could you possibly want to talk about? Something very important; It’s probably bad; It has to be bad because there is but a slim chance that a sentence with a lead up like that ends somewhere good. No one sits someone down to say: “I have something very important to talk to you about. What’s your favourite flavour of ice cream?” There’s just no way. It would be an understatement to say he’s nervous about the conversation you are about to have. Might as well get this over with.

“Do you, now?” He tries to swallow his suspense, refraining from immediately assuming the worst. You nod, taking your time to munch on another chip before getting into it, “Yeah, so it’s coming up on six months now that we’ve been doing this-” 

Six months. Has it really been half a fucking year already? But wait, does that mean? His mind is reeling, running through scenario after scenario, and they keep getting more and more elaborate with each passing second you take to get to the point. Will it go something like, “It’s been six months. It was fun, but I think I’ve got everything I want out of this arrangement. We can still be friends though…” Or worse, “I’m bored, and I don’t think it’s worth trying to force it at this point. It’s best if we just go our separate ways, don’t you think?” Or god for-fucking-bid, “It’s just not what I thought it would be. I’m pretty disappointed with it all. I should see if Brody knows anyone else in the area looking for some fun. Why are you still here? We’re done, so run along now.” 

Is this it? Has your arrangement already hit its expiration date? Are you about to call this off? He scrambles, forcing out the first joke he can think of as quickly as he can, “Ahhh, shit it’s our six-month-aversary, and I didn’t get you anything.” 

He mentally berates himself for being so stupidly obvious, but you don’t seem to notice the poor attempt to cover up his nerves. You chuckle before relenting with a sigh, “I’ll forgive you this time, at least.”

“Lucky me.” He lets out an uneasy laugh, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. He finds himself praying to any god that would listen that what comes next won’t be as painful as what his self-deprecating mind has already conjured up. Part of him would rather you just get this over with; pull the trigger and end his misery humanely. After what feels like a century, you finally admit, “Anyway! Because it’s been about half a year, I figured a check-in was appropriate. Discuss where we’re at with the whole thing, ya know?” 

Erik is completely convinced now; You are about to break the bad news that you’ve had enough. He’s hanging off the edge of his seat, bracing himself for the killing blow, as you take another gulp of your beer. After pulling the glass back, you ask, “So, Erik. Would you say that you are completely sexually satisfied with our dynamic?”

He releases a sigh of relief as quietly as he can. Phew… Is that all? Jesus fucking Christ, he damn near gave himself a panic attack over literally nothing. He considers the question; sexually, he would say he’s more than satisfied, but emotionally… Well, let’s just say he’d rather not reach for that box on the top shelf and risk the cluttered closet of his thoughts to spill out. In the end, he settles for a simple, “I’d say I’m happy on that front, yeah.” He reaches for his own beer, downing a fourth of the glass in one go in an attempt to wash down the humiliation he feels for overreacting the way he did. 

“Yeah? Think the frequency is manageable, and what we do is exciting enough?” You press, causing Erik to laugh lightly as he sets the glass down. His worries start to creep in again, wondering if the reason you’re bringing this up is really because you aren’t satisfied. Tries to keep it light when he asks, “Definitely, but are you not happy with what we are doing, by chance?”

You gasp, appalled at his insinuation, before defending, “Erik! I am exceedingly fucking happy, thank you. Very. Much.” That comforts him to know, and yet he senses there is more you have to say on the matter. He takes another sip of his beer before prompting you, “Buuuut-”

Nudging his shoulder with a roll of your eyes, you carry on, “Buuuut like any great thing, there is always room for improvement.”

Okay, he can work with that. “There it is. Well, I think I can handle your critique. So. Lay it on me.” Erik nods, encouraging you to spill your guts about what he can improve, but you persist, “Fucks sake, I genuinely have nothing to critique! I bring this up, because I was just thinking the other day and realized we don’t even have a safe word, and it’s sorely overdue!”

Mild surprise overtakes his face, silently mulling your words over. Shit. Again, this was not what he was expecting at all. You take his silence as an opening to clarify, “Because if we have a safe word, we can properly explore more advanced kinks.”

So there it is! That is something he can totally get behind. He’s excited to hear the depraved things you have in mind. He grins, feeling more at ease as he prompts, “Like?”

“I was hoping you could help enlighten me on that, now that we are on the same page-” You lean closer, your fingers catching in the collar of his shirt with a playful tug on it. Your voice drops lower, reserving your next words for his ears only, “-I wanna know all the filthy things you want to do so I can help make them happen.” 

God, he should have known better than to jump the gun. He leans into the desperate craving for more of you, hoping the whole “pretending to be your boyfriend” shtick will provide him with enough of an excuse to give into this sudden urge. He closes the rest of the distance between you both and kisses you. A pleased hum filters out of you as you happily kiss him back. When he breaks the contact, a breathless albeit genuine compliment spills out of him, “You’re the best.”

Your lips part from him slightly, letting out a giggle at the candid admission. He can feel your breath against his own as you tease, “Damn right, I am! You honestly should feel very lucky.” 

He snorts, “And humble, too! Wow, you really are the whole package.” Pulling back so you are leaning on your chair’s backrest, you admit, “You’re more than I bargained for, and I’m definitely not complaining! So, let’s see if we can’t decide on that safe word.” You throw out an obvious and common choice first, “Pineapple?”

He shakes his head as he confidently states, “Nuh-uh, I think we can do better than that.” After a moment to think, you excitedly offer up, “Ooh, how about pancreas?” 

“Ughhh, no. Vetoed immediately!” He groans. Another minute passes, then you laugh as you suggest, “Oh, has to be penicillin!” 

“Super sexy…really gets you in the mood…not. Can we get away from the P words, perhaps?” He asks. A small scoff before you say, “Dunno who told you a safe word has to be sexy, Erik, but I don’t think that is a requirement.” Your next choice is diabolical as you move on. “Schuster?” 

“Oh my God, I will fucking kill you!” He punctuates his words by flicking a cheese-free nacho at you before laying down the ‘law’, “No. Goddamned. GLEE references!” You’re laughing a lot louder now, and he’s just shaking his head at you. Once you reign yourself in, you retort, “Okay music man… I dunno if you’ve noticed, but so far, I’m the only one making suggestions! Feel free to join in at any time.” 

“Fineee.” He thinks as you take a sip of your beer, and he does the same, the word falls from his lips with ease, a one word question, “Zanzibar?”

You nod, setting your beer down onto the table as you ponder the word. “Hmm.” That’s so familiar… Wait, is he referencing what you think he is? No, it can’t be.

“Thoughts?” He prods, and you deliberate aloud, “Honestly, I like it. It’s simple, easy to remember, and won’t come up in regular conversation. I’m sold.” 

“Well, alright! That was easier than I thought it would be.” He’s pleased that’s out of the way, and now onto the more exciting part. You kick off the kinky roundtable with, “So! What is the first thing that springs to mind when you think about fun, kinky fuckery you want to do?”

He takes a minute, letting his eyes focus on you, when suddenly it dawns on him. “Okay, hear me out, but, honestly, it would be pretty fun to see you wear an outfit like this in the bedroom sometime.”

You gasp, a grin spreading onto your face immediately. “Oh my God! Like a secretary role play? That’s your thing?” 

Seeing how excited you are by the prospect, his response comes easily, “One of them, yes! And exactly like a secretary role play. You don’t seem opposed to it. Quite the opposite, actually…”

“Ugh, how can I not be into it? Secretary 2002 was literally life changing! Talk about a sexual awakening-” You gush. He cuts in, wagging his finger in thought, “Is that a movie?”

“No way! You’ve never seen it?!” You gape as he shakes his head. “No, can’t say I have. What's it about?”

You barely restrain a squeal of delight at the chance to talk about one of your most beloved films. You rush to explain, “Let me set the scene. James Spader. Maggie Gyllenhaal. He’s a lawyer, and she’s his secretary. They start this intense BDSM-focused relationship during business hours! It is incredible, emotional and unbelievably hot-” He listens with a small smile on his face as you prattle on about a movie you clearly have a lot of love and affection for. He’s sold on it from your sheer passion alone. 

Once you’ve stopped to take a breath, Erik suggests, “We should watch it together.” You agree with a wistful sigh, “Yes, we definitely should.” 

Next, he poses a question, “Alright, I shared one. How about you? What ‘fun kinky fuckery’ do you wanna do?” Without missing a beat, you answer, “Restraints.” 

He laughs lightly from the speed with which you responded, he says, “So, like silk ties, a rope rig, or what exactly?”

You have this beautiful, indulgent smile on your face as you confess, “All of the above, Erik. And more! Also, I don’t just mean using them on me. I want to see you cuffed to my bed.” 

