⋅⊰ maeve ⊱⋅

Weddings are lovely. This one in particular has good cake and nice decorations. The bridesmaid dresses aren’t hideous though you don’t have to wear one, which you’re thankful for. Green has never really suited you. 

A suit does suit Alex. His tie has come loose from tugging on it one too many times. He’s over in the corner with his friends and every once in a while you’ll feel a pull to look over at him and you find his eyes on you. He always has a small smile on his lips that grows two sizes bigger when he looks over at you. It’s a nice feeling to have someone beam at the sight of you.

You swirl the glass of champagne and count how many you’ve had. This is your third, you think. You’re chatting with someone at your table that you don’t know the name of. She and her husband are nice but the conversation isn’t exactly invigorating, but it passes the time.

“I Gotta Feeling” plays from the shitty DJ speakers and you feel like you’re at your 21st birthday celebration two sips away from barfing in a bathroom stall. You’re kind of mad at Alex for leaving you alone at the table. He has a habit of that. You’ve previously excused it as him catching up with his friends, now it starts to feel like forgetfulness, uncaring toward you, and your loneliness at this wedding. His smile reassures you but he’s still across the room all the same.

Maybe it’s your fault too. You could go over there and join the conversation but then you’d feel like some clingy girlfriend. Maybe it’s your fault for caring too much. Going over there might be the polite thing to do instead of moping at the table. But it would’ve been polite for him to include you in the first place. 

You go to the bathroom, not to vomit, just to pee. You leave your champagne and your purse at the table and wish you could leave your heels there too as they’re becoming a pain. You wash your hands and look in the mirror for too long. Exhaustion pours over you but you’re still going to be here for at least another hour. 

As you walk out, his hand grabs your arm. You have his hand memorized. Every crease, every callus, every bone. Early on, probably in the first month of sleeping together, you’d trace his hand because you loved the way it felt on you and how one touch could make you feel so much. It would knock you off your feet, leave you out of breath, and have you begging for more. It was transformative and then it became normal. It was impossible not to feel that way, even when his hand was just holding yours.

“You disappeared on me,” Alex says with an attacking smirk and a bruising touch. He can be so intimidating, yet so calm.

You shrugged and wished you brought your purse so you could have something to do with your hands. “You left me first.” 

He comes closer only a breeze could pass through the two of you. He doesn’t bend his head, he likes to have the hot air float between the two of you. He told you once how turned on he gets when you have to reach up to kiss him because he’s never been “the tall one” in the relationship. You’re not that much shorter than him, a fact you remind him of. He says he knows but his dick still gets hard all the same.

“Do you want me to babysit you?” He’s toying with drunk flirtation. It’s impossible not to feel something from it, despite how much it bugs you that he can just tilt his head and perk his lips like that and you’re a puddle.

“I want you to pay attention to me.” You think you sound like a whining child but you’re determined to stay strong in your firmness and fight off his taunting teases and that leering bravado.

His eyebrow raises and you’re not sure if he could come any closer without touching chest-to-chest with you. “Oh,” he sounds, a chuckle tipping at the end of his sound. He bends his head down, hiding his laughter from you like he’s breaking character. “I’ll pay close attention to you.”

His hand rubs down your arm. He slows at the crook, paying close attention to the inner elbow like it’s an aphrodisiac. You could tilt your head back and just enjoy him or you could pout some more. “I’m not doing that kind of thing here. In fact, I’m not doing it at all.”

It ticks you off that he laughs again. It’s starting to feel like he’s mocking you as if there’s a live studio audience and the laugh track is playing and everyone is making fun of you. “You becoming a nun?”

You cross your arms. “Maybe you should think about giving some of your vices up.”

Alex rolls his eyes and steps back, allowing you to come up from the water and gasp for air. “I’m working on it.” He means smoking. Not that you’ve been that hard on him about it, maybe more so lately, but he said he would try giving it up, but he still goes out for “walks” every day. You haven’t cared much in the past but the smoking has seemed to flare up into a bigger issue of him not committing to things you’d like him to do like paying closer attention to you and your needs—the non-sexual kind.

You hum and look over at the reception hall through the archway. People talking, drinking, dancin, some at the same time.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

You look back at him, now with his sad little boy look. His hands are in his pockets, his eyes looking down at the floor, an ever-present frown on his face. You roll your eyes at this act. “For what?”

Alex rubs his head, messing with his hair and pulling his face in various directions. “Want me to fuck you in the bathroom?” Deflection. Definitely deflection. 

“Al!” You smack his arm and he’s laughing at you but you’re laughing at him too. Fuck him for knowing the right thing to say to get out of anything. You want to slap him silly and kiss him, have him fuck you into the bathroom mirror. 

He shields his face. “Stop it. Stop it,” he begs with a chuckle. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You let your hand fall at your side. “You’re a loser.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, placing his hands back in his pockets, “I know.”

You don’t want to fuck him and you don’t think he wants to fuck you either. You’d like to swallow each other up. You like taking him in pieces—his hands, his hair, his face—rather than just him. But now you’d like to take him whole. You’d like to have him take you whole and not just your body but your soul.

You extend your hand. “Could you dance with me?”

He sighs at the thought. He hates this part. His two left feet and the idea of people staring at him dancing when he hasn’t had enough alcohol or enough lights in his face to block them out. “Slowly,” he says, taking your hand. He likes your hands too, likes the daintiness and how naturally soft they are, completely opposing the way he touches everything. “Protect me.”

He says it as a joke like he does most personal things. He wraps them up in mystery and hidden meanings because he’s too vulnerable to speak to anyone, especially in public, which freaks him out. He’d rather be naked in public than feel like a stranger knows him. That’s why he won’t do therapy. But he’s never been the knight for you. He told you that you don’t need him but he thinks he’d fold in on himself without you. You stand guard against the dragon because he can’t handle the thought of being emotionally exposed to outsiders.

You lied naked with one another far before you knew him. It was so much easier than telling the truth, but then one day you cracked him up and nothing could be held back after that. What therapist would understand him better than you? You get him more than he gets himself. Things only make sense to him in writing or when he tells it to you. Both respond to him in a way nothing else has been able to understand. There’s no point in finding someone—anything—else.

“Okay,” you agree.

He squeezes your hand and trails behind you. He knows everyone here and you don’t know a single soul. It freaks you both out in your own way but that understanding that the other one is just as uncomfortable somehow makes this place the most comfortable place ever.

His shoes tap yours a few times like his nerves knocking on your heart’s walls. He whispers into your ear, “I don’t like this.”

You laugh. “I know.”

He kisses your neck, softly, finding a haven in there. “I know you do.” That’s your relationship in four words. The world swells around you two, encasing you in stone, carved into time, and you never liked dancing but it’s the intimacy of his hold on you as your feet move back and forth in a swaying fashion but not like a waltz more like the cool breeze on a humid day. It’s like floating away with your feet on the wooden floors. His loafer clicks your heel and you’re glad you didn’t take them off. It’s a secret language you’ve learned in the effort to decode, to know him fully, to know yourself more because he knows you. It helps you make sense of all this mess, all of life, just with a misstep he’ll be embarrassed by and mutter a sorry for, you feel like you’ve discovered secrets of the universe in it.

Alex takes you over to his friends after. It’s almost as boring as sitting with what’s-her-face and her husband, except Al’s arm is around you and yours around him and he’ll squeeze your side every once in a while to let you know that he knows you’re still there.

At the hotel, you take your shoes off on the end of the bed while he throws his tie somewhere near your suitcases. It’s an art to be so seductive when making a mess. You’d scold him for it in the daylight but in this nighttime light, it has you shuddering. You scatter your heels at the foot of the bed to seem as sexually temptating as him.

He eyes you from the tips of your toes up to the last hair on your head. “You make me want to get on my knees.”

“And do what?” You question in fake obliviousness.

He tilts his head and his eyes move back down, stopping at the curve of everything, your boobs, your torso, the crook of your elbow, the bend in your knee, the way your foot points, your toes curling. They tick back up to meet your eyes and he looks at them in parts like it’s a medical diagram and he’s examing the iris, the cornea, the pupil, the lens, the retina, all the way back to the optic nerve.

“I don’t like when you play dumb.” He bites on his cheeks like he’s starving for nourishment. “It makes me feel like you’re talking down to me. Like the teacher just called on me or something.”

You curl your feet under you to hide part of yourself from him. “Did you want to fuck your teacher?”

He shrugs and turns his back to you. He steps on the heel of his shoes, taking them off and lining them up against the wall so neatly it’s more distressing than him tossing his tie. “Mrs. Sterling was hot. Then again, I was going through puberty.”

“What’s your excuse now?” You watch him hang his jacket up in the hotel’s closet. 

Alex laughs through his teeth, air fighting its way out of his lips. “Maybe I’m still going through it. At least my penis is.”

You stand up and walk over to him. He’s running his fingers through his hair in the mirror like he isn’t about to go to bed. Almost like you aren’t going to fuck and mess it all up. You slide your head onto his shoulder and nudge your arms around him. He grabs your hands like he’s slipping them into his trouser pockets. You talk to each other through your breathing. He sighs and you take in the air he’s just let out.

“You smell nice,” you say. You give a peck to his neck before sliding out of his grasp, moving around to the front of him.

He grabs your waist now, just resting them there as if they are shelves. “Hmm. This is what happens when I don’t smoke for a day.”

