hey gaymers

You remember that your heart picked up its pace in a way you wrote off as adrenaline. You remember the way your name rolled off your tongue like he’d known you forever. You even remembered that feeling of electric when he leaned in close, brushed his lips against the pulse of your neck and offered you a bedroom upstairs.

Most of all, however, you remembered the unspoken rule that enforced itself the moment he took your hand and led you upstairs to his room: Nothing serious.

So long as Dean Di Laurentis was a student at Briar U, no one had known for him to be the commitment type, not even to his flings.

He kept them on rotation, never the same girl in one week and rarely ever letting anyone sleep over. If push came to shove, he’d offer a very comfortable place on the couch.

The invisible law flashed through your head with neon lights, even as your back came flush against his mattress and he looked down from over you with burning lust in his eyes.

You became good at upholding this law—making sure to see yourself out before the night settled in fully, keeping the flirting between the parties and the bedroom, keeping everything the two of you did restrained to sex and hookups only.

It was like a contract you signed as his lips slanted against yours in messy fervor. You had every intent to keep your end of the agreement.

In truth, it was Dean that broke away from the so-called ‘invisible law’.

It all started small. Short conversations that slowly extended themselves between heavy breaths and tangled sheets. He’d try to talk and you’d try to get dressed until eventually he was begging you to stay another hour.

“No round two,” he’d bargain. “Unless you’re up for it.”

Longer nights led to early mornings eating breakfast at the table as you came to realize how different the hockey house felt when it wasn’t packed to the brim with drinks and people.

Months went by and slowly the texts felt less casual, less sexual. He was no longer flirting with you but confiding in you.

You weren’t stupid, you could sense the shift the moment his arms wrapped around you, begging you to stay just a while longer.

But you also knew a dumber person would accept it as it was; accept the delusional idea that you were suddenly the ‘something different’ that made Dean Di Laurentis want to commit.

Where you put your foot down was the pesky week per month where you refused to see the boy. Even if it meant ignoring your phone as he send you message after message, call after call.

“I’ll bite,” your roommate Miley finally spoke up, breaking the silence between the movie the two of you shared. “What’s this thing going on between you and Dean.”

You didn’t pause the movie, nor did you look away from it. You only casted her the shortest of glances before fixing your attention back to it. “What do you mean?”

You could feel the weight of the couch shift under you as the girl moved so that she was facing you with utmost curiosity. “I mean you and Dean have been seeing each other for nearly a year now. What’s going on with that?”

She received only a side eye. “The same thing as always Miley. And we’re not seeing each other…he just—,”

“Asks for you every day this week?”

That took your attention. Internally, your heart jumped and paced quicker than before. Externally however you simply let out an exasperated sigh and paused the movie, turning to the girl.

“Out with it.”

You watched as a giddy smile stretched across her lips, repeating the same words as before. “He asked me about you. When I was at Malone’s last night.”

“Did he now?”

“Yup,” she replied, popping the p in a matter-of-fact way. “And in class, in the dining hall, at that party I went to—”

“Miley.”

Your voice was flat and plain as you interrupted her, masking everything else that worked underneath the surface.

She looked up at you with eyes wide at attention. “Yeah?”

“I get it.”

“Doesn’t feel like you do if you’re ignoring him.”

You rolled your eyes, clearly not as amused as Miley was. Clearly not as amused as you were letting on. “I’m not ignoring him, I’m just…busy.”

The girl simply hummed and nodded. “Uh huh…if you say so.”

You were good at dodging people if you needed it. Some called it avoidance, you called it self-perseverance.

If there was a conversation that “needed” to happen then you saw no reason in having it when you weren’t ready.

However, you also found that Dean was exceptionally good at finding people, especially if they didn’t want to be found.

You went to the bar with only the intention of getting drunk with Miley and going home, but Dean seemed to love to pin you down in all ways intended.

“Your roommate told me you’d be here.”

He slid into the bar stool next to yours rather smoothly, his elbows resting against the bar top with his sleeves pulled down to his crook. You didn’t even have to look at him to know that he was shining that charming smile you knew and secretly missed.

Your eyes slid over to him slowly, a smugness hidden in your smile. “Dean.”

Dramatically, he placed a hand over his heart. “You say that like you don’t miss me.”

“I say that like I’m busy, Dean.”

His eyes dragged slowly across you, drinking you in before finally falling back on your face. If he could hear the way your heart pounded in your chest, you were sure he’d have an ego trip to last him to graduation.

“You don’t look busy to me.”