The possibilities that you just revealed to him are infinite, with each idea becoming more and more depraved and delicious. He would sincerely love to make this kinky dream come true. He readily agrees, “Absolutely. Any time you want it, I’m in.” 

The conversation really explodes from there. You excitedly broach more topics that are readily agreed upon in near rapid succession; Everything from more toy use and exploring free use to sex in semi-public places and beyond. That last one branches off to the topic of one of Erik’s favourite genres of porn, which he admits is, shocker, anonymous sex; particularly, glory holes.

You immediately begin to formulate a plan. “Oh my God. You know, I hear some sex toy stores have porn viewing booths and some of them are outfitted with glory holes! Oh! Or sex clubs can have them too. I bet if we did some internet research, we could find a place and totally make this happen for you-”

Erik is so fucking blown away by you right now. He just mentions that he likes a kind of porn, and you are already drafting out ideas on how to bring those filthy videos to life just for him. He can see it clear as day. You’d both arrive together at the chosen shop or club before breaking apart; Him entering one of those booths and you waiting on the other side, mouth open and waiting for his cock to slide through the glory hole. Getting to experience the very tangible, semi-public location is a turn on in itself. But pretending some stranger is giving him a sloppy blowjob instead of you threatens to drive him crazy in the best way.

He doesn’t hesitate as he slips his hand into yours, staring into your eyes and interrupting sincerely, “You are perfect.”

The look in his eyes and the humble tone of his voice both threaten to confound you even more than your erratic feelings as of late. However, your first instinct is to brush him off. So, you run with it, huffing out a dismissive laugh as you reply, “Pfft okay, Erik-”

He doesn’t let you get away with downplaying things this time. His grip on your hand tightens slightly, trapping you in his grasp as he laughs, shaking his head at your poor attempt to deflect his compliment. His brows knit together in disbelief at the notion that you could ever see yourself as less than perfect. To him, it’s a fact as intrinsic as his eyes being blue or the grass being green. He insists, “I’m being serious! Perfect is what you are, and that’s a fact. You do know that, right?”

Your heart is pounding in your ears. You know this because his voice is more muffled now, as if he were sitting a few tables over and not right next to you like he appears to be. Your smile slowly falls, your tongue wetting your bottom lip as you stare at him. Meanwhile, your mind is miles away, struggling to get a grip until you finally come to the first reasonable explanation for his sudden sincerity. He is just playing the part. Tonight’s “boyfriend/girlfriend” ruse is the cause of this alleged sentimental moment. This is the kind of thing boyfriends say and do, isn’t it? Or maybe he’s complimenting how sexually compatible you both are. Considering the fact that every single suggestion thrown out tonight has been met with enthusiastic agreement on both ends, the proclamation isn’t so far-fetched. It can’t be any deeper than that, right? 

All in all, it's still a sweet compliment. Who wouldn’t want to be perfect for someone on a sexual level. You are the perfect sexual partner for him. Nothing more, nothing less. You should be over the moon over such a compliment; should be basking in the praise, really. A part of you does feel happy to hear it, while another larger part of you feels apathetic towards how hollow the words sound. It’s as if they fell short of expectations you weren’t even aware you had to begin with. Why, after all this time, are you suddenly unsatisfied with being his ideal sexual match? Why do you feel like you fell short somehow? You attempt to push away the irrational hurt clawing at your insides, forcing yourself to refocus on his patient gaze. You finally muster your usual confidence as you respond, “Yeah, I do. Of course, I do, Erik!”

Satisfied with that, he lets go of your hand and concludes, “Good. I’m glad you do.”

You drain the rest of your beer with a few swallows as he does the same. Once you’ve killed your drink, you get up, plastering the smile back onto your face and announcing plainly, “Be right back. I’m just gonna go use the bathroom.” 

“Sure thing. I’ll get us another round.” He informs, knuckles knocking on the table-top before he stands too.

You hum in agreement before breaking away. Your confident steps become less so the closer you get to the alcove leading to the bathroom. When you push open the door, you glance up, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror above the row of sinks in front of you. Fuck, you are not looking good. You rush into the nearest stall, locking the door behind you and releasing the breath you’ve been holding since you got up from your seat earlier. Now that you are safely tucked away in your own personal bubble, you allow yourself exactly one minute to freak out over what the fuck that was just now. 

This is not happening right now, or ever! You need to get a fucking grip. It was just a compliment between two very sexually satisfied friends with benefits. You and Erik are friends with benefits; That’s what you both agreed to when you set this whole thing up. Where are these expectations and touchy-feely emotions coming from? The only promise you made to each other was to keep this fun and casual. You begin to pace as much as the small stall will allow while you think through this, for the last time. 

As far as you recall, it has been very fucking fun, and you see absolutely no reason not to continue your arrangement, so much so that you’ve even introduced a safe word to unlock even more fun! Digging deeper as to how you feel about your time together, you crave him in all the important ways. You’re attracted to him 1000% and even his lightest touches get you riled up. You actually enjoy his company, and you care about him. All good signs to continue, right? Your stomach turns at the thought of your time together coming to an end, so why did you allow yourself to be even an ounce ungrateful for such a kick ass dynamic? It was a lapse in judgment, that’s what.

And what the hell was with your reaction earlier? You would have none of it if Erik tried to brush off one of your compliments; would have forced him to repeat it word for word until it stuck. Meanwhile, you become a deer in headlights from being called perfect, really? It’s not like he was confessing his love for you. He wouldn’t waste either of your precious time getting caught up in his feelings, so why should you? All he meant by it was that you are both perfectly compatible, which is something to be proud of, not something to hold under a microscope.

Erik is the kind of guy who would go after what he wants, right? From your perspective, he has always been unapologetic in chasing after his desires; It’s how you two met in the first place. There is no way he would waste his time second guessing a clearly outlined deal made between two fully lucid adults. If he wanted more than that, he would have already done something about it. He certainly wouldn’t be ruminating in a bathroom stall over it.

You blink a few times, getting misty-eyed all of a sudden, before you reign in the stray emotions swirling around in your ribcage. You chalk it up to the tough love you just doled out to yourself. Regardless of your less than platonic feelings as of late, why be hung up on what will never be? You are just talking about kinks, improving your sexually charged dynamic to stretch the limits and have a fucking blast doing so. You’ve created a safe space to be as sexually free as possible with no judgments and no complex feelings, so you should be acting accordingly. No more reading into trivial things. Honestly, you need to get over yourself and just have fun, lean into what works. It’s moments like this that remind you that shutting off your brain and following what feels good have made for some of the best experiences you’ve had with Erik. So there’s absolutely no reason to deviate from that logic.

You give yourself a pat on the back for the grade-a pep talk, taking the small stitch in your side as a sign you’ve been standing in the stall long enough. With your mental crisis now averted, you let out a sigh of relief, shuffling out of the bathroom stall. You adjust your blouse in the mirror, before leaning in closer, choosing to ignore the flash of doubt in your eyes as you wipe away the eyeliner smudged at the corners of your lash line. With one last look at your reflection, you turn and head out the door. By the time you make it back to the table, Erik is seated with your refreshed drinks waiting on the table-top. 

Despite the confidence you instilled in yourself to go with the flow, Erik doesn’t make it easy for you. His special ‘boyfriend’ treatment, while an effective douchebag repellant, was slowly undoing all the hard work you put in while inside that bathroom stall. Every lingering touch, occasional kiss, subtle display of intimacy and general closeness shared between you began to reawaken the feelings you’d only just managed to shove onto the back burner of your mind. The tight grasp you had on your not-so-platonic feelings is slipping, and fast. This is bad, this is so. Fucking. Bad. 

Unbeknownst to you, you haven’t been making it easy on him, either. It has been equal parts invigorating and infuriating that you return every kiss and touch so eagerly. It’s as if you are not only expecting them but craving them. He’s imagining it, of course. This is all part of the illusion; keeping up the act that ensures your peaceful outing together, and that’s it. At least, that’s what he tells himself. 

Meanwhile, you are still touching him in kind, leaning into his body and laughing against his neck at every stupid joke he makes. You look at him, the mirth clear in your eyes as your fingers stroke over his bare arm, giving him that devastating smile that completely ruins him. He can’t help but wish he could do this all the time. He allows himself to imagine being able to kiss you without question or pretence; being able to voice every compliment that pops into his head. Part of him is having an increasingly difficult time ignoring these wants, despite how inappropriate they are for your current arrangement. He wants more, and he wants it, badly. But, he doesn’t dare to push his luck. He should just enjoy tonight. As much as he wishes for more, he’s not an idiot. You were clear with your intentions, and he can’t fuck this up over a few unchecked emotions.

By the time you are done at the bar it’s getting late, but neither of you wants to end the night yet, so he walks you home. The conversation flows naturally between you, as it always does, the entire trip back to yours. 