You’re smiling but you don’t let him see it, ducking your head down and turning your back to him. “Unzip me,” you request. You can see him through the mirror. A smile gently emerges and his hands graze up to the top of your back. He rubs your shoulder blades with the faint touch of his knuckles. You lift your hair up out of the way. Alex smoothly lowers the zipper. His touch is non-sexual, only a caring way of easing your aches and pains but his face plays with temptation and an eagerness that he thinks is unseen.

You remove the straps and tug the dress down to the floor before hanging it up beside his suit jacket, mixing him with you. Your feet carry you away from him, leaving him stranded by the mirror. You pull your bra off and one of your old shirts on. You take off your underwear and wear one of his boxers.

He takes off his shirt and hangs it up. He hides himself in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. You lie down on the bed and wait for him. You don’t get under the covers. You don’t want to hide from him. You want to be exposed, physically all of you left for the taking.

Alex shuts off the sink water and taps his feet on the tiled floors. The bathroom light flickers off. He steps out, catching you on the bed with a smirk. He walks over to his suitcase. “I think this is the first wedding I didn’t get drunk at,” he says, shimmying out of his remaining clothes.

“Good. I want you to be upright.”

He unapologetically snorts at that. He’s naked, bending down, his ass staring at you. Part of you wants to go over there and just start eating him. You make a noise to yourself to do that at some other time but for now, you lie further back, sending a message to him. 

His boxers are blue with white polka dots. His hair is messed up again despite the time he spent in the mirror. His chest is bare with a slight roundness to it that makes him feel cozy, instead of stiff. He stands at the foot of the bed and takes one of your feet in his hands. His thumb makes love to the arch, easing the painful build-up from the evening. 

He kisses your ankle, the bulge that catches his eye. He licks his tongue over it as his mouth leaves your skin. You moan at the feeling of everything. The slight wetness on your joint and the relief of your muscles coming undone at the same time. “Do you want to have sex?” He asks.

It’s romantic for something that is so clinical sounding. His cheeks are red like an embarrassed schoolboy’s. “Do you?” You nervously return the question.

“Yeah,” he quickly answers. Then, he shrugs. “Maybe.”

You giggle. “Maybe?”

He drops your foot and picks up the other one. He repeats his act, leaving this one wetter than the left. “If you want to go all the way. I’m fine with just taking care of you.” That translates to “I’d like to eat you out now please.”

You lift your left foot and poke your toes into his cock. “What about you?”

Alex kisses your big toe. “What about me?” He chuckles as if it’s an absurd thing for a man to want to come all over the place: pussy, boobs, mouth, stomach, feet, the crook of the elbow.

You sit up on your elbows and nudge your foot against his dick some more. “I don’t want him to feel lonely.”

He places your right foot down with graceful care. He kneels on the carpeted floor. He kisses the arch of your left foot as if he’s saying goodbye to it. “I’m not lonely. I can hear it calling my name.”

Already knowing what he means, you ask him, “It?”

His hand slides up your legs and fiddles with the edge of his boxers hiding it from him. “Your cunt. Wet cunt, right?”

You swat his hand away. “Shut up.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh.” And with a chuckle, he says, “You’re soaking wet, aren’t you?”

You want it so badly yet you’re so embarrassed by it. This want inside you is so intense that no one should know about it, not even you. But he can feel it in the air alone just like you can feel how badly he wants it. Unapologetically wants it. This is where he lays himself bare, never hiding how desperate he is for you and the mess between your thighs. In fact, that’s probably all he ever thinks about. Your core and how to get back to it—to this, edging up into the pocket of you.

“I like how shy you get,” he teases. “You’re so bossy until I touch you then you’re just a mess I have to clean up.”

“Clean up?” You question.

He nods. “Yeah. I need a mop or something.”

It’s impossible not to laugh even if you feel so fucking sheepish over it. Like you want to cover your hands over yourself and hide everything, every desirable part (to him, that means pretty much all of you). “You hate me.”

Alex shakes his head and curls his fingers under the elastic band. “I’d like to fuck every inch of you.”

You turn your head, unable to look at him without turning completely red. “You’re so provocative.”

“Pft,” he sounds. “Barely. You’d die if you heard what goes through my mind.”

You shut your eyes as he begins to pull the boxers off of you. “Keep it to yourself. All of it.”

“No way.” You hear the boxers land and his hand pushes up your shirt. “I like it when you’re all red. It’s the only time I have one up on you.”

You feel that hot air between you two. You open your eyes to him completely over you. A second later his lips touch your lips. It’s always his opening, a greeting for the night to come. He lifts himself to look you in the eye. “Mouth or fingers?”

You push him down, away from you. “Stop it.”

He surrenders. Almost. “Okay. Okay.” He kisses your hip bone and from there on out you’re a goner. You lose the ability to articulate words, not even able to think.

Both his hands grab either side of your waist. He eases his head down to the mount of you, giving it a soft peck. It’s like a slow song, an instrumental one like those scores to all those movies he watches that you don’t understand. You get lost in it like a dance, your body internally swaying. 

His mouth touches the lips then he dives into the rest. He licks and kisses the clit. He swirls his tongue down your cunt until he finds the opening, pushing inside. Your hands mess his hair up more because that’s about the only thing you can do. You find him infuriating how beautifully he does this. He’s a painter with his lovemaking. If one could document such a thing he’d be Da Vinci or maybe Kilmt, that would be more aligned.

You wish he’d give as much attention to you as he does to your vagina. Not that you mind this bit either with his nose rubbing against your clit and his tongue running through you like your ice cream on a hot, melting day. 

He lifts his head, which shouldn’t be allowed. You whine and push against him to move his head back down. “Should take up permanent residency here,” he says before his fingers get involved in the mix. He re-attaches his mouth to your clit and reintroduces his fingers to the inside of you. They haven’t been separated for long, maybe three days at most. It’s hard to remember dates now. He’s moving just right.

“Fuck, please.” Maybe you’re answering his comment or just exclaiming with pleasure. It’s hard to keep track. He goes to the knuckle and sucks on you like it’s his life resource. Like he’s a baby and milk might come out of it. That’s a funny comment, you note to say that to him after you come if you can remember that.

“I’ll build a mansion down here,” he says against you, vibration running through. “With a pool to keep all this wetness in.” You’d roll your eyes at him if they weren’t rolling into the back of your head.

He moves deep but not quickly. His nose rubs against your pubic bone like his shoe knocking into your heel. He moves back but never away. It’s too much and too little all at once. You might have ripped a hair or two out but he doesn’t mind, he likes that type of thing. He might be bald at the end of this. 

He curls his fingers inside you and you might get a noise complaint with how loudly you moan. You feel Alex smile into your pussy. He shushes into your clit, which only makes you moan more, placing your right on the edge. He can feel it in the way your thighs shake, your muscles unable to take this feeling. Your brain is unsure of what to do like he’s turning the light switch on and off rapidly.

“Come on my mouth,” Alex says as he removes his fingers. His mouth is full-on, slurping like your soup and plunging his tongue into you like you’re the bottom of a jar he’s cleaning out. His hands push your legs apart more so he can take it all with no barriers in the way. No hiding.

You move against him, unable to control yourself. He goes down onto you deeper and your ears are ringing from how hot they are. The dam breaks loose and you give him what he wants and what you need. It’s all his, just like that.

He doesn’t stop, licking it all up like you’re the center of the Tootsie Pop. You thrust up into him. Unable to take anymore you tug at his hair to pull him off. His mouth is covered in your wetness. He wipes it off on his arm. He looks tired but doesn’t feel it, unlike you feeling like you just climbed and descended Everest. 

You push the shirt back to its proper position. You roll onto your stomach and rest your head completely on the pillow, absorbing the softness and how cool it feels against your hot cheeks. “Gimme the boxers back.”

“What if I want easy access?” You hear him moving but your eyes are closed.

“Too bad.” He bends your legs and helps put the boxers back over you, tucking your shared secret away under the cloth.

You hear the sheets rustle and the bed dip beside you. He tugs on the blanket under you. “Pick your feet up.” You follow orders before he covers you both with the blanket, even though it feels too hot right now on your sweating skin. “Don’t fall asleep yet. Open your eyes.”

You manage to flutter them open. Half-closed you say, “How’s this?”

The browns of his peek through along with his smile. “Good enough.”

“What time is check out?” Your eyes shut and his arm lands on your back, cooling you down just enough to not burst into flames.

He yawns. “Noon, I think.” 

You hum relief at being able to sleep in. “Want to wake up early for a blow job?”

He’s silent for a moment, thinking it over. “Nah.” The buzz of silence rings the air. You sink further into the bed. Sleep closes in on you. “Want me to wake you up with head?”

You laugh and open your eyes to see his toothy smile. You bite your lip, scared to admit it, but you reveal it to him. “Maybe.” You turn your head away from him and close your eyes.

He kisses the back of your head. “Okay.” Not forcing anything. There’s no attempt to crack you open and tell you to expose yourself to him. There’s no insistence on allowing him to see every side of you. He likes that you keep these parts of yourself hidden. That you got embarrassed when his friends briefly talked about sex like it was in front of your parents or something. Like when you had to give a presentation on STDs in sex ed. That’s one of his favourite stories of you.

It’s private only for you to see fully and he’s fine with just seeing it in parts because those parts usually involve his tongue, cock, or fingers and you moaning. Or that redness that enters your cheeks where you get all flustered and bury your head into his neck. It’s the only time he gets to be the protector. You give yourself over to him. You trust him. That’s all a man could ever want. That and maybe a cigarette.