In a swift movement, he reached for your stool and dragged it to him so that you had no choice but to breathe in the smell of his cologne as his breath kissed the skin of your ear. “I miss you, baby. Come home with me.”

In your deepest desires you’d pull him in right then and there, press your lips against his and thread your fingers through his hair.

But you knew what he wanted.

You placed your hand on his chest, pushing him away with a knowing smile. “Dean.”

From underneath your palm you could feel the vibrating resonating from his chest. Not a growl or a grumble, but something resembling more pathetic you couldn’t put the words.

However, it did make you smile.

“You’re killing me.”

“I’m sure you’ve got an entire line up of gorgeous women to keep you company.”

He hummed, leaning in closer to you and only stopping where your palm touched the center of his chest. “I don’t want them…I want you.”

Your smile rose then fell before trailing your hand down until it fell at your side. “Better luck next week, Di Laurentis.”

Then, for the first time that night, pure confusion crossed his face as his brows dipped down low. “What does that mean?”

A scoff of a smile slipped out from your lips before stepping down from your stool. “Good night Dean.”

You walked away from him, following the path Miley took outside, likely assuming you to be going home with Dean.

However, you only got a few fleeting moments of cool air before the sound of Dean’s voice reached your ears again.

“Slow down, Christ!”

You swiveled around, seeing him standing on the sidewalk of the bar and slightly out of breath. “Okay, maybe I’m stupid but what do you mean next week.”

You squinted at him for a moment, throwing your hands on your hips. “What?”

“Every month,” breathed, vapor forming ahead of him like smoke as he stepped down and closer to you. “Once a week, every month you disappear like clockwork. It drives me crazy.”

You weren’t sure to be painfully amused or steadily annoyed as he stepped closer and closer to you.

“I thought private school boys have higher education or something.”

Dean seemed to mimic you, throwing his hands on his hips as he shrugged. “Enlighten me.”

You took a step closer to him, closing in the space from five feet to four. “Well, when a person with a uterus isn’t pregnant and isn’t on the pill, once a month they will bleed out from their v—,”

“I know what a period is. That still doesn’t connect any dots for me as to why you’re avoiding me right now and every other month.”

Your face fell into some sort of deadpan. For a moment you debated walking away, not having the patience for this conversation before giving up beating around the bush. “I’m not having sex with you on my period Dean.”

And just like before, he was struck silent as his brows dug low. “Is that what this is about?”

“What else would it be?” You shrugged as if it was obvious before turning back away from him. “I’m sorry I’m not of use to you now but—”

The feeling of a warm hand folding over your wrist stopped you short.

“Hey, hey. Can you just talk to me? Please? No riddles, no sarcasm, just talk to me.”

You stared at him. Hard. Searching for the gotcha-moment in his eyes but…you found nothing. Just desperation. You released a sigh. “Fine.”

It was silent for a moment, nothing but you and him as you waited for his words, watching him as he pieced them together slowly.

“You think I’ve been chasing you down all week just because you’re of use to me?”

You only nodded. “Isn’t that what a ‘no strings attached’ hook up typically entails?”

“Yes, but…” he paused, looking you in your eyes. “That’s not what I want.”

Your brows flinched down, heart stuttering as you measured your words cautiously. “Then what do you want, Dean?”

“I want you. I want…us. With all the strings and shit attached.”

“…but Dean Di Laurentis,” you said his name with an air of bravado, “doesn’t do relationships.”

“I didn’t.” You saw as he swallowed thickly. You could even feel as his hand twitched around your wrist, wanting to pull you closer before ultimately letting it drop to your side. “But you changed that for me.”

You looked at him in mild disbelief, sure that maybe you were just dreaming. “There’s no gotcha here,” you questioned. “No ‘buts’?”

Dean shook his head, stepping closer to you so the two feet of spaced closed to nearly nothing. He drew his hands up to you, cupping either side of your face until they touched the nape of your neck and his thumbs brushed over your cheek.

“No ‘if, ad's, or buts’. I want you and I want you to come home with me tonight. No sex required. Just. You.”

Your smile, as good as you were at hiding and disguising it, spread wide against your cheeks as he held you. Like an instinct, you let your hands fall to the fabric of his sweater, holding him close.

Your breath mixed in with his as you neared his lips, only slowing to utter the words : “Are you saying I managed to tame the Dean Di Laurentis.”

“Just kiss me already,” he grinned before finally pulling you in and slotting his lips against yours.

It was nothing like his usual kisses—rough, hurried, cocky. This was slow and desperate, drinking you in and reveling in the fact that you were his with all of the strings attached.

@whothehellismack @sleepiscrazy