When you arrive, you leisurely begin unlocking your door while you try enticing him inside. “You know… Since I didn’t have time to come home and change earlier, I didn’t have the opportunity to slip into the new lingerie set I bought the other day.”

Erik needs no further convincing as he sighs in mock contemplation, “Well, I would be a sorry excuse for a boyfriend if I walked my girlfriend all the way home just to simply leave.” 

You laugh at his attempt to extend the fake boyfriend bit, opening the door and ignoring the way your heart skips at hearing him referring to himself as your ‘boyfriend’ and you his ‘girlfriend’. Your hand catches his, pulling him along as you back into your apartment. You nod, playing along, “You would be letting the Better Boyfriends Bureau down, for sure.”

You both make quick work of your coats and shoes, leaving them in the hallway as you lock up. Shortly after, you shuffle off to your bedroom. You flick on your lamp and pick up a sleek, black, and criminally small shopping bag from the top of your dresser. The sight of it sets Erik’s mind alight with mischief, wondering what you could possibly have inside such a tiny package. With a gesture to the bed, you head back out towards the hall, noting, “I’ll be quick, just make yourself comfortable.” 

Watching you leave, he nods before doing just as you asked. He falls back onto the bed, arms out, without a care in the world. ‘Making himself comfortable’ in your apartment has only become more natural now that you’ve been doing this a while. Dare he say, he can effortlessly make himself at ‘home’ when he comes over; when he’s in your bed. He can’t say it’s not the best part of his day being over at your place. He slips one hand behind his head while the other comes to rest on his stomach, eagerly awaiting your return. As his fingers tap against his torso, his mind drifts to you again. What sexy little number are you slipping into right now? The options are endless. True to your word, he already hears your footsteps approaching before stopping abruptly. Raising his eyebrows, he lifts himself up onto his elbows to see you waiting in the doorway. 

God, no matter how long it takes, you are always worth the wait. 

You linger in the hallway, your hands are on either side of the door frame as you let his eyes drink you in. Your excitement wins out, and you make your approach, unable to ignore the urge to join him on the bed any longer. The hallway is so brightly lit in comparison to your bedroom so he only starts to make out the finer details of your attire when you reach the bed and step into the lamp light. The dark material, a mix of silky opaque and fine see-through mesh, hugs your body tightly and makes your tits look incredible. 

The parts of your skin revealed to him are just as enticing as those left to the imagination; so much so that Erik’s mouth begins to water at the sight. The bustier you are wearing is unique, low cut with several silver closures going down the front of it. A small portion of your stomach is exposed and framed by the built-in garters, which are fastened to what appears to be the stockings you had on earlier. He is beyond grateful for the chance to see them up close now that you are away from prying eyes. His eyes trail back up your legs to the matching thong you have on, which barely qualifies as such due to how fucking flimsy it looks. 

Erik’s legs are still hanging off the bed, knees bent and feet planted on the carpet. You come to stop between his spread legs, one foot coming up onto the bedspread and resting against his outer thigh. He sits up straight now, hand coming down to circle his thumb over your delicate, nylon-covered ankle.

You ask, “So? Whatcha think? Does it look good?”

His hand hikes higher up your leg, shaking his head with a scoff and releasing a haughty laugh. “Good?! Oh no, no. ‘Good’ does not fucking come close to how it looks. I don’t think words would do it justice, honestly.” His hand snakes up to your thigh, feeling the lace atop the stocking and silently confirming that they are indeed the same ones from earlier. He asks, “Where did you even get this from?”

You ask him, “Oh! You know that place on Main Street? The Scented Drawer?” He nods in acknowledgement, familiar with the place. In fact, he knows it’s a rather pricey lingerie boutique that’s been around since forever, but he lets you continue. “I was hitting the ice cream shop nearby and noticed they were advertising a big sale, so I thought, ‘why not have a look?’ As soon as I walked in, I saw this-” You sweep your hand down the side of the bustier to emphasize. “-on display, and I was just so taken with it that I just HAD to have it!”

“A goddamn showstopper of a purchase, Freak.” He praises, fingers trailing up and down your leg in encouragement. You sigh in relief, “I am so glad you love it! I was thinking of you when I bought it, after all.” 

You bought this and thought of him. Well shit. He smiles, uttering playfully, “For me? You shouldn’t have.” 

Hmmm. This isn’t the first time you’ve purchased lingerie with him in mind. It is a sweet gesture, and very hot. Seeing you in yet another set picked out just for him has him straining in his jeans in record time. His mind is running wild, realizing that you put in so much effort for him; all the time. He wants to return the favour somehow, meet you in the middle and show his gratitude tenfold; But how? Ever since you admitted to having a shitty day at work, he has been trying to make it better. All night he set to work; making you laugh, leaving you the nachos with the most cheese, picking up the tab, keeping away the creeps, offering closeness and even letting compliments slip more freely. So far these gestures seem to have worked, but why not be 100% sure? Did he not vow to be the ‘best’ friends with benefits you’ve ever had? Damn right he did, and he will be damned if he doesn’t follow through. 

“It’s my pleasure, truly.” You confess as you join him on the bed, swinging your other leg over and sitting yourself right in his lap. His hands settle on your hips while you play with the hair at the nape of his neck, your chest pressing to his as you lean down to kiss him. Despite your lips and hips doing sinful things to him right now, Erik is still hung up on his previous musings. For the first time, he’s not sure how to raise the bar. Then, as a last ditch effort to light a fire under his ass, he challenges himself with a simple, yet effective question, “What would Brody do?”

Considering the events that transpired tonight and the safe word you freshly enacted, he ponders what he must do. Brody would make it about you, and so would he, but he’d do it better. You break the kiss, and Erik is quick to suggest, “You know… You’ve had a really hard day. Why not take it all out on me, hm?” 

He watches the shift in your expression, not-so subtle, in your interest and excitement at the opportunity he is presenting you with. He lives for the wild, untamed lust in your eyes as you deliberate his words. Your head tilts to the side, a mischievous grin overtaking your face as you smugly ask, “Are you serious?”

One of his hands slides up your back, revelling in the feeling of the fabric as he confirms, “I’m ten thousand percent serious.” 

Heaven above, you are vibrating with anticipation, but you figure checking in one last time wouldn’t hurt. You opt for playfully challenging his words, “Are you sure you know what you’re-” You punctuate the question with another grind of your hips against his clothed erection, “-signing up for?”. 

His hips arch up, chasing the friction you so kindly granted as light laughter bubbles past his lips, “I have a pretty good fucking idea, and I thiiiink I can handle anything you dish out.” You eye him doubtfully, but he clarifies, “And if not, I’ll just use our safe word. Easy, right? So no more second guessing, just-” He leans closer, staring into your eyes as he implores, “-use me as you please.” 

Oh, he will come to regret those words; you’re sure of it. You lean down to kiss him again, melting into his lap. After grinding down on him one last time, you relent, pulling away to mutter, “Well, alright. I mean, you’re quite literally asking for it.” 

“I certainly am.” He agrees, biting his bottom lip as you slide off of him. “I’ve got something fun in mind then.” You giddily admit.

Walking around the side of the bed, you drop to your knees and then quickly pop back up, showing off what you’ve been hiding under there all this time. You hold out a padded Velcro cuff with an eyelet attached to a black strap that slips down and out of view. He immediately understands. His eyes widened slightly, guffawing in mild disbelief, “Under the bed restraints?! You just have those ready to go?”

You admit, “I do! No point in getting rid of them when they are so easy to hide under the bed.” You make such a great point, he just has to concede. With a raise of your eyebrows, you ask, “So, you in?”

He hasn’t wanted anything this badly in a long time, so he all too quickly states, “Absolutely.” 

Leaning up on your knees, you share another hurried kiss before prompting him, “Clothes off then.”

He does not need to be told twice. Erik sheds his clothes one by one, while you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, enjoying the show and drinking in every inch of skin he reveals. His shirt goes first, then his belt; jeans, underwear, and socks join the pile on the floor before he’s on his back again. You start with his feet, opening one of the padded cuffs and closing it around his left ankle. You do the same to the right, casually ask, “Not too tight?”

“No, it’s fine.” He kicks his feet out, testing the range of motion. You hum contentedly. “Good.” 

Your fingers trail up his leg, lightly brushing over his hard dick as a gentle tease, before moving higher up the bed to secure his wrists. You are closing the padded material over his right wrist when you pose another question, “So, ever played with restraints before?”

“Not like this, just handcuffs a few times.” He admits, and you whistle softly, before commenting with one word, “Hot.” 

You are securing his left wrist when he huffs out playfully, “Figured you’d approve, freak.” 

“I mean, come on. Look at you right now-” You stand up and gesture to him splayed out on your bed, “-undeniably fucking hot.”

He preens a little under your praise, giving you a shrug as he sheepishly retorts, “Guilty.”