*

It’s midday. The kind of winter afternoon that carries a reluctant warmth — softened edges to the cold, the sort that brushes your face, that lingers in liminality — not as bitter as yesterday, but not quite merciful either. The cold doesn’t slice into the small slivers of exposed skin as sharply as it could, as it has before. It’s the kind of cold that reminds you you’re alive. Even so, the air has its bite. You pull your coat tighter, tugging at the scarf knotted loosely at your throat. 

The city feels unfamiliar in this corner, like you’ve stumbled into a forgotten painting, smudged and yellowed, a place you’ve walked past in another life but never truly stepped into. It’s quieter here, less bustling, less preened. The buildings around you, though worn, seem watchful. Hunched together, as if conspiring against the passage of time. 

You glance to your left, attention snagged by a squat, unassuming structure. Its exterior tells a tale — peeling paint, frost-speckled windows. It’s tucked between other larger, newer ones, looking almost out of place but not quite enough to feel wrong. You pause, narrowing your eyes.  

The building is modest. Only the ground floor and one upper storey stacked on top, as though the architect had no more to give. The shop window is smudged, a foggy pane of glass that resists reflection. Beside it, the door is plain, framed in chipped wood. Above it, some faded lettering struggles against the years. The words aren’t meant to be read from this distance. Their strokes are weary, edges blunted by time. But still, you tilt your head, trying to piece them together, wondering what kind of place it might be.  

A hat interrupts the view — a man’s, brim low, crown rounded. Standing in the doorway, it shades the lettering just so, as though deliberately concealing what little clarity it might offer. But you imagine the letters are tired, the kind of font that’s seen decades without a care for reinvention. 

If you keep walking, you’ll move past it, slipping into the more polished familiarity of the café next door, its entrance angled slightly outward as if inviting you in. Your gaze drifts upward. Beyond that, two wiry trees dusted with frost extend crooked fingers toward a cloudless sky. The light is harsh now, unforgiving in its sharpness. You know it won’t last — it never does. Soon enough, this blue will yield to black, swallowing the city in its winter embrace before you’ve had a chance to notice it fading.  

“Oh, that woman gets on my nerves.” The harsh voice of hat-man cracks the brittle quiet. He says it loudly, enough as though the whole street should hear him. And his voice is sharp, cutting across the stillness of the afternoon. His words linger, landing uncomfortably in the air. There’s a woman following him, hurrying to catch up — a quick glance tells you she’s his wife, though the tension between them pulls tight in the space they share. The coat she wears is wrapped tight around her frame, but her expression reveals nothing. Is he talking about her? You can’t tell. A brief pang of sympathy rises, unbidden.  

Through the glass, you glimpse someone else — another woman, left behind at the till. She rubs her temples, her shoulders curling inward as though she’s bracing against something. The motion is unmistakable, the gesture of someone wound too tightly. Even through the dusty glass, even with the distance between you, the tension in her body is palpable. You wonder what the man had said to her before stepping outside. 

The thought pulls you out of yourself, and you murmur without thinking, “I wanna go in there.”  

Your voice breaks the silence between you and him. It catches Alex off guard. 

He’s been beside you all this time, his hand searching for yours, his fingers awkward over the thick wool. He tries for a better grip, one that feels intimate even through the layers. He’s been preoccupied, you realise — focused on the way the cold dulls touch, the way the gloves feel like a barrier he can’t quite breach.  

He glances toward the building you’ve indicated. “There?” he asks, his voice a soft echo of your own, head tilting ever so slightly as he looks back at you.  

You nod, though your own reasoning feels instinctive rather than deliberate. You’re not even sure why, not entirely.  

He hesitates, the faintest frown touching his brow. “I’m tired of stores, honey.” he says, his voice a gentle protest but firm enough to suggest he’d rather not. But you know him well enough to catch it. Still, a small opening where you might nudge him.  

You don’t hesitate. “We could get something for Penny.” you say, almost casually, though you’ve chosen the words carefully, the name landing like a quiet persuasion. “Maybe your Dad too.”  

You don’t look at him as you say it, keeping your eyes on the shop. You don’t need to look to know it’s enough. It’s not just logic. It’s strategy. He wouldn’t say no to his mother. He wouldn’t say no to family. Anything else might risk too much — his own goodness, his tenderness, his pride. He wouldn’t risk looking indifferent, even here, even now. 

He exhales, the kind of breath that lingers in the cold. A small puff of surrender. “‘Kay.” he says at last, his voice softened, his resolve melting like the frost on the trees, his glove shifting again against yours as he lets himself be pulled toward the little shop. 

The warmth is immediate and clinging. If you had glasses it would have fogged them up. It prickles your cheeks as you adjust. The smell is faint but unmistakable — dust mingled with something floral, faintly artificial, like potpourri that hasn’t been replaced in years. It makes the place feel older, almost stuck in time, though its shelves are crowded with objects trying their best to stay relevant.  

Alex removes his hat almost absentmindedly. It’s somewhere between a beanie and one of those with a big pom-pom perched on top, except his has a small, modest poof, like a shy exclamation point. He’s never liked it. Too silly, he’s said, too boyish, not the kind of thing he’d choose on his own. But it keeps him warm, and more importantly, you like it, so he wears it without much protest. Things could be that simple sometimes.  

Now hatless, his hair is in disarray, flattened and sticking up in unplanned directions. The strands curl at the ends, not quite long enough to be tamed by his usual attempts to smooth them down. You take in the rest of him — his coat half unbuttoned, revealing a shirt creased from wear, its collar slightly askew. There’s a quiet weariness about him, like someone pulled half out of sleep and still tethered to a dream. He yawns, a wide, unguarded motion that he doesn’t bother to suppress.  

The woman at the till greets you with a polite smile, but Alex doesn’t respond. He’s too busy battling with his gloves again, tugging at the fingers like they’re conspiring against him. You glance at him with mock exasperation, leaning close enough to mutter, “Wake up, Alex.”  

You weave your way between the shelves, which are tall and narrow, nearly brushing the ceiling. The aisles are tight enough to make the place feel more cramped than cozy, but there’s a comfort in it — something about being surrounded by so many little objects, all waiting to be chosen. You pause in one of the aisles, stopping at a shelf lined with small, decorative pieces. Alex, still yawning, shuffles to a stop beside you.  

“These are cute, aren’t they?” you say, lifting one of the ceramic napkin holders into your hand.  

He blinks at it, bleary-eyed. “What are-” he pauses for another yawn, turning his head slightly before finishing, “-those?”  

“Napkin holders.” you say, inspecting the little ceramic shape. It’s painted with delicate flowers, the kind of design that’s charming at first glance but verges on tacky the longer you look at it. Alex barely glances at it. “Put your hand over your mouth.” you chide when he yawns again, and his lips twitch into a faint smile.  

“Yes, yes.” he says, covering his mouth too late. “Shouldn’t be allowed. It’s dangerous.” His voice is teasing, but there’s a drowsy edge to it that takes the sharpness away. He smiles at you, the kind of smile he knows softens you even when you don’t want it to.  

It almost works. Almost.  

“I hadn’t realized…they are cute.” he says after a beat, his tone half-distracted. He yawns again, quickly covering his mouth this time. “Sorry, baby.”  

“You’re dreaming.” you tell him, shifting the napkin holder in your hand.  

He shakes his head lightly, a touch defiant. “But I’m wide awake.” He reaches for the ceramic piece, finally managing to grip something with his now-gloveless hands. His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, warm and sure. 

You glance at him, eyebrow raised. “You know, awake or asleep, it’s the same thing with you.” 

“Oh really?” He tilts his head, feigning thoughtfulness, and then smirks. “I was going to say I only think of you naked when I’m awake, but that’s not-”  

“Alex!” you hiss, slapping his shoulder lightly.  

The layers of your coats and sweaters make the gesture more symbolic than anything else, the force dulled to almost nothing. He grins, unrepentant, the mischief in his eyes breaking through his weariness for a moment.  

“That’s not the point.” you say, trying to sound stern, though the corner of your mouth twitches dangerously close to a smile.  

“But you just said…” He trails off, his grin widening. “I’m really tired. ‘S your fault I can’t think.” He wiggles his eyebrows in a way that’s so absurdly him it breaks your resolve.  

Okay, maybe it is your fault, but you were up all night too and you’re fine, aren’t you?

“You didn’t understand, Mr. Turner.” you say, trying to recover the thread of your thought. “There’s no difference between dreaming awake and dreaming asleep.”  

He steps closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you gently back against him. His other hand, still holding the napkin holder, hangs loosely at his side. The ceramic piece suddenly feels laughably insignificant.  

“I do dream.” he says softly, his voice brushing your ear. “Life’s a dream.” He pauses, just long enough to make you roll your eyes at his dramatics.  

Then, quieter, closer: “Mrs. Turner.”  

Your chest tightens, a warmth spreading from where his hands rest on your front. You smile despite yourself, though you try to hide it. You melt against him, though you tell yourself you shouldn’t.  

Yes, you should. Yes, you do.

“If you think you’re being witty, you’re very much mistaken.” you tell him, voice clipped but with an edge that betrays you’re not entirely serious.  

He doesn’t respond, just smirks in that half-sleepy, half-mischievous way that always seems to unnerve and amuse you all at once. You decide not to let him win this one, so you spin out of his grip in what you imagine might look like a graceful move. For a moment, it almost is — your coat flaring softly behind you, your movement fluid. Almost.  

Then your shoulder catches the opposite shelf, halting your momentum with an awkward thud. Nothing falls, but the wobble of a few precariously placed trinkets makes you freeze. He raises a single brow, biting back what you’re sure would be a smug comment.  

