#sam fortner

When he asked over some unique Thai food with a taro egg tart the next night all you could do was shrug in response while you poked at the food.

"I'm just... bored." The words sounded muffled despite being spoken clearly, so quiet and monotone.

Two days later Sam slid through the glass doors that were your only view to the outside world, his steps excitable like the time he brought back food from a new Nepali restaurant that opened. Unlike the usual nightly routine, instead of the rustling of plastic as he unpacked and announced the newest food place he'd discovered, it was the dull thud of a box that roused you.

"I saw this on sale when I was going to Dunkin after work, you would not believe the price a Lego set goes for these days." Slender fingers were already picking at the tape securing the cardboard, placing the separate plastic baggies across the table, "I know you've been feeling bored lately, so I thought we could do this together. I haven't touched Legos since I was a kid but uh, it'll make a nice decoration for your room when we're done at least. Plus it comes with different variants of leaves, pretty cool huh?"

With a stretch and pop to your back, you drag yourself up and sluggishly dump yourself into the chair at the end of the bed, brows furrowed as you look over the un-assembled bonsai tree.

"A Lego set?" The questioned was whispered more to yourself than to Sam, but he glanced up at you through his lashes as he finished laying it all out, running his hands over the thighs of his jeans.

"Yeah. I uh, thought it would give you something to do. I'll help you start it up and then you can finish it when you want. If you like it I can get you some more another time."

By the time he actually serves out dinner and finishes it, you've both made it as far as the small wooden table the bonsai sits on, a surprising amount of progress considering how soon Sam's temper reared its head.

"God fucking damn it!" Bricks danced across the small table as Sam slammed his fist, immediately recoiling it and squeezing his hands in his lap. The anger was clearly simmering just beneath the surface, clear in how he bit his lower lip, in how he shook his head to himself.

All you could do was sigh, picking up the brick he'd abandoned and try to place it yourself. It was a tight squeeze, a finicky, awkward angle for sure, but with a patient hand it sunk down with a satisfying click.

Sam stared silently, jaw clenched.

"It's no big deal." The soft tone was meant to placate him. At some point you'd accepted and trusted deep down that he'd never harm you, his word held weight. That didn't mean him bringing home a body or pacing while he ranted about his newest hate fixation was pleasant.

"It is." Sam snapped back quickly, hand quickly rubbing over his mouth as he spread out over his lazy boy, a sigh escaping from the depths of his chest, "This was meant to be us bonding and I...."

The words trailed off, but you both understand what went unsaid. Sam brought you here partly because you were a surprise witness to a murder, partly because he wanted a friend, painfully aware of how empty his social life was. Keeping you chained to the basement with a double bed, a couch and mini fridge as opposed to the dark, dank cupboard with exposed pipes was a constant reminder that he held you a cut above the usual bodies he brought back. Every morning and night he shared a meal with you, attempted conversation, asked about the life you had before with the casualty of talking about the weather. One of your first lessons there was to not ice him out, he didn't have the patience for it and didn't want to keep dead weight around.

But when did acquiescing become acceptance? When did you last answer him to keep him placated before your next answer was to see him smile, scoff, surprised? Was it to distract yourself from the boredom, clinging to every conversation to feel anything, or did his mannerisms, expressions, physicality authentically draw you in?

You'd gotten good at reading him in the absence of anyone else, recognised the stress by how his jaw, hands and shoulders held it. The captivity was so far past it's novelty and so deeply casual that it took several moments for your brain to register how problematic it was to place your hand over his closed fist, the connotations of comfort and connection so far from appropriate to give to the man that kept you connected with a padlocked chain.

The touch took him by surprise just as much as you, but he showed it only with his eyes when they flashed up to look at you through dark lashes, his face a mask as he scoured your entirety for a why.

"We are bonding," The hand pulls back, the warmth of his knuckle lingered, "Legos can be frustrating, it's fine."

Sam stayed silent still, your words not quickly shoving the tension and situation on as you'd hoped. Still he just looked at you, slouched into the chair, legs spread, head cocked only slightly. The lingering heat from his hand coursed under every inch of your skin.

When he leaned forward it was sudden, a few beats spent still just gazing at you to keep you guessing before he pushes the table to the side with his foot, plastic bricks scattering to the floor as he pulls you sideways across his lap.

The sight of his outstretched hands reaching for you triggered a freeze response, mind like a cog caught in gum, jolting back and forth in the same loop. It gave him time to settle you snug against his chest, your head nestled next to his, reddish brown hair tickling your nose. Every deep breath was a lungful of musk and linen.

"Thank you." It was like his mind had taken your touch as permission, that one act of comfort slid through the crack of a door now flung open for him to make himself at home.

His heart was calm, paced, the opposite of your own wild palpitations until his hand came up to your head and slowly, softly began petting. The large palm almost covered your entire skull and again his heat seeped into you, from his hand, his chest, his thighs, soothing you as if you were a skittish stray. Truly, that wasn't far from the truth.

Your body sunk into his without permission, your chest came down from it's heaving, eyes drooped shut. The part of your brain still roaming free outside shook at the bars, throwing words like "Murderer", "Victim", "Stockholm" at the walls but your body was running on something primal, a base instinct, a need to revel in the nearest comfort.

The feel of his head turning pulled your attention from within as you met his blue eyes, opening your entire soul to him without a second thought. He dove straight in and read you to filth, devoured you whole.

There wasn't enough time for your breath to catch in your throat when his other palm pressed over the soft flesh of your thigh, his lips following soon after, inhaling the breath and your soul.

You'd imagined such a moment, curled under the duvet in the dark, thinking of him just a wall away in his own dreams. What would it feel like if he kissed you? Common sense suggested you'd revolt, be filled with disgust, would never part with your last shred of dignity. Now reality granted you an opposite scenario as you parted your lips and let him into one of the few places he'd yet stolen into.

As his hand cupped your head and held your waist as if you hadn't been chained, as if there was a possibility you could still abandon him, you realised even if the weight at your ankle lifted you'd have remained rooted in his grasp.

-Eating food gives him pleasure and he uses it to cope with the large amounts of stress he feels. Traffic is bad in his area? A tasty cheese burger meal combo he’ll have for lunch. He didn’t cum when watching porn? He’ll get food from that new Thai restaurant that just opened up.

-He has chronic depression and anxiety, the anxiety comes out as frustration and anger from him. The chronic depression makes him feel more or less “empty” and unfeeling. He started feeling this way at 7 years old, making him feel like he wasn’t “made” right.

-His favorite things to watch is the Food Network and food related shows. He also watches true crime as well but he watches it to make sure he’s in the clear and no one thinks theres a serial killer on the loose.

-He wanted to be a cook or chef when he was growing up but he found himself bored and uninterested in how food was made and just mainly liked the pleasure of eating food.

-Due to his upbringing and low empathy for others, he finds himself feeling alone and misunderstood even by those who are serial killers like he is.

-Serial killers enjoy hurting and killing people, he doesnt. He just feels the compulsion to get rid of certain people.

-The only joys he finds in life is food… he used to think sex as one of those joys as well but after his divorce, he realized he only liked sex with someone he loved.

-Porn doesn’t do it for him, he usually ends up not even cumming most of the time.

-He avoids a lot of kinks and fetishes in porn either bc his anxiety gets to him or he thinks that a lot fetishes are weird.