You are fussing with the straps attached to the cuffs, adjusting them slightly, and then ask, “Try to move now?” 

He does as asked, struggling against his bonds for a moment. He feels pretty secure. His elbows are slightly bent, wrists up near his head, but even with a valiant effort, his fingers don’t so much as brush the side of his own face. 

“Looks like I’m now fully at your mercy.” He says much too confidently considering his current position. He rolls his wrists in the cuffs and looks up at you to see the diabolical look in your eyes as you purr out, “Perfect.”

You open your nightstand, looking for something as you explain, “I bought something else the other day. Something for you to wear-” 

He is curious what it could be, “Oh really?” Then he hears you exclaim, “Aha!” , signalling that you found whatever you were looking for. The drawer snaps shut, and you return to his side, holding up a thin ring of leather with silver snap closures before asking, “What’s your opinion on cock rings?”

“Pro. Definitely pro.” He murmurs, and you feel giddy as you reply, “Amazing.” 

You settle on the bed again, resting your knees between his spread legs. After licking your palm, you grip him at the base of his cock, and his breath hitches. The warm, soft contact is just what he’s been craving. It never gets old seeing how effortlessly you wield the intimate knowledge of what he likes to undo him like this. Keeping consistent pressure, you jerk him off in earnest, and he’s unable to tear his eyes away from you. Touching him like this while looking like sin personified is driving him insane with want. You stroke him until he’s flushed and extremely hard, leaking pre-cum steadily as he breathes out in short puffs. Once you’ve effectively wrecked him speechless, you attach the ring to the base of his dick. 

Once the snap is closed and secured, he shifts as much as his current position allows, which is not much. He quips, “Pretty tight.” 

You laugh, lifting your hand from him, “It’s supposed to be. But it’s not too much, is it?” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” He assures. He has to admit, it looks pretty slick. Good to know your good taste extends to sex accessories. He prods, “Sooo, what are you gonna do to me?”

“Patience Campbell. You got somewhere else to be right now?” You taunt, wiggling your eyebrows at him, making him want to laugh. Hardly, there is nowhere he’d rather be than tied to your bed right now. He can’t imagine being anywhere but here, with you.

You inch closer, nudging your legs until they lay over his, the backs of your knees resting over his thighs as you spread yourself out comfortably. Despite how close you’ve got, you still somehow avoid his achingly hard cock. Your hand slips down the length of your body and between your thighs, fingers dipping into your thong as you begin to touch yourself. Between the intimate touches and kisses you’ve shared and the kink centric conversations you’ve engaged in tonight, as well as the fact that you have him completely at your mercy right now, you are unbelievably fucking wet. The first brush of your fingers against yourself feels euphoric. You dip down lower to catch some of your ample wetness before dragging your now drenched fingers back up to rub your clit. Your mouth instantly falls open, and you let out a breathy moan.

He picks up on what you’re doing right away; You’re teasing him big time. You are close enough to touch him, but you don’t, focusing solely on yourself instead, and the worst part is that he can’t even see the action. His civil liberties are reduced to the feeling of your hand shifting against yourself and the sound of your blissed out moans, but that’s about it. He plays along, seeing the appeal and finding it fun, at least at first. Erik loves seeing you enjoying yourself, but usually he has some role to play in your pleasure, or has the ability to stimulate himself at the very least. He can’t help but feel a little left out as your pace picks up, while his cock is still left hard and untouched. He’s very turned on but unable to do a damn thing about it, but he soldiers on for you.

Or at least he does until your eyes squeeze shut, head tipping back as you let out a particularly saucy moan before exclaiming, “Oh my God Erik-”. His poker face shatters and he clears his throat. “Do you ah- think you could touch me, too? Just a little? Please?” 

A light laugh tumbles out of you, hand slowing considerably before you respond, “Dunno if you noticed, but I’m a little preoccupied-” As if he could do anything but watch every squirm, shiver and exhale you draw out as you paw at yourself, desperate for release. “-if you want some attention, you’re gonna need to beg a lot better than that.” 

He should have known. Your hand speeds up again when he doesn’t answer right away, fingers swirl over your clit even harder, making you moan even louder. He struggles against the binds a bit in chagrin before he tries again. He halfheartedly implores, “Oh, come on. Please touch me?” 

You bite your bottom lip and with a shake of your head you hum, “Not good enouuuugh-” 

The next few minutes of begging isn’t good enough, either; his efforts only earn him a few light, casual brushes over his shaft. Despite the severe lack of attention, he’s still kept extremely hard thanks to that ring. He decides to pivot to a more tantalizing strategy. “Can I at least help you out? I can make you feel so good. Please, you know I can,-” He tugs on his wrist restraints as he excitedly offers, “-you can ride my face, yeah?”

Your eyes peek back open, “Awe, that’s such a tempting offer, really.” You condescend before your sentence breaks off with a gasp, then you finish your thought, “But if you really want the privilege of tasting me you-mphm, you’ll need to expend a little more effort.” 

Every time he’s offered to eat you out so far, you’ve practically jumped at the chance, impatient to have his mouth between your thighs. So, it’s unexpected that you’d deny him this time. It makes him ravenous for it; his mouth watering at the notion that he might get you to cave eventually. If he wants to do that, though, he really needs to step it up. He tries to entice you with a more detailed description of just how useful he could be, if only you’d let him. “My lips around your clit would be so good. My tongue would fuck you better than your fingers-”

You cut in breathlessly, “Hmm, you sure about that?”

Erik bites back his offended gasp. He knows that his mouth is leagues above your fingers, and he knows that you know it, too, but this is all part of the game. He plays nice as he grits his teeth and forces out, “Yes, I’m sure. Just give me a chance to- let me prove it to you, please.” 

How ironic, he has more than proved his ample skills in this very room with you that first night. Erik felt how hard you came the first, second and third time he ate you out; he knows how to devastate you with his lips and tongue, and he desperately wants to do it again right now. He wants to touch you, taste you, be the sole reason for those sweet torturously sexy moans coming out of you right now. He insists, “Think about it. With my lips wrapped around your clit and my tongue winding around it over and fucking over again-I’ll make you cum so hard.”

The sound you let out in response is halfway between a laugh and moan. Your breath is shallow, needier than before as you confess, “Ahhh, trust me, I’m thinking about it.” 

Your stocking clad leg slides up, purposefully brushing along the hot length of him, and he inhales sharply. Fuck, the smooth nylon feels so good against his sensitive tip, better than it should. He needs a moment to compose himself before he dares open his mouth again. His voice is hoarse with need, nodding at your words before egging you on, “Yeah? Thinking about my tongue buried deep inside you? Feeling me groan at how fucking good you taste? Doing everything I possibly can to make you cry out for me-” 

You nod with a deep moan; the one that he knows so well; the one that tells him you’re so close to falling over the edge. You tell him as such, confirming what he already knows as you pant out, “Oh God, yeah! Keep talking, I’m close-” 

He wishes the first orgasm you have tonight would be because of him, but still, he wants to see you fall apart, so he complies. He utters more filth, “The way you throb against my tongue when you cum is fucking incredible; how you squirm against my hands as I hold you in place, and the way you taste… single-handedly the best fucking flavour. Please, please let me-” 

And that is when the leash breaks, and you cum with a cry of his name. The groan he releases comes out quiet with a mix of pure want and utter disappointment. He watches your body with longing as you shiver, toes curling into the sheets before splaying against the sides of his waist. Your breathing coming in short gasps, riding your fingers and prolonging the euphoria just a little longer. You’re just catching your breath when your pleasure subsides, while Erik is left still painfully hard and very much unsatisfied. 

After a minute, he asks dumbly, “Was it good?”

“Mmmhm-” You nod with a pleased hum before admitting, “-but it could be even better.” 

On not-so-steady legs, you get up, heading over to one of your night stands to fumble through the drawer for something. You make your way back over to Erik once you find it. He sees the toy in your grasp, and at first, he’s worried that he’s about to be made to sit back and listen to your criminally amazing sounds again with the addition of battery operated help. He doesn’t know if he can handle that again, but it’s not like he can do anything about it. You are going to make him take whatever you dish out, despite the rough state he’s already in. 

To his surprise, when you return to the bed, you get on top of him. Your free hand adjusts his touch-starved cock before settling yourself down right on top of it. He inhales sharply at the sudden contact, your wet thong meeting his hot flesh as your hips grind against him back and forth in a teasing rhythm. His wrists tug against the cuffs yet again, aching to reach out to you; to plant them on your hips and help you move against him in a way that is sure to make you both feel divine. He rocks up as much as he can, grinding back against you and settling for breathing out your name at each buzz of pleasure that is nowhere near enough to make any real headway toward the finish line. 