You ignore him, your gaze dropping to the cluttered shelf in front of you. A piece of decor — a ceramic plate painted with tiny, intricate flowers — catches your attention. You reach for it without thinking. His mother would like this, wouldn’t she? Something delicate and quiet, the kind of thing she’d know exactly where to place in her home.

Behind you, Alex whispers, his voice low and teasing. “You’re just being a bore…with-” He pauses, clearly searching for the word, “-with your stupid paradoxes.”  

You glance over your shoulder, unimpressed. “We need to get them a gift.” you say, holding up the plate for him to see before putting it back down. “You’re incapable of talking seriously.”  

Your look is pointed enough to make him stop in his tracks. For a brief moment, you imagine that if he had a tail, it would be tucked stiffly between his legs, shameful but still stubborn.  

“Today, yes.” he concedes, though his voice is quiet, almost petulant. “Only today. Because of…because…” His words falter. You can practically see the gears in his head turning, trying to come up with something clever — or at least something that won’t offend you.  

“Because what?” you challenge, tilting your head, already knowing he doesn’t have an answer.  

His mouth opens slightly, then closes again. Finally, he gives up with a shrug, his hands rising in mock surrender.  

“Today’s the same as any day.” you say, filling the silence as you reach for another object. This time, it’s a pair of little statues — matching figures that look vaguely like gnomes, though their features are less defined. You’re not entirely sure what they’re meant to represent. They’re oddly charming.  

Alex leans in over your shoulder to inspect them, his breath warm against your cheek. He scoffs softly. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s raising that brow again.  

You sigh and place the statues back on the shelf.  

“Not quite as much.” he says, his tone faintly smug.  

“Your witticisms are not very inspired.” you reply, your voice dry as you finally turn to face him.  

“Neither are the gnomes.” he says, pointing at the shelf.  

“They’re not gnomes.” you argue, folding your arms.  

“They’re gnome-adjacent.” he counters, stepping closer with a slight smirk.  

“Alex.”  

“Alright, alright.” he says, holding his hands up as though to defend himself from the rising tension. Then he yawns again, and you narrow your eyes at him.  

“I can’t believe you’re this tired.” you say. “It’s not even three o’clock.”  

“I’m not tired.” he insists, though the yawn he tries to stifle completely betrays him. He rubs the back of his neck, feigning thoughtfulness. “I’m just…thinking at a slower pace.”  

You roll your eyes, pulling another small object from the shelf — a delicate, hand-painted ornament shaped like a bird. It feels light in your palm, fragile. You hold it up for him to see.  

“Thoughts?” you ask.  

He studies it for a second, then shrugs. “It’s alright.”  

“‘Alright’ doesn’t cut it. This is for your mother.”  

He smirks, leaning against the shelf behind him. “It’s nice. Lovely, even. You’re the expert.”  

“You’re insufferable.” you mutter, turning the ornament over in your hands.  

“And yet here we are.” he replies, stepping closer again. “I’ll stop being insufferable if you agree to get coffee after this.”  

“Who said I’d get coffee with you?”  

He feigns a look of deep hurt, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Mrs. Turner.”  

“I can’t believe you think that still works.” you say, shaking your head.  

“It does work.” he says, leaning in close enough that you can feel the warmth of him despite the layers between you. “Because you still get that little smile when I say it. Like you’re trying not to, but you can’t help it.”  

“Alex-”  

“Mrs. Turner.” he interrupts, whispering it softly, the words brushing the air between you.  

You turn away quickly, trying to focus on the shelf, but he’s already grinning. He’s watching you, half-lidded eyes following the way your hand moves.  

“I don’t like you making fun of me.”  

Your voice cuts through the still air of the shop, sharper than you intended. Alex straightens slightly, his hat dangling loosely from one hand as he shifts his weight. He blinks at you, his brows knitting together in brief confusion. He wasn’t making fun of you — not really. At least, not intentionally. Not in the way you’re accusing him of. But your words land heavy anyway, like you’re testing some unseen boundary neither of you had anticipated crossing.  

You don’t know where the attitude is coming from. Maybe it’s the weight of the day, the pressure of finding the right gifts, or even something as intangible as the light in this place — the way it presses in, dim and dusty, making everything feel a little off-kilter. Maybe some restless ghost buried in the walls of the shop has taken hold of you, whispering mischief into your ear. That’s less likely than the truth: you’re annoyed. His slight disinterest has pricked at you, and lashing out feels easier than confronting it.  

Still, there’s a part of you that winces internally at your own sharpness. You know he doesn’t deserve it. But isn’t it better to be a little bit of a bitch, to feel like you’ve regained some ground, than to sit in the uneasy space of his half-suppressed yawns and detached commentary?  

He feels a pang of guilt at the sharpness in your tone, even if he’s not entirely sure where it’s coming from.  

“Making fun of you?” he echoes, his voice soft but edged with confusion. His hat — still clutched in one hand — drops briefly to his side before he presses it over his heart like some overblown poet, as though swearing allegiance. “But my dear,” he says, adopting a tone of mock sincerity, “I would never allow myself to-”  

“You are allowing yourself,” you interrupt, cutting through his theatrics.  

You spin around to face him, blinking. The light catches on the edge of your profile, illuminating the faintest frown pulling at your lips. He tilts his head slightly, studying you. His lips quirk slightly, not quite into a smile but close. He takes a step closer, moving out of the narrow aisle and into the small open space where the shelves converge. You follow without thinking. The objects around you seem to blur into a backdrop of muted colors and textures. All of it feels insignificant.  

“Are we fighting?” he asks after a moment, his tone laced with quiet amusement rather than concern. He’s still looking at you with that half-drowsy expression that’s been driving you mad since you walked in here. 

Something about the question — about the way he doesn’t take it seriously — makes your annoyance flare. It’s not that you want to fight him — God, no — but what if you did? What if you wanted to dig into the frustration and let it bloom into something loud and messy? Would he let you, or would he keep being this unbearably kind, unshakably soft version of himself?  The idea that he’d brush you off so easily feels…infuriating. 

“Ugh.” you mutter, turning sharply back to the shelf. The trinkets clink faintly as your movements disturb them.  

“We are.” he concludes.  

“Yes.” you say, exasperated.  

He watches the tension in your shoulders for a beat, trying to determine how serious you are. Then he nods, his lips pressing together in mock solemnity. Finally.  

“You’ll win.” he says, with a soft sigh.  

Your head whips around, your eyes narrowing. “Why?”  

“Because I’ll let you.” he replies simply, his voice so earnest it disarms you, so matter-of-fact it almost feels like an insult.  

“Alex!”  

“What?” he asks, his confusion genuine now. He blinks down at you like he truly doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong. His free hand brushes against your arm lightly, a hesitant touch meant to gauge whether he’s misstepped or if you’ll let him back in.  

“You can’t just let me win.” you say, your voice tight but not as sharp as before. 

“Why not?” His tone is calm, but there’s a faint edge of stubbornness creeping into it now. He’s tired — of this argument, of this shop, of the layers of cold and warmth and expectation piled onto the day. He rubs the back of his neck with the hand still clutching his hat, his hair ruffling slightly in the process. 

“Because…” you start, but the words stall in your throat. Because what? You’re not even sure anymore. It’s something about how effortless he makes everything seem, about the way he sidesteps conflict with that easy charm of his, leaving you spinning your wheels. “Because!” you insist.  

He sighs, his breath warming the air between you. He looks at you for a long moment, his eyes scanning your face with a tenderness that catches you off guard. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, steadier.  

“But I love you.” he says, the words simple and unadorned, like a fact of nature. He leans in and presses a warm, fleeting kiss to your cheek.  

The action jolts you out of your frustration. You refuse to let him see it. Still, his words linger, as warm as his touch.  

He knows he’s broken through.  

You want to stay annoyed. You want to hold onto the spark that made you lash out in the first place. But he makes it impossible. The fight — the one you weren’t even sure you wanted — deflates before it can properly take shape, leaving you standing there, your cheek still tingling from the press of his lips.  

“You’re mad.” he says after a beat, his voice quiet. “Aren’t you?”  

You glance at him. “Not mad.” you murmur.  

“Annoyed?”  

You nod, barely.  

“Because of me?”  

You turn your head, fixing him with a look that answers the question for him.  

“Right.” he says, a faint, sheepish smile tugging at his lips.  

You huff and step away, placing some bird ornament you didn’t even know when you picked up back on the shelf. With more care than you’d like to admit. Your fingers drift to another object. Alex watches the way you move, your hands, noting the deliberate precision in the way you touch. He steps closer, close enough that his chest almost brushes your back.  

“I wasn’t making fun of you.” he says softly. “Not in the way you think.”  

You don’t respond right away, but your shoulders relax ever so slightly.  

“I mean it.” he continues, his hand brushing against yours as he reaches for the snow globe. His fingers close around it, and for a moment, the two of you are holding it together. “You know that, don’t you?”  

“I don’t know.” 

Alex lets the snow globe go, his hand moving to cover yours instead. 

“Well,” he says, “let me prove it to you.”  

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat in the gesture. All you can focus on now is the way his lips feel against yours when he turns you around and kisses you, steady and sure, and the smile that bleeds into it.

“Don’t think this means I’m not still mad at you.” 

“Of course.” he replies, straightening slightly but keeping his hand at your waist. “I wouldn’t dream of assuming otherwise.”  

“You’re annoying.” 

“Mhm…” he hums, “you’ll keep me around.”  

“You’re lucky I will.” you say finally.  

“Every day, my love.” he replies softly. This time there’s no teasing. Only truth. 

It wasn’t surprising to you when Alex confessed that he missed the old car. He could be nostalgic like that, his attachment to certain things running deep in ways that both charmed and baffled you. What was surprising was seeing him pull up one day with it, looking entirely too pleased with himself as if he’d just pulled off the heist of the century.  

“Hadn’t you sold it?” you’d asked, staring at the weathered thing parked in front of your home, its once-shiny paint still dulled with age.  

He hadn’t, of course. It turned out he’d loaned it to a friend who’d been keeping it in a garage somewhere outside of the city. So now you are stuck with it — this clunky, rust-speckled piece of nostalgia — for the long drive up north.  

It’s three minutes past nine when you climb into the passenger seat, arms full: handbag, gift bag, another gift bag, your notebook, pencils, and a pencil sharpener balanced precariously on top. The car smells faintly of leather, aged and worn, mingling with the sharper scent of something metallic and slightly sweet — old oil, maybe.  

Alex loads the rest of the bags into the back. When he settles into the driver’s seat, his hat already pushed back on his head, he looks determined. Like he’s ready to tackle the road ahead, even if the odds aren’t in his favor.  

A couple of minutes later, he starts driving. If you’re lucky — and that’s a big if — you’ll reach your destination a little after noon. That’s assuming you were in a car that could go at a decent mileage per hour and that traffic wasn’t so bad.  

Traffic, of course, is terrible.  

Even on a Monday morning, the main road is backed up in both directions. Brake lights stretch endlessly ahead of you, a sea of red blinking intermittently in the pale winter sunlight. Alex sighs, a heavy sound that you feel more than hear.  

You settle in with your notebook open across your lap, pencil poised in your hand. The low scratch of lead against paper fills the car, soft and rhythmic, but Alex’s attention keeps drifting toward you.  

After the third exaggerated sigh, you glance at him. He’s gripping the wheel loosely, one hand resting at the top, the other on his thigh, but his knee is bouncing restlessly. The movement makes your nerves jittery, though you try not to show it.  

“Alex.”  

He doesn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the endless line of cars ahead, his jaw tight.  

Okay, Mr. Wants Attention. He won’t say it outright, won’t just ask for what he wants. Instead, he’ll make you pull it out of him. Another sigh, this one louder than the last, escapes his lips. It’s dramatic enough that you could swear you hear a hint of theatrics in it, like he’s in a play where his only role is the long-suffering driver.  

His knee bounces faster, the leather of the seat squeaking faintly under the motion. His hand shifts on the wheel, gripping and releasing, a quiet little fidget that says more than he would if he actually spoke. You can practically feel him daring you to ask what’s wrong, though you know the answer already.  

You sigh yourself now, closing the notebook with a quiet thud. You try to shove it into the dash compartment, but it doesn’t fit. The latch won’t click shut, and after a few futile attempts, you resign yourself to leaving it on your knees. You reach for the radio, fiddling with the dial, flicking through station after station until static fills the car. It’s a distraction, something to do with your hands while the car inches forward. But Alex sighs again, louder this time, and his knee keeps bouncing.  

“Leave it.” he mutters.  

You stop, your hand hovering over the dial. The silence feels heavier now, filled only by the occasional hum of an engine revving somewhere behind you and the faint creak of the car as it shifts with each stop-and-go motion.  

“Fine.” you mutter under your breath. “Would you like me to entertain you, darling?” you ask, your tone just dry enough to make your point.  

His eyes flicker to you for the briefest second before returning to the road, but the corner of his mouth twitches. He’s holding back a smile as far as you can tell. “Didn’t say that.”  

“You didn’t have to.” you mutter, rolling your eyes but leaning just a little closer to him anyway. “Honestly, Alex, if you wanted me to pay attention to you, all you had to do was ask.”  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

You let out a laugh, low and quiet. “Sure, Mr. Subtle.”  

Alex leans forward slightly, craning his neck to try and see around the cars in front of him. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, impatience palpable. He mutters something under his breath — something sharp, likely not meant for your ears.  

“It’s Monday.” he says finally, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Where are all these people coming from? Jesus.”  

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His knee is still bouncing, and his fingers are tapping out an erratic rhythm now, too. The smell inside the car shifts. The faintly nostalgic scent of old leather is overtaken by the sharper, more acrid smell of exhaust wafting in from outside. You crack your window slightly, but the cold air doesn’t help much.  

Alex keeps glancing toward the side of the road, as if expecting to see some miraculous shortcut that everyone else has somehow missed. His mind is likely running through every backroad, every alternate route, every possible way to shave even five minutes off this crawl of a journey. But nothing presents itself, and he lets out another quiet sigh.  

“You’re quiet.” he says suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. 

You shrug, shifting in your seat. “Not much to say.”  

He hums in response.  

“You’re quiet, too.” you add after a moment.  

He glances at you then, a flicker of amusement softening the hard line of his mouth. “Am I?”  

“Yes. It’s unnerving.”  

He smiles faintly, his fingers stopping their drumming as he leans back into his seat. “I’m just thinking.”  

“About?”  

“About how I probably should’ve left this car where it was.” he admits.  

You laugh softly, and for a moment, the tension in the car eases.  

“I didn’t want to say it.” you tease, leaning your head back against the seat.  

“You didn’t have to.” he replies, his voice warm now. “You’re good at saying things without saying them.”  

The traffic inches forward again, and the moment is interrupted by the blaring of a horn somewhere behind you. Alex sighs heavily, his knee bouncing once more.  

You reach over, your hand brushing lightly over his thigh. “Relax.” you say softly.  

He glances at you, his expression softening as he exhales slowly. “I’m trying.”  

“Try harder.” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips.  

He laughs, and the sound feels like a small victory — something to hold onto as the road stretches endlessly ahead. 

Alex shifts in his seat, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gear shift. He glances at you again, his lips quirking into a half-smile. The weight of your hand on his thigh — too high to be innocent — lingers in his mind, and you can tell he’s doing his best to maintain composure.  

“Help me out ‘ere.”  

Your eyebrows arch as if to say what exactly do you mean by that?

His eyes flick to yours briefly before returning to the road. He knows you too well. “Don’t even.” he mutters, though the faint flush creeping up his neck gives him away.  

“Don’t even what?” you ask, voice dripping with sweetness.  

Neither of you speaks for a beat, both locked in a silent test of wills. You’re daring him to elaborate, he’s daring you to act.  

“We’re not that predictable.” he finally says.  

“We’re not.” you agree, your hand still on his thigh, fingers curling ever so slightly.  

“We’re not.” he repeats, but his voice is strained now, the words lacking conviction.  

Your hand gives a deliberate squeeze, and his jaw tightens. His free hand comes up to rub over his face, exasperation both real and performative, all the same. “Oh, fuck…” he mutters under his breath as the car jerks to another stop in the seemingly endless traffic.  

“Hmm?” you prompt, your tone as sweet as syrup.  

“I forgot to shave.” he says, shaking his head slightly, as if that were the biggest concern right now.  

“I like you rugged looking.” Your fingers press into the soft fat of his inner thigh just enough to make his breath hitch.  

“My mother doesn’t.” he mutters, attempting to steer the conversation back to neutral ground. The car lurches forward a few feet. “Since…”

“Since?” you ask, leaning into him slightly, your eyes glittering with curiosity.  

“Well…” He pauses, scratching his jawline. “Since I had my phase.”  

You laugh. “Oh, right, the phase.” He chuckles along, but his smile falters when you add, “You still look good, though.”  

The compliment softens him. His gaze flickers to yours for a moment, his smile returning, small and genuine. “Thank you, darling.” he says.  

The traffic crawls on, and the silence between you becomes less charged, more companionable. He nods toward your notebook, still perched on your knees.  

“How’s the book coming along?” 

You groan, leaning your head back against the seat. “Alex, it’s not- it’s just a bunch of made-up nonsense…a lot of it, actually.”  

“That’s usually what you call fiction.” he replies.  

“It’s not the same.” you argue.  

He laughs softly. “It’s in the paper, in black and white, you can’t deny that.” With the air of someone deeply offended, you huff out a dismissive pfff! “It’s all there.” he says again, stretching his arm to tap his fingers on the notebook’s hardcover.  

You snap it shut as if it wasn’t already and tuck it under your arm, already anticipating his next question.  

“Are you gonna let me read it?” he asks, his voice curious but not pushy. Yet.

Your hand leaves his thigh, and instead, you dig through your bag, pulling out a compact. You flip the car’s sun visor down and open the mirror, focusing intently on your reflection.  

“Babe.” he says, trying again.  

You ignore him, pretending to adjust your hair.  

“You read my stuff all the time.” he points out, his tone edging toward plaintive.  

You snap the compact shut with a decisive click, the sound sharp in the confined space. “I do not.” you say.  

“Yes, you do.”  

“No, I don’t.”  

“Is it about me?” he interrupts, and you immediately slam the visor back up with more force than necessary. The sharp sound makes him wince slightly, and he raises a hand in mock surrender.  

“Babe, c’mon.” he says, his voice gentler now, but you’ve already decided the conversation is over.  

“Do you think Sock will miss us?” you ask abruptly, your tone casual but clearly a diversion.  

He chuckles, shaking his head at your transparent attempt to change the subject. “Yeah, but he’s fine with Jules.”  

Julia — or Jules, as Alex affectionately calls her — is the sweet elderly neighbor you’ve reluctantly grown to trust with your beloved cat. You’re still not entirely used to this whole “neighbor” thing, despite how long it’s been since you moved in with Alex.  