He wishes he could feel you bare. You’ve soaked through the thin sateen of your thong, but it still isn’t enough for him. Meanwhile, the head of his dick bumping against your clit is sending you to heaven in a rush, and you can’t help but comment, “Fuck, that feels nice.” 

It does; it really does feel fucking insane. Then again, with how long he’s been without your touch, he’d take just about any friction at this point. All he can do is nod along, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling of you, before he chokes out, “God, yeah. S’ good.”

With your eyes locked on his face, you muse aloud, “But it isn’t quite what I was thinking. Hmm. Do you want to fuck me?” His eyes snap back open almost comically, His lips parting to begin begging immediately, practically babbles out, “Yes! Yes, please! Oh, my fucking God, I want it- No, I need it-” With a shaky inhale, he debases himself further, allowing the neediness to seep into his tone as he utters, “-I need to feel you wrapped around me, need to fuck yo-”

Alone with you and fully at your mercy, there’s no need for shame, so Erik sheds it completely, absolutely sure that you’d keep teasing him till you got what you wanted anyway. Why would he even try to pretend that he has a fighting chance when you could just wait him out. Honestly, he’s got nothing left to lose when he’s this far gone already. He expects his wishes to go unfulfilled, confident you will make him beg even more. What he wasn’t counting on was for you to say, “I want that too,” before working your thong down your legs as he watches in pure shock, begging long forgotten.

You wrap your hand around the base of him and line yourself up, adjusting your hips until his tip catches on the rim of your soaking wet slit. You don’t waste any time sliding him inside your clenching hole, taking him to the base agonizingly slow, inch by inch. He doesn’t even get a quarter of the way in before his head is thrown back against the pillows with a broken moan of your name. When your hips are flush against his, you let out a heavy sigh, relishing in just how full he feels nestled deep inside you. After a few more torturous seconds, your body rocks up then back down exactly five times before coming to a stop, yet again. 

You turn your vibe on and when you press it to your clit, your walls clench around him. He curses out at the new sensation.

He mistakenly gets comfortable, expecting you to resume riding him. About thirty seconds pass without so much as a twitch on your end, so his eyes meet yours, wondering why you’ve not moved yet. It isn’t until he sees the playful mischief lurking in their depths that he realizes his dreams were ripped away from him all too soon. A smirk graces your lips, and then the real fun starts. You proceed to masturbate with him seated inside, cock warming him but otherwise leaving him to his own limited devices again. He was very wrong; the ten seconds you waited before riding him earlier was, in fact, not torturous. This is. All he can feel is the occasional twitch and squeeze of your walls; nothing more, nothing less. He lasts all of two minutes before the begging comes in full swing, “Please! F-fuck. Ca-can you move, please? Just a little?”

A definitive shake of your head is all he gets in return. You press the vibe closer to yourself, the pleasure spiking deliciously. Your walls hug him tighter for a few seconds, sending a pulse down his shaft that makes his eyes want to roll back into his head. You assure him breathlessly, “Nah, I’m good. This-” You nod downwards, eyes flicking to where you are both joined, “-is all I need. Just something nice and thick to clench on.” Fucks sake, he is dying. You squirm with another unbelievably hot moan of his name, but he needs more. 

He is held down too tightly to make any meaningful progress towards taking control thanks to the restraints. You also have him totally inside you, so he can’t even fuck up into you as much as he might want to. So he pleads with you instead. “Please, please! Fuuuck-” 

You turn the vibe up, and with a very small swirl of your hips, your breathing stutters in the tell-tale sign that you’ve just ground the head of his dick into your G-spot. He wants to whine, he knows this feels incredible for you, but it’s hard to feel anything but pouty when he’s had only a fraction of the pleasure that you have so far. He utters your name, begging oh so softly “-it’d feel so good for both of us, I-I wanna feel good too, please?”

“Don’t care. Thi-this is about me right now-” You reach down and flick one of his pierced nipples, giggling at the yelp he releases before you conclude. “-deal with it, Campbell.”

You are being so mean and yet, so hot at the same time. He isn’t quite sure if he loves or hates it. Half of him wants to cuss you out, but he knows that isn’t going to get him anywhere, while the other half is totally smitten, loving every second of you like this. All too soon, though, you rush out with a shaky breath, “Oh God, m’almost there again!”

Your body is pulled taut, shaking from the amount of tension spooled inside, and he can feel you tightening up significantly. Erik knows you are being serious, your orgasm is not far off at all. His last plea rapidly pours out as you approach the edge, “You’ll uh ah-at least fuck yourself through i-it, right? Ah, r–right?!” 

You do not; you don’t bounce, don’t move up or down even a half of an inch. Grinding into that internal spot while the vibe hums on your clit, you carry yourself through your climax. You are like pure poetry; the heave of your chest; the nails of your free hand digging into his thigh while your shuddering breaths fall from your parted lips. He can feel your rhythmic clenching around his shaft, and it is the most sensation he’s got in the past five minutes he’s been buried in your slick cunt. The vibe clicks off and yet again you surprise him. You lift the toy and with still trembling thighs you start to ride him hard. 

His reaction is immediate, automatic: with a wavering moan and a thick swallow, he gasps out, “Oh my God, fuck yes-” 

An easy smile spreads on your face at his desperation. “Yeah? That feel good?” He rapidly nods, his eyes fixed on every bounce and jerk of your incredible body he’s so enamoured with. His brain is melting, from so little stimulation to so much, it feels overwhelmingly phenomenal. He should never doubt you when it comes to your kinky ideas; you never disappoint. Moaning with abandon, he exclaims, “-so good, f-fuck. A-Ah, thank you!”

A beautiful and melodic laugh spills out of you, broken around the edges by the moan you let out in the process. Your hand reaches down to pinch one of his nipples again, but this time, you twist, making his back arch with a choked off moan. You feel him flex inside you, as if his body were answering your ministrations when words failed him. As your hips keep up the punishing rhythm, never breaking stride, you sigh out, “You’re welcome.” 

You continue to ride him, teasing his piercings and enjoying every twitch of his cock in response to your toying. The sharp rolls of your body create the perfect rhythm to send him careening towards his end in record time. He wants it so bad; you already came twice, and he isn’t about to deny how desperately he wants to cum. So much so that he can’t stop himself from warning, “Fuck, I’m-I’m getting close-”

Just like that, you stop, and a groan leaves his lips as his head falls back to the pillows in defeat. You start your vibe back up and press it to your clit, forcing him to endure more of the torture. He feels his own orgasm slip through his fingers as the edge recedes, the small act of mercy you afforded him fading and giving way to your exclusive pleasure. And once again, no matter how much he begs, you don’t move. 

You make yourself cum again, grinding into that perfect spot as the vibe does most of the work. The silence that follows is tainted by his continued whining and begging. Once you recover, you make sure to bring one very important and very erotic reminder to the forefront, “Remember that conversation we had months back outside the diner? Back when we first started all of this? Do you recall stating that I could ‘call you up whenever I needed a living dildo to fuck’?” 

He does remember, affirming your words with a shaky nod before trailing off, “Ye-yeah, I remember…” You hum in agreement, “That’s all you are for me right now. And toys don’t need to cum, they just get used.”

Even in his extremely needy state, he’s still able to recognize when his own words are being used against him. He did, in fact, tell you to use him; he practically begged for it. He finds this precarious situation so much hotter than he probably should, but being your living dildo on call to get off on however you see fit, is so fucking debauched in the best way. Clearly, he’s at least somewhat a masochist to be liking any part of this in the first place. Without so much as a warning, you resume riding him. Bringing him closer with every minute that passes, you allow him to reach the moment just before he succumbs to the pleasure, before ripping him back to the bitter reality of his own personal torture. 

After repeating the process one more time, and stealing one more orgasm from him, Erik begs more passionately than he has all night. You are dripping wet, making such a mess on his inner thighs that he can feel it. Similar to when he edged you into oblivion with ‘The Beast’, Erik’s voice is now raw from the sheer strain his desperate pleas have inflicted on his vocal cords. Despite that, he rushes out, “Please, fucking Ch-rist! I-I’ll do whatev-ever you want me to. A-any-anything you ask. Just please let me fucking cum!”

You laugh the hardest you have all night, and the clenching of your cunt around him makes him let out a choked, strangled moan of a man past the point of no return. You clarify condescendingly, “Awe, Erik? That’s cute, honestly, but look at you! I can already do whatever I want with you all tied down and helpless, silly.” 