“I hope so.” you murmur, glancing out the window at the sluggish traffic.  

“He’s our little boy.” Alex teases, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.  

“He is.” you agree, your voice softening as you think of those big, curious eyes and the way he always seems to know when you need comfort.  

Alex reaches over, resting his hand lightly on your knee. “He’ll be fine, love. Jules spoils him rotten.”  

“I know.” you say, placing your hand over his. “I just miss him already.”  

Alex squeezes your knee gently. “I miss him, too.”  

The car inches forward again, and Alex’s knee stops bouncing. “Maybe we’ll make it there before dark.” he laughs.  

“Maybe.” you reply, your fingers brushing against his as the traffic finally begins to ease. 

Just enough to lull you into a false sense of progress for a little while, the slow hum of the engine blending with the strains of a half-decent song on the radio. But the reprieve wasn’t enough to distract you. 

Boredom set in like a slow burn, your fingers tapping, your eyes darting to Alex as his hands gripped the steering wheel. He hadn’t noticed your shift in mood yet.

But then, of course, you had to push it. You always did.  

It didn’t take much. A touch on his arm that lingered too long. The slow slide of your hand to his thigh. His reaction was immediate: a quick intake of breath, the slightest flex of his fingers on the wheel.  

“Don’t.” he warned, though his voice lacked conviction.  

“You’re telling me no?” you asked, incredulous.  

“I didn’t say that.” he muttered, already losing the battle.  

He wouldn’t say no. Who would?  

What followed was short and sweet, the kind of indulgence you’d both blame on the traffic and the old car with its expansive, accommodating seats that left you just enough space for your business.  

You really were that predictable.

Now, you are wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, leaning against the passenger door as Alex sits up straighter, wrestling with his jeans. His zipper, much like the rest of the car, was stubborn and unreliable, catching on the fabric and refusing to cooperate.  

“Jesus Christ.” he muttered under his breath, fumbling with the metal teeth. A well known personal vendetta of impatience 

“Need help?” you tease, your voice light but still tinged with satisfaction.  

He shoots you a look — equal parts exasperated and amused. “I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?”  

You shrug, a grin tugging at your lips as you watch him finally win the battle against his zipper. His shirt is untucked now, rumpled in a way that would betray you both if anyone looked too closely. Not that anyone would.  

Alex leans back against the seat, running a hand through his hair, which now had the telltale signs of your handiwork. He lets out a long sigh, shaking his head as if to scold himself.  

“You’re trouble.” he says, keeping his eyes on the road and his grip tight. On both the steering wheel and himself. 

“I’m your trouble.” 

He turns his head to look at you, his lips curving into a small, lopsided smile. “That you are. Do I look okay?”

“You look fine.” you say, smirking. “Rugged. Like I said.”  

He laughs softly, shaking his head again. “Rugged isn’t exactly what I was going for.”  

“Well, you should have thought about that before letting me-”  

“Letting you?” he interrupted. “Letting you? As if I had a choice?”  

“You always have a choice.” you said, reaching over to smooth down the collar of his shirt. Your fingers lingered on his neck.  

“Not with you.” Alex sighs. “You know, we’re never going to make it if you keep distracting me.”  

“Who says I’m the distraction?” you counter, leaning back in your seat, satisfied.  

He gives you another sidelong glance, his eyes warm despite the faint accusation. “I love you.” he says. Simple and unadorned.  

Predictable or not, there is no place you’d rather be. 

The dining room smelled like rosemary and roasted potatoes, a soft warmth radiating from the old brick fireplace that had been lit for the evening. The walls were lined with framed photos, decades of family history encased in polished wood, their stories lingering like ghosts in the air. Dinner had been as pleasant as you’d hoped: his mother doting on Alex with casual reminders about portion sizes, his father making quiet but pointed observations about the state of the world. It was comfortable, even cozy, in the way only a family home could be.

And then, of course, the gnome ornament had stolen the show.  

“I just love it.” his mother had gushed, cradling the little ceramic figure in her hands like it was something truly precious. She had no idea that, yes, Alex had doubled back to buy it behind your back, no clue that it had been a small rebellion against your mutual skepticism about it. But as she beamed at the tiny, vaguely odd-looking figure, you caught Alex’s eye. His smirk was almost imperceptible, but it was there. And yes, it made you love him that much more.  

Dinner continued in easy conversation — stories of neighbors, updates on distant cousins, the kind of talk that didn’t require much effort. But the peace was short-lived.  

“Well,” his mother begins, “when are you gonna give us a grandbaby, Alex?”  

The room seems to shift. It’s not a heavy silence, but it is enough to make you set your fork down a little too carefully, the scrape of metal against porcelain louder than it should have been. Alex pauses mid-chew, his eyes darting to you, then back to his mother.  

Your heart thuds in your chest. You haven’t exactly avoided this topic with Alex, but you haven’t fully dived into it either. It was one of those nebulous, someday things, a distant idea floating somewhere on the horizon. And now, it is here, smack in the middle of roast lamb and green beans.  

It’s not that he doesn’t want kids — does he? He’s told you he does. Maybe. Always in those quiet moments where the future feels far away and safe to talk about. But Alex, for all his charm and wit, is a man who lives in the present. Planning for something so big, so permanent, feels like asking him to stand on the edge of a cliff and look down. He’d rather keep his feet firmly on the ground.  

And you? You’re not sure. You’re not even sure what your hesitation is. Maybe it’s the fear of being seen as just a role — mother, wife, a fixture in someone else’s life. Maybe it’s the quiet terror that you’d somehow fail at it, that you’d be the one who didn’t measure up.  

“Uh,” he starts, his voice stalling as he swallows too quickly. He coughs lightly, reaches for his water, and takes a long sip. “That’s…a big question, Mum.”  

His father chuckles softly, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not a big question. It’s a fair one.”  

“Fair?” Alex raises an eyebrow, a small, nervous laugh escaping him. He’s still stalling, still trying to buy time.  

“Well, it’s been what? Two years now?” his mother presses, her gaze shifting between the two of you. Her smile is warm but expectant, like she’d already imagined herself knitting tiny hats and booties.  

A spotlight you hadn’t asked for but couldn’t avoid. Two years. The number hangs in the air like it means something, like there’s a timeline for this sort of thing, a deadline you’ve been blissfully ignoring. You glance at Alex. He looks calm on the surface, but you know better. The laugh was a tell. The way his fingers tightened slightly on yours under the table was another.  

You knew this touch well — his silent I’m recharging, as you two called it. It was a phrase born out of a joke, something lighthearted he’d said once, but over time it had grown into something more. You were his personal power bank, he liked to say. It sounded cute, and sometimes it was. But other times, it felt like he was pulling something from you without meaning to, like he was draining a piece of you to refill himself.  

You did the same to him, though. You didn’t have a name for it, but you knew he could tell when you were especially wound up. He’d pointed it out once, gently, that you tended to cling more, hang onto him like a lifeline when the world felt too much. You hadn’t even realised you did it until he said it.  

“I know when you’re extra stressed, my love.” he’d said. “You hang on me more.”  

“And you don’t mind?” you’d asked, hesitant, a little guilty.  

“‘Course not.” he’d replied, wrapping his arms around you in a way that made you feel like you could finally exhale. And you did. That sigh — your signal of release — was always his cue to let go.  

Now, under the table, as his thumb traces lazy circles over your knuckles, you feel the familiar tug of him recharging. You give him a small squeeze in return, your way of saying, It’s okay. I’m here. 

He wants to say the right thing, but the right thing isn’t clear.  

“We’ve, uh…we’ve talked about it.” he says finally, his voice careful. “Haven’t we, love?”  

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden toss of the conversational ball into your court. “Uh, yeah.” forcing a smile. “We’ve talked about it.”  

His mother’s smile widens, her hands clasping together, kind eyes filled with a hope that borders on entitlement. “And?” She’s lovely, truly. But this? This isn’t about her, or the tiny hats she’s already knitting in her mind.  

“And…” Alex says, dragging the word out as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not exactly…it’s not in the cards right now.”  

“Not in the cards?” his father repeats, his tone carrying just the slightest edge of disapproval.  

“Mum, Dad, come on.” Alex says, his voice softening into that almost-whining tone he uses when he wants to placate someone — you would know. “It’s not like we’re saying never. Just not…now.”  

“Why not now?” his mother asks, her brows furrowing. “You’ve got a lovely home, you’re both doing well. What’s stopping you?”  

The question reeks in the air heavier than the smell of roasted garlic. Alex shifts in his chair, the scrape of wood against the floor breaking the silence. “It’s not exactly that simple.” carefully measured.  

Not that simple. You almost laugh. You can see her knitting needles faltering in her imaginary hands, her perfectly stitched plans unraveling at the edges. Alex isn’t trying to disappoint her, but he doesn’t know how to explain it. That this thing, this life you’ve built together, is enough for now. That it doesn’t need to be expanded or multiplied to be complete.  

“We just…have other things we want to do first.” you finally join, steady, stern, but not unkind by any means. “It’s not that we don’t want to, but we’re happy where we are right now.”  

You lean back slightly, studying him for a moment. He looks good tonight, sharp but soft around the edges, like he belongs here and nowhere else. It’s always strange seeing him in this context, under the warm, homey lights of his childhood dining room. Here, where he’s both Alex, the man you love, and their Alex, the boy they raised.  

His mother doesn’t know the half of it. She doesn’t know how much of himself he pours into you, how he loves with a quiet ferocity that sometimes leaves you breathless. She doesn’t know how many nights you’ve stayed awake, piecing him back together while holding yourself together, steady and unshaking, because if you didn’t, who else would? Who else would be there to fix him, to gather up the fragments he doesn’t even realise he’s lost? She doesn’t know how it feels to bear the weight of him, his fears, his insecurities, his dreams, all of it laid bare in the space between midnight and dawn, whispered in a voice so soft it’s almost not there.  

She doesn’t know how he clings to you in those moments, like you’re the only thing tethering him to the ground, the only thing keeping him from coming undone. She doesn’t know about the times he’s buried his face in your lap, too exhausted to speak, and how you’ve run your fingers through his hair, murmuring assurances you weren’t entirely sure you believed yourself. She doesn’t know how you’ve felt yourself bending under the strain, a fine line between breaking and holding, praying silently that you’d stay strong just long enough to make it better for him.  

She doesn’t know the words he whispers to you in the dark — words so raw, so vulnerable, that they slice through you in ways you can’t describe. Words that make you wonder if you’re strong enough to hold all of him, if there’s a part of him too wild, too broken, too much for you to bear. But you do bear it, because it’s him. Because when he leans into you, pressing his forehead to yours with a sigh that seems to come from somewhere deep inside, it’s like he’s giving you a piece of his soul, trusting you with it in a way he’s never trusted anyone else.  

And she doesn’t know that even with all of that — his weight, his words, his breaking and rebuilding — you’d still choose him. Every time. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. Because no one else could hold him like you do. And no one else could ever be enough for you.

But you do. And maybe that’s enough. For now.

Alex shoots you a grateful look, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. His thumb strokes over the back of your hand, and your world narrows to just that small, steady motion of silent reassurance, a thank you, a reminder.

His mother sighs, the sound cutting softly through the fragile quiet. Her disappointment is carefully masked, an undercurrent of longing she can’t quite hide. “Well,” she says, “I suppose I can wait a little longer.”

“Thank you, Mum.” Alex lets out a short laugh, a gentle nudge to let the topic drop. “Plenty of time.”

His father grunts something under his breath along the lines of “As long as you’re not waiting forever.”

The conversation shifts after all of that, moving on to safer topics like the weather and plans for the holidays. But there's a faint echo of it that refuses to fully fade.  

Later, as you and Alex stand in the kitchen doing the dishes, the quiet hum of the house settles over you both. He nudges your shoulder with his, subtle but obviously intentional.  

“You alright?” His voice was low, careful, like the words are something fragile he’s handing to you.  

“Yeah.” you murmur, rinsing a plate. “You?”  

A pause. You can feel his eyes on you, even if you didn’t meet them. He’s drying a glass, moving the towel over it with slow precision, as if it’s the only thing left to make sense. “I didn’t mean to throw you under the bus back there.”  

“I know.”  

You place the plate on the rack, and his hand comes to rest on your lower back. His touch always felt like a question, unspoken but clear. This one is softer, quieter, but it asks for the same thing it always does — trust.  

You don’t lean into him immediately. The silence between you isn’t empty — it’s full of him, full of the things he wouldn’t say. Things he didn’t need to. His hand stays on your back, patient, steady. He’s not trying to pull anything from you this time, not the way he sometimes did without realising. This isn’t that. This is him letting the moment be.  

When you finally lean into him, it isn’t for his sake but yours. You feel his exhale, a soft shift of air against your temple as he turns his head slightly.  

“I don’t mind it.” you whisper. “When they ask. I don’t. Not really.”  

His hand moves, tracing the smallest arc along your spine. He doesn’t speak. You feel the words there anyway, between the press of his fingers and the warmth of his palm. He never needed to explain himself to you — not about the questions, not about the answers he wasn’t ready to give.  

You turn your head just enough to glance up at him. There’s something there that feels like the edge of a deep breath he won’t let out. It isn’t a promise he gave you. It was something smaller. A kind of understanding only he could offer. 

The silence stretches for a moment too long, heavy but not unbearable. Then Alex breaks it.  

“You know, if they ask again, I could just tell them we’re waiting for Sock to start talking so he can weigh in on whether he wants siblings.”  

You shake your head, the smallest smile breaking through. “God, don’t give your mum any ideas. She’d probably knit him a little sweater that says big brother.”  

Alex chuckles. The tension finally cracked, just a little. “Alright, noted. No sibling talk in front of Mum.”  

“No sibling talk at all.” you corrected, nudging him with your elbow.  

“Fine, fine.” He grins, leaning closer until his voice is just a murmur. “But if Sock starts talking, all bets are off.”  

It was absurd, but it worked.

The afternoon is suspended in that semi-darkness, the kind that feels like it could stretch on forever. The curtains are drawn, filtering the pale winter light into muted shadows that fall over Alex’s room. His figure is a quiet mound beneath the blanket, shifting slightly as he adjusts to your presence. His back is to you, hunched. His Christmas pajamas — red with cartoonish reindeer — peek out from beneath the covers, ending awkwardly at his calves where the fabric is just too short. They’re old, rediscovered while rummaging through boxes of things he never throws away. They’re somehow endearing. You can’t believe he’s still wearing them.  

You knock your knuckles against his exposed ankle, a quiet gesture that’s more habit than intention.  

You knock again, the sharp point of bone a contrast to the soft fabric covering the rest of him.  

He coughs, then groans. “What is it?” he asks, voice hoarse and half-muffled by the pillow.  

“Whatcha doing?” you ask.  

“Napping…” He yawns, stretching the word into something almost melodramatic. “…obviously.”  

“Well, wake up.” you prod. 

“Oh, dear, dear…” he grumbles, turning over like a petulant child dragged from bed too early with the kind of exaggerated effort that’s as much a performance as it is genuine irritation. The blanket clings to him like it’s part of his skin, and in his struggle to free himself, he ends up more tangled than before. He sighs in surrender, his face poking out from the fabric, hair a mess of dark waves.  

His eyes are heavy-lidded, his cheeks a little flushed from the heat of the blanket. He looks particularly cute like this, even with the hiccup that follows — a small, tiny squeak that catches you off guard, so out of place it even startles him for a moment. Cute, until it morphs into that familiar expression: brows furrowing, lips tightening, the kind of face that looks like he’s seconds away from either a burp or a gag. No, he’s still cute. 

“What’s the matter?” he asks finally, blinking up at you with half-hearted concern, his voice still hoarse from sleep.  

“I don’t know.” you say honestly, your hands finding his ankles again, sliding up over the faint ridges of his tibia. The friction of his leg hairs against your palms makes him twitch, and you grin as he squirms, trying to jerk away.  

“Stop it.” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it, just a quiet plea.  

You relent, letting him settle again, before climbing onto the bed beside him. He shifts to make room, though the blanket clings stubbornly to his legs. The bed creaks. His body feels warm even through the layers, radiating heat like a sleepy furnace. Alex blinks at you, his face caught somewhere between sleepy irritation and that soft, half-lidded fondness he doesn’t bother to hide.  

“I just miss you.” you say, softly this time, your hand brushing over his arm.  

His eyes catch a glint of the dim light sneaking through the curtains. For a moment, he just looks at you, the sleepiness fading  

“You miss me?” he echoes, voice hoarse, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. He rubs at his eyes, a slow, lazy motion that makes your chest tighten. “I’ve been right here the whole time.”  

“I know,” you murmur, pulling your knees up to your chest as you sit beside him. “But you’ve been…napping.”  

“And?” he asks, mock affronted, though the way his lips twitch betrays his amusement.  

“And…I don’t know.” you say again. “It just feels like forever.” His hair sticks up at the crown, and you resist the urge to smooth it down — barely.  

Alex lets out a sigh, dragging his hand down his face before looking at you properly. “You’re being dramatic.”  

“Probably.”  

He sits up, propping himself on one elbow, and the blanket slides down to his lap. “What am I supposed to do with that?”  

You shrug, fingers playing idly with the edge of the blanket. “Let me stay?”  

He grins. It’s not long before he gives in, though, because it’s you, and he’s never really been good at saying no to you.

“Stay, then.” 

You don’t wait for further permission, stretching out beside him and resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Hey-” he grumbles, wincing as you jab at a sensitive spot. “Do you want something, or are you just here to bully me awake?”  

“A little of both.” you admit, your fingers already sneaking their way beneath the edge of the blanket, brushing along his ribs. His skin is warm, almost feverish, though you know it’s just the heat he keeps trapped under all those layers. The jittery feeling that had been gnawing at you begins to subside.  

“God, you’re freezing!” He jerks away, his own hand coming up to trap yours, holding it in place against his chest like he could warm it through sheer proximity.  

“Don’t exaggerate.”  

“Not exaggerating.” he says, dragging out the words. He still hasn’t let go of your hand, though.  

“I’m right here.” he says, his voice low and a little scratchy, as if the words had to crawl their way out.  

“Yeah.” you reply, but you can’t help curling even closer, resting your head against his shoulder. His arm moves instinctively, wrapping around you and pulling you into his warmth. He presses his chin to the top of your head, the slight scratch of his unshaven jaw making you smile. 

“What’s this really about?” he asks after a moment, his voice quieter now, almost cautious.  

“Nothing.” you say, your words muffled against the soft cotton of his shirt. “I just wanted to be close to you.”  

Alex hums, his fingers tracing slow, absent patterns along your arm. “You’re always close to me.”  