That sentence earns you the most tragic, mournful whimper you’ve ever heard, so you really focus on him now. Your vibe is tossed to the farthest corner of the bed as you really pick up the pace, slamming down harder, the flames of desire creeping up his spine like wildfire. He pants out between your thrusts, “Ple-please, fuck. D-Don’t stop this time! I’m al-almost-”

This time, you don’t stop. Your body slides against him freely, and his cock pulses and aches in time with your rolling hips. His heart is pounding; he doesn’t even feel his own nails biting into his palms. All he can focus on is his body crawling to the edge of the cliff, so ready to jump and yet still unsure if he’ll actually fall to the waves below. Erik feels like he’s a breath away from relief, and yet, after several shallow inhales and exhales, it never comes and neither does he. He felt it; he should have cum by now. He was way over the edge and still it didn’t happen, until finally it clicks. The fucking ring you put on him is too tight, he realizes. He isn’t cumming anytime soon with it still locked on the base of his shaft. 

Your brows knitted together, tone chastising as you goad him on, “Well c’mon Erik! I mean, fuck, I didn’t stop, right?! You can cum, so cum already…” 

His pleading becomes even more harrowing and broken, struggling to get even half a sentence out, “I-I c-can’t ack-actually ah-” 

You interject, cutting him off so steadily, and far too casually compared to how aggressively you are riding him right now, “You can, Erik. I’m telling you, you can. You’ve got my full permission. In fact, I want it-” You shift your tone, making yourself sound needy, breathless and pathetic as you beg him, just like Erik did to you just now. “Er-Eriiiik I want it. I need it. C-cum in me? Pleaseeee?”

He is dying, this is his own personal hell, pleasure bleeding into agony the longer the torment and ridicule continues, and so long removed from the promise of release. It all feels so good that it hurts. He’s throbbing, balls uncomfortably full and tight. Your pretty begging is making this so much worse, your voice taking on that needy lilt, begging him to cum. He wants to oblige you more than anything but is, quite literally, incapable of doing so. He is tripping over his words trying to explain, “I wa-want to, God, fucking shit! Ssso mu-chhh bu-but the ring-ha, s’too too tight. I-I can’t!” 

“Erik, pleaseeee fucking fill me up-” You whine, still taunting him, as he groans while shifting uncomfortably beneath you. He is tugging on his restraints as he pleads, nearly delirious, “Please take it offff-” 

You tut, shake your head as your tone slips back into being completely in control with an edge of mocking, “You can’t make up your mind tonight, and apparently you refuse to listen too.” 

“I-I can! I do, I me-an I-I want to, I just reaaally, ughhh, I can’t till-” He babbles, then starts to sniff. Your eyes snap up to his face as your ears register the sound. You notice his eyes are watery, and his cheeks are wet with freshly shed tears. He stutters out between sniffs, “-t-till you-” 

Oh my God, he’s actually crying. How absolutely perfect. You need no further convincing, more than pleased with how beautifully you’ve broken him down. You feel and fumble between your bodies before finally snapping off the ring. Your hips don’t break stride as you coo at him one last time, “Cum for me.” With those three little words, his body quickly catches up. 

His orgasm washes over him as if the afternoon tide were pulling him further out to sea. It knocks the wind out of him in an instant, forcing him to let out a broken and undignified moan. He might have felt embarrassed if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible at that moment. Neither a single thought crosses his mind nor does an intelligible word cross his lips, every playful bounce of your body stretches out his undoing. He’s positively trembling now, and you just watch, soaking up every juicy fucking detail. You silently sear this moment into your memory, marking it the single most captivating sight you will recall time and time again, long after the events of tonight are through. 

You keep leisurely riding him through it, until you feel his pulsing and pumping cease completely. The post orgasmic bliss lingers before his brain and lips catch up, remembering how to form words. He quietly mutters, “Oh my fucking God.”

You reach out, dragging your fingers through his hair, and he leans up into your touch. You delay your response, letting him soak in the feeling of relief a while longer before softly asking, “You made a real mess of me down here ya know? Mind helping me clean up?”

Nodding with enthusiasm, his eyes zero in on the spot you are joined before giving you a heated look, eyes glazed over with pure lust. Fuck. He is so far gone. He begs one last time tonight. “Oh my God, yessss. Gotta taste you, fuck, please?”

And just like that, you lift yourself off him to shimmy upwards until your knees rest on either side of his head. You crouch closer to his face until he can effortlessly drag his tongue right up through your folds. The bright jolts of overstimulating pleasure tear through you, leaving you to shiver on top of him as he sloppily cleans up the mess. His nose presses into your mound, huffing out hard breaths and moaning against you with every lick. Some of your combined juices drip down past his eager mouth, mixing with the tears and sweat still glistening on his tired face, but he stays on task. In three minutes flat, you’re all cleaned up and pulling away from him. 

Next, you carefully undo his restraints, letting your meticulous handling of him form a serene, comforting silence over you both. You stroke his arms and legs reverently, soothing the spots where the cuffs once were. Once he’s completely freed, you move to lay with him, your body perched higher up toward the headboard. Turning slightly to face him, you slowly hook one arm around his shoulders and slide him closer to you. Your other arm comes up to his face with a tissue, beginning to carefully wipe away the night’s activities from his face. 

In a doting tone he hasn’t heard from you before, you begin to softly praise him, “You did so good for me, you know.” He hums in question, eyes still not quite focused on you yet. Poor guy looks more fucked out than anyone you’ve ever seen. You smile, acknowledging him sweetly, “Mmhmm, did amazing, actually. I was awfully mean tonight, but you took it so well! Just like I knew you would.” 

The now used tissue is balled up and disposed of in the bin by your bed. You lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips, which he slowly reciprocates, but you pull away again to place another kiss on his left cheek; then the right cheek; and finally his forehead. The warm, undivided attention is melting him into the mattress. You touch him with such care, massaging his sore muscles slowly, and saying the sweetest things. The infinite supply of praise and comfort from you is slowly bringing him back to himself after experiencing such intense kink play. The process is delicate, unhurried, and fills you both with a sense of belonging and acceptance. 

After having him drink some water, you are cuddled around him tightly, his arms wrapped around you, and his face safely buried in your neck. You’ve stripped the rest of your lingerie, your bare body providing him with ample skin to skin contact and grounding him in reality even further.

Your fingers busy themselves with stroking through all the knots in his hair, and he relaxes into your capable hands, loving all the affection you are showering him with right now. Oh, how he wishes he could have you like this all the time. You note his condition every once in a while, and when he seems to have regained his faculties, you check in with him, “All of this was okay, right? I wasn’t pushing it too far, was I?”

It’s really sweet just how worried you are, but that was one of the hottest things he has ever experienced. None of his previous experiences with kink come close to this. He’s never been able to be so vulnerable with anyone else, nor has he had another person take control and use him in such a way that led to such a satisfying night. It’s like a switch has flipped in his brain by being at your mercy, and he’s certainly not complaining. 

It’s all too clear now what you were saying the other week, being edged until he cried really did feel like an intense emotional and sexual release. He feels fulfilled in a new, unique way; an addicting way that he could easily get used to. But he doesn’t say any of this to you, settling for simply huffing out a laugh as he gives you an affectionate squeeze instead. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes as he happily enlightens you, “God no, it was fucking incredible! You’ve got full permission to do that to me again sometime. In fact, I am pleading for it, begging even! Please, oh please torture me like that again, Freak.”

You definitely will. You laugh as you assure him, fingers slipping through the soft strands of hair near the nape of his neck, “I promise I will wreck your shit in some way, shape, or form; whenever you want it.” 

“Yesss, thank youuu.” He utters blissfully, making you want to giggle at his chipper mood. You are relieved and content that he enjoyed it that much. You could jokingly warn him to be careful what he wishes for, but you choose to soak up the feeling of his body as he lay snug in your arms. The moment drifts comfortably between you, eyes lingering on one another until you break the silence, much like you did on your fake date night, to ask, “Stay?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it; there’s only one clear option. He pulls you closer again, eyes slipping closed with a hum, he says, “Yeah, I’ll stay. There’s nowhere else I wanna be.” 

You smile, awarding him with another kiss into his hairline for his sweet words. Soon enough, you pull the blankets up and around you both before turning the lights off. In the darkness, you find warmth tangled up in one another, and drift off to sleep fairly quickly.

The following morning you rise naturally, the sun’s rays peeking in from the top of the curtains and creating a halo of soft light around you both. You linger in bed, limbs still lazily wrapped around each other, and feeling undeniably comfortable and well-rested. Despite the early hour, Erik has something on his mind, so he chimes in, “Hey, so about our whole arrangement…”

You grumble mindlessly as you turn to look at him before humming in consideration, encouraging him to continue, “I am very fucking happy with it, don’t get me wrong. But I think we should see each other more often, ya know?” 

You couldn’t have asked for a better suggestion; you definitely want that too. The time you’ve been carving out for each other equates to about once or twice a week, which just isn't enough anymore. You consider his words for all of five seconds before agreeing, “I’d love that, but how?” He thinks for a minute, tapping his fingers against your bare arm as he considers the options. After a sigh, he offers, “Sure, our hangouts can’t always be a sleepover, a whole afternoon or even a few hours. But, we can just try and squeeze in an hour or two with each other more often; when possible of course.” 

You can picture it now; stopping by the shop and bringing him lunch on one of your days off; meeting for a coffee while you are both out running errands; Him coming by for an hour or two after finishing work. All of these scenarios are extremely simple and casual. You can do that easily. In fact, you want to make the effort; Getting to have as much of him as you can get definitely sounds like a dream. So you tell him, “Yes! A million percent, let’s do it.”  

You feel good after that, and so does he. 

When you finally get up, you share a shower and the conversation is flowing as steady as the warm stream coming out of the shower head. You talk about how insane last night was, and recounting the fun you had. While scrubbing himself under the spray, Erik confesses, “I honestly had no idea you could be so mean!” Not that he’d been expecting how sweet and caring you were afterwards, either. He was thrown for a loop last night, but he can’t help feeling lucky to have revealed even more sides to you.

You’re watching him, mesmerized by the way the soap rolls down his lithe body until he steps further into the spray, Then, you chime in with glee, “I did warn you that you didn’t know what you were asking for. I was holding back before, but now that we have a safe word… You better buckle up, Campbell!” 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, aren’t you?” He guesses, and you tease, “Maybe I will. But only if you’re good.”

What a way to go. “Hmm. Promises, promises.” He muses with a raise of his eyebrows. 

After wrapping up the rest of your shower and getting dressed, you both shuffle to the kitchen. You enjoy some cereal and coffee while seated at your kitchen island. He mentions that he has work later, so he takes off shortly after breakfast. 

You text a few times that day, and everything carries on as usual. However, you are doing your damndest to not show how much of a fucking wreck you are on the inside. 

You pushed so hard to establish the safe word and took him up on his offer to use him last night in the hopes that focusing on adding more intense kink to the table would fix things; namely fix the fact that your heart is throwing a wrench into all your hard work. You were sure that shifting back to the sexual aspects of your dynamic would help you push your troublesome feelings onto the highest shelf and forget about it. You were so utterly and embarrassingly fucking wrong. 

Instead, the events of last night reawakened the thoughts you kept mostly at bay. And now that you are alone, you can feel their persistent pounding against the confines of your mind, threatening to break free and ruin everything. Images flash behind your eyes in a frenzy; how beautifully broken he looked, how honestly and desperately he begged, and how fulfilling and satisfying it felt in the end. You keep circling back to the way you felt taking care of him afterwards. His neediness and clinginess made you ache, and the look on his face while hanging onto your every word of praise made your heart want to burst out of your fucking chest. 

Just recalling it all again has your heart rate picking up and your throat tightening. He is ruling your thoughts and you can do nothing to stop it. The direction of said thoughts all point to one soul-shattering conclusion. Being with Erik is ruining you in every sense; it feels all-consuming and intense in a way you’ve never experienced before. And you want more. So much more.

What are you meant to do with that, exactly?

Much later that night, you’re standing at the bathroom sink, toothbrush in your mouth as you type out another text to Erik, “Did you get home safe?” You set your phone down on the edge of the sink, music from the last playlist he sent still filtering out of the speaker as you resume brushing. When you are done, you turn the light off and leave the bathroom. You head down the hall, humming to the song as you head back to your bedroom. Then, as soon as you climb into bed, your phone buzzes.

You read out Erik’s response before you even pull up the covers, “Yeah, I got in okay. Just finished eating and about to crash. Today was crazy busy.” 

Your thumbs tap out your response, “Sounds like it. Just getting into bed myself.” You bite your bottom lip as you add last minute, “Talk tomorrow music man. Good night.” 

When the three little dots dance at the bottom of the chat, showing he’s typing something, your eyes are glued to the screen. A few seconds later he sends, “Night freak. Sleep well.”

With a sigh, you turn off the playlist and drop your phone onto the cold sheets beside you. Your hand reaches out, flicking off the bedside lamp before you lay down and pull up the comforter. As you lie here in bed, alone in the darkened stillness and preparing to drift off, that mysterious yet familiar ache stirs up in your chest uninvited. You haven’t yet decided what to call this feeling, you don’t think it’s loneliness, but longing better describes the emptiness you feel. 

Seeking comfort, you reach out one hand to the pillow next to you, the one Erik slept on last night, dragging it close, and cuddling it to your chest. Breathing in deeply, you inhale the scent of him still clinging to the soft pillowcase, and it makes you hug it tighter. Your eyes close and your free hand fumbles around for your phone, bringing it up to your face and clicking it on. As you stare at the screen, eyes locked on the last words Erik sent you, you have a single fleeting thought; you’d sleep better if he were here right now.

The outer corners of your eyes begin to sting, but you chalk it up to the brightness of the screen in the darkness when you start to tear up. It’s just a coincidence that the pang in your chest also intensified at that moment. Taking this as a sign to call it a night, you roll over to plug your phone in to charge before settling into the mattress once more. Still curled around ‘his’ pillow, the scent of him in your nose and the image of him in your head lulls you to sleep.

You didn't sleep well that night, however. And the next day is plagued with thoughts of him.

It’s a few days later that you find yourself headed to the tattoo shop to see Erik, a steaming takeout bag with dinner for two in your hand. He was stuck at work, manning the closing shift alone and starving, so you of course offered to rectify this tragic oversight. It also happens to be the perfect opportunity for him to show you the sketches he put together as concepts for your first tattoo. To say you are excited to see him would be selling it abysmally short. 

The light jacket you have on fights off the evening chill, as you stroll down the street, a spring in your step as you ponder what ideas Erik’s cooked up for you. Now you can ask him yourself, you conclude as you reach the shop door, stepping inside to see Erik, cloth in hand, wiping down one of the leather chairs with alcohol. Upon hearing the bell above the door, his head raises, and a smile graces his lips in recognition, “Heyyy. There's my freak.” 

Not even the sharp stench of astringent could shake you from the lavender haze he’s got you in just from adding the word ‘my’ before the nickname you’ve come to love so much. You walk deeper into the shop and towards him as you announce, “Hello! I’m here at last.” You raise the bag in your left hand in triumph, “With dinner.” 

“Oh my fucking God, yes! My saviour!” He twists the cap back on the alcohol jug and tosses the cloth aside as he implores, “Thank you so much.” 

When he stands up properly, you notice what he is wearing for the first time, and you nearly stumble. Stopping completely, now rooted to the spot near the door, you exclaim, “Slut alert! What the fuck are you wearing?!”

“What?” He asks with a look down to the usual shoes, black jeans and belt paired with his leather jacket and that’s it. You clarify, “Uh hello, Earth to Erik? You aren’t wearing a shirt?”

With a quirk of his brow, he asks much too casually, “So?” 

“Soooo that is some grade A whore behaviour! Seriously, do you wear this often or?” You inquire, and he replies coyly, “Often enough when it gets hot in the shop. Maybe if you visited me at work more often you’d know.”

You laugh at that; wearing a jacket sans shirt when it gets hot seems pretty backwards to you. “Maybe if you left me alone for long enough, I’d have a reason to come and bug you at work.” You tease as you finally start to move closer to him again, your eyes rove over the skin on display, and you let out a low whistle before insisting, “Seriously you look so good in this it should be illegal, you Total. Fucking. Temptress!” 

He laughs now, hands planted on his hips, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me! I mean, I knew you looooved being looked at, but this is insane.” You sigh and Erik asks, “I looove being looked at, do I?”

“Totally, why else would you wear this shit unless it is to get a very particular kind of attention? Tell me, do you eye fuck your clients while tattooing them too? Make them think they might get your tip to get a bigger one outta them?” You taunt causing him to roll his eyes, “Alright, alright, I’m a trollop, I get it. But I’m a starving trollop, so can we eat first then circle back to this riveting debate?”

He walks over to the counter and gestures for you to join him, which you do so happily. “Fine, I’m gonna be the bigger person and drop it. For now.” Chairs are pulled up, and you start to unpack the bag. Erik asks, “What’d you get?”

“I was craving Greek. Chicken souvlaki skewers, rice, potatoes, salad and tzatziki. Hope that is okay.” You tell him as you unload the containers, and he says, “Oh, more than okay, great choice.” 

Soon enough containers are splayed open and disposable cutlery is passed out. The moan of appreciation he lets out over that first bite of the hot and juicy chicken lets you know that this really was the right choice. 

“What place did you get this from?” He asks with a hand over his mouth to attempt to maintain some semblance of politeness. You tell him, “That two-story place a few blocks over, Mezes.” 

“How have I not been there before?” He questions, and you shrug as you are spearing some potatoes on your fork, “To be fair there are a lot of good restaurants in that area, so trying them all is a tall task.” 

“Sounds like a fun challenge.” He admits as he takes a bite of the obscenely fresh salad, and you agree wholeheartedly, “Maybe we can do that sometime! Run down the list, try all the local spots, and then determine who’s the best.”

He hums with a nod, “I’d be very down.” 

Awesome, another thing for you to do together. You’ve already started to mentally plan out the places you want to try. It fits in perfectly with the goal you both set the other night; to carve more time out for each other. You’re wondering if he’s tried your favoured crêpe’ place before when he reaches under the counter to pull out his sketchbook, “Alright, let me show you what I’ve got so far.” 

He flips past a good few pages and then holds it out. You put down your fork and take it as he points, “These two pages and the next one as well.” 

Your eyes widen as you take the book, and you ask, “Three pages?” 

He shrugs and admits with a sideways smirk, “Coulda filled more, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you with too many choices." That’s only half true, he could have filled a few more pages, but he already painstakingly crafted these three. He spent several nights on and off working on these ideas, and had been agonizing over even the smallest of details for days on end. He attempts to play it cool as he watches you flip through the pages, hoping that you like one of them enough to want to get it tattoo’d.

Your eyes drop, taking in the detailed sketches as Erik continues to eat, and are instantly blown away. Your gaze flits over each sketch, around five on each page, which add up to fifteen options total. He clearly put in a lot of thought and care into all of these.

There is a cluster of musical notes, a clear reference to your loud love for music. The next one that catches your attention is a clapper board that is used on movie sets for sound cues, which makes you smile. Another that you find yourself drawn to is a gorgeous, soft styled rendition of your favourite flower. That’s something you honestly don’t remember telling him, so you’re pretty shocked that he somehow knew. After spending a good while looking over the first two pages, making small comments and compliments here and there, you flip to the third and final page. Upon seeing the drawing in the bottom right-hand corner of the page, your breath catches. 

Your hand comes down, two fingers tracing the edges and lines he reverently drew just for you. 

“Found one you like?” He asks, genuinely hopeful. Your eyes flick up to meet his, then you tilt the book, fingers pointing to the sketch of a beautifully drawn tiger. You cheer quietly and excitedly, “Oh my God, go tigers!” 

He laughs, head tipping forward, a hand runs through his hair as he lifts it back up and says, “And that is exactly why I added this one here. I remember you saying that the day I wore that shirt. Figured you must have some kind of attachment to tigers. Guess it was spot on?”

“You are right, I do.” You look down at the tiger again and then something clicks; it just feels right. So you tell him, “Actually, I think I might wanna go with a tiger. Can we change up the style, though?”

“Obviously, yeah. We can do whatever you want to. So, what are you thinking?” He asks, standing his fork up in the potatoes for the time being, hand now out to take the sketchbook back. You pass it over as you say, “Can we make it less realistic and moooore…Soft?”  

“Soft like what, exactly?” Erik asks, and you fire back with, “Like, can we make it more like a plush toy?” 

“Oh, are you a big Calvin and Hobbes fan?” He jokes, and you laugh, “Ha, nooo it’s more so tied to an important memory, actually.” You pull your phone out, “Hold on-” You tap at your screen, pulling up your gallery and scrolling to the picture you want before turning it around to show him. 

“Ah, yes! This is the one sitting on your nightstand! You want it to look like this?” He asks and you nod. Next, he asks, “Send that to me?” 

You do so, and he takes out his phone, picture pulled up, and he sets it on some free counter space. He has the sketchbook balanced on his knee and turned to a fresh page. He starts to sketch in between bites of food and more conversation, eyes going between his phone screen and the paper. During a quiet moment, you fill the space as you admit, “So I watched Hot Tub Time Machine 2 the other night, and it was so bad-”

His pencil stops moving, he looks at you for a moment as he responds sarcastically, “Really? So, Hot Tub Time Machine 2 wasn’t the pinnacle of cinema? Who knew.” 

“I wasn’t expecting it to be! But the first one was at least fun and entertaining! The decline was so fucking steep it was shocking! Okay because listen to my argument-” You ramble, defending yourself passionately. He laughs, as you explain further how terrible the movie was, the conversation goes on. 

By the time you’ve both had your fill of the food, he has another sketch done and turns the book to show you. The drawing is in fact much softer, he has emulated the beloved plush toy well, it is very cute, unlike any of his previous work that you’ve seen from him.

The smile on your face is massive. You gush, “I love it, yes! Something just like this. Maybe the pose could be a little different, though.”

“Yeah totally! Take some pictures of the little guy for further reference and send ‘em my way. I promise that I’ll do my damndest.” He asks next, “Where were you thinking of getting it?”

“I was thinking on my thigh.” You inform, and he laughs, leading you to ask, “What?” 

“Oh, just getting something so cute there, it’s just totally you.” He nudges your knee with his, and then you prod, “I gotta say, this is pretty different from your usual fare.” 

“I branch out here and there, and for you? Well I can do something cutesy, a first tattoo is a big deal! It deserves some special attention.” He admits, and you say, “Awe, I get special treatment, hm?”

“Yeah, you do.” He says it sincerely. You grin, helpless to the feeling what he said invokes, you ask, “What size do you think is good for something like this?”

“Hmmm, I’d say-” He gestures and reaches forward, his index finger touches down on your thigh and circles the area, “-around this size? Let’s call it three-ish to four inches?”

“You’re the professional here, even if you aren’t dressed like it right now, I defer to you-” You begin, and he scoffs, “Oh fuck off, it’s going on your body! Your say is more important than mine, idiot.” 

“Okay, okay. Yeah, I think that size sounds good.” You say with a shrug, and he assures, “That can be a starting point. If we get the stencil on, and you decide you want it bigger or smaller or whatever, we can do that.” 

You nod and ask next, “How much are you thinking for this?”

“Hmmm…Let’s call it three hundred.” He offers, and you question, “That’s like a hundred per inch, hm? Really thinkin’ that cheap?”

“Let’s call it the fuck buddy discount, alright? Does that make you feel better?” He teases, and you laugh, “Okay, I don’t think that’s a thing Mr. Professional, but whatever-”

He cuts in cheerily, “Great! So let’s look at my calendar and see where we can fit you in.” 

He picks up his phone and taps at the screen before turning it to you. Taking his phone, your eyes scan over the days, and the appointments that are already marked down. You start to consider when you’d want to get it, until your eyes catch on the bright blue reminder marked for later this month, proclaiming, “Happy birthday!”

You can’t stop yourself from asking curiously, “Is it your birthday this month?”

“Yeah, it’s in like three and a half weeks. Why?” He divulges with a casual shrug, and you gasp at the lazy confirmation. Your hand smacks his shoulder as you say his name indignantly, “Erik!”

It didn’t hurt, but on instinct he bites back, “Ow, freak! What the fuck was that for?!”

“Uh your birthday is THIS month, and you didn’t fucking tell me!?” You say like that should be so unbelievably obvious. He laughs with a shake of his head, “I’m sorry? Jesus fucking Christ, I didn’t think it was a big deal!” 

“Of course it’s a big fucking deal! I need time to plan!” You exclaim, and his face falls in confusion, “Umm… Plan?”

“Yes! I need time to get gifts, you idiot. I have to spoil you appropriately.” You shake your head and pull your phone out. He can see your screen as you mark his birthday down on your calendar app. You want to spoil him on his birthday, that feels unreal to hear. He can’t stop the smile that spreads on his face, and with all the things he could say, he settles on, “You are ridiculous.” 

“For wanting to treat you well on your birthday? Sure, I’m ridiculous.” You scoff. Turning back to his calendar app, you say, “How about two weeks from today? It looks like your afternoon is wide open. I’m thinking, 1 PM?” He takes his phone back, and sure enough it is. He nods, “You got it.” He sets up the appointment before turning his phone around to show you the now filled spot aptly named, “Freak’s First Tattoo.” This is really happening, and seeing the little notification makes it feel real. 

It’s quiet for a moment before you comment, “Hey, thanks for this. I’ve wanted a tattoo for a really long time and I kept putting it off, so I am very excited to finally get one.”

“I’m excited that I get to make it happen, honestly.” He admits. It’s a sweet moment. 

He is beat and your time together is coming to a close. You pack up the leftovers and insist that he takes them. He finishes closing up, which includes putting on a shirt, apparently. Of which you’re happily giving him shit for while standing beside him as he locks up. “You had a shirt this whole fucking time? So this is purposeful!”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you!” He teases as he checks to confirm the door is locked. Once all is secure, he leans against the glass of the door, and you are stuck staring at him. He looks so good right now, you just want to reach out and touch him. The want to kiss him is so strong, but you don’t give in to the urge. It neither fits nor suits what you are to each other, and it would be too much. You don’t kiss goodnight. You bristle at the reality of such a statement, swallowing your pride and attempting to shake off the irrational hurt. 

Instead, you simply offer with finality, “Text me tomorrow?”