“Not like this.” you reply, and though the words come out simply, there’s an edge of vulnerability to them that you hope he doesn’t notice.  

Alex notices everything.  

He shifts slightly, turning so he can see your face. “Hey,” he murmurs, his free hand tilting your chin up. His eyes search yours, their depth almost unnerving in this semi-darkness. “I’m not going anywhere, you know?”  

“I know.”  The corners of your mouth twitch, waiting for him to react. He doesn’t disappoint.  

“Good, baby.” He leans in and kisses your forehead, a soft, lingering touch that feels like both a promise and a reassurance. You go closer, pressing your cheek into his pillow, your breaths mingling in the narrow space between you. His lashes flutter as he opens his eyes again, meeting your gaze. “You really miss me?” he asks, quieter this time.  

You nod, your nose brushing his. “I do.”  

“Even when I’m right here?”  

“Especially then.”  

The hint of a smile twitches at his lips, soft and fond in a way that makes your chest ache. “S’pose that’s alright, then.” he murmurs, letting out a long sigh. He shifts, untangling himself from the blanket with lazy, deliberate movements until his arms are free and reaching for you.  

When he wraps himself around you, the room feels even warmer, even darker, like the world outside doesn’t exist. His hands find their way to your back, smoothing over the fabric of your shirt in lazy circles, and his voice comes low and rough against your ear.  

“Miss you too, y’know.”  

You don’t answer, not with words. You bury yourself into him instead, tucking yourself so close it feels like you might sink into him entirely. His breathing evens out after a while, but his fingers never stop their slow movement. Neither of you says anything more. You don’t need to.

Until he hiccups again. It’s sharp and quick, breaking the stillness of the room, and you can’t help but giggle. But then something else slips through, something heavier, and before you can stop it, a tear edges out and clings to your lashes. You press your face to his shoulder, hiding, but not well enough.  

Because the thought comes unbidden — too sharp to ignore, too deep to escape. You can’t help but imagine a smaller version of him, soft-cheeked and wide-eyed, hiccuping just the same. And the image twists something inside of you, almost hurts, because how could your heart survive it? How could you hold so much love and still exist? You barely survive him every day.

“Alex?” you say, your voice small, almost hesitant.  

“Yeah?” 

“Do you want to have a baby?”  

He’s silent — not in a way that shuts you out, but in the way that means he’s turning it over in his mind, letting it settle. His lips move against your skin, brushing kisses wherever he can reach: your collarbone, the slope of your shoulder, the spot just below your ear. His hand has stopped its gentle motion on your back, now just resting there.  

It takes a long moment for him to speak.  

“I think…” he starts, pausing like the words are too heavy to admit. “I think I’m too old to have a baby. To be a father.”  

There’s something in his voice — something faint and distant, like disappointment hidden under layers of careful resignation. He says it like a fact, one he’s come to terms with.  

You don’t look at him. Can’t. Instead, you focus on the sound of his breathing, warm and steady against your skin. But the air shifts, and suddenly, it’s not about a baby anymore. It’s about him.  

It hits you all at once: Alex is going to get old one day. His hair will go grey, his laugh will quiet, and there will be a day when you won’t wake up next to him. When his warmth won’t fill this space, when you’ll reach for him and find nothing but air.  

“Hey…” he whispers, his lips pausing in their path along your skin. His hands come up to cup your face, and when he tilts your chin up, you can’t hide from him anymore. He can see his own reflection in the tears clinging to your lashes. “Did I- did I say something? Are you okay, darling?”  

“You’re not too old.” you say quickly, your voice trembling.  

He smiles softly at you, a faint curve of his lips that aims to bring you back out. He knows this isn’t about the words he said. Knows you’re not upset, not exactly. He just holds you tighter, like he can squeeze the ache out of your chest.  

“I just don’t want our kid to have a dad that’s sixty before they’re ten.” he says, and his stupid little math makes you laugh despite yourself.  

“Alex,” you chuckle, a tear slipping down your cheek, “you’ve got your math all wrong. Severely.”  

“Yeah.” he admits, laughing softly. “Probably.”  

He shifts, sliding his arms around you, pulling you close until you’re almost beneath him, tangled up in his weight and warmth. He’s everywhere — solid and heavy, pressing you into the mattress. His breath is against your ear, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, and the thought that had unraveled you before feels so far away now.  

“I’m sorry for…” You trail off, trying to find the words for crying over nothing and everything at once.  

Alex hums, brushing his lips against the curve of your neck. “You don’t have to be.” His voice is a soft murmur, filled with a kind of understanding that makes you ache even more.  

“I just didn’t know it would be like this,” you whisper, not meant for him to hear.  

“Like what?”  

“That I would become so closely tied to you.”  

There’s weight in the words, the kind that would feel crushing if you weren’t so completely wrapped up in each other. But neither of you has the energy to linger on it, to pull it apart and examine it.  

So instead, you just hold on. Feel the warmth of him, the life of him, the love that’s so much a part of him you can barely tell where it ends and where you begin.

Lips melt together, air exchanged between mouths like you’re both trying to live off each other’s breath. He’s pressed so close, and yet somehow, you still miss him. It’s like no matter how much of him you take in — his touch, his warmth, his quiet murmurs — you’re always left wanting more. There’s a hunger to it now, a longing that no amount of kisses seem to satisfy.  

It’s been too long since you kissed him like this — messy and unrestrained, all need and no patience. The kind of kiss where you lose track of where your body ends and his begins. His lips are chapped, and yours are starting to sting, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that the walls are thin or that the door isn’t locked or that you’re both supposed to be adults, because right now, it feels like you could drown in him and still come up gasping for more. The air was too thick with propriety for you to touch him the way you wanted in front of his parents, for what felt like forever. It feels dangerous. Like every kiss, every touch, could spiral into something impossible to stop.  

But you can’t stop. Neither can he.  

His hips roll against you, deliberate and slow, lazy grind and the sensation sends heat pooling low in your belly. His hands move with purpose now, gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might slip through his fingers.  

“I like you a lot.” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, the words muffled against your lips.  

It’s so simple, so earnest, that it makes you laugh — a soft, breathless sound that he swallows with another kiss. You could get drunk off this.

“Al.” you murmur, pulling back just enough to look at him.  

“Hm?” His lips chase yours even as he hums, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, focused entirely on you.  

“I want-”  

“You want me to fuck a baby into you?”  

His voice is so serious, so matter-of-fact, that it takes you a second to process what he’s said. Then, you laugh, the sound startled and bubbling out of you uncontrollably. “Alex!”  

“What?” He grins, unrepentant, leaning down to nip at your jaw.  

“You know you can’t.” you say, though the heat blooming in your chest betrays the way his words made you feel.  

“Well…” He shifts, pressing closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can try.”  

His hands slide lower, slipping beneath your shirt, his palms warm and rough against your skin. He smiles against your neck, his breath hot as he adds, “I can fill you up with my babies…do my part of the deal.”  

“Al!” You swat at him, but your protest is half-hearted at best, your body already arching into his touch.  

He kisses you again, and this time it’s all need. There’s nothing gentle about it now, nothing careful. His teeth catch your bottom lip, his hands gripping you tighter, pulling you closer, until there’s no space left between you.  

You feel like you could crawl inside his skin, live there, wrap yourself up in the way he smells, the way he feels, the way he breathes against your neck. God, you could spend the rest of your life like this, and it still wouldn’t be enough.  

“Do you even think before you say shit like that?” you manage to gasp, though your voice is more amused than annoyed.  

“Not really.” he admits, his grin widening as he pulls back just enough to look at you. His hair is tousled, his cheeks flushed, and he looks so thoroughly pleased with himself that you can’t help but laugh again.  

“Can’t believe I married you fool.” you say, shaking your head, but your hands are tangling in his hair and pulling him back down. So soft against your palms, and his skin is warm under your fingertips, and you think, This is home. He’s home. 

He pulls back just enough to press his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven. “You really miss me that much?”  

“Even when you’re right here.” you say, and you mean it.  

“Especially then.” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. 

You could live off this. Off him. Easily. 

When he kisses you again, it’s softer, slower, like he’s trying to memorise you. Like he’s trying to leave pieces of himself with you, pressed into your skin, embedded in your bones. And you let him, because if anyone gets to claim parts of you, it’s him.

His pants are pushed down, your shirt is tugged up but not off — it’s too cold for that. Your skin pebbles with goosebumps, nipples perking up as the air brushes over them, and Alex’s gaze snaps to them like they’re the only thing in the room worth looking at, like he’s just unwrapped the best gift under the tree. His eyes light up, soft and wide, and he’s got this stupid, almost boyish grin spreading across his face, like he’s just stumbled into the best Christmas morning of his life, even though he’s seen you like this before — dozens of times. Maybe hundreds.  

“God,” he starts, his voice low, “you’re so-”  

“You too.” you interrupt, and it’s so fast it almost makes him laugh. But he doesn’t, because your hand slides down between you, brushing over his stomach and lower, and he forgets how to do anything but exhale sharply.  

Your fingers curl around him, and he lets out a sharp, breathy sound that goes straight to your chest. He’s hard, but you can feel the slight chill on his skin as your hand moves over him. He groans, low and unsteady, his head tipping forward to rest against your shoulder as you stroke him. “Fuck, you’re eager.” he says, his tone teasing but breaking halfway through when your grip tightens just slightly.  

It’s cold, he thinks, and he’s absurdly glad the blanket’s there to cover you both. Not just to trap the heat but to hide the way his balls have drawn up tight from the temperature. You wouldn’t care anyway, he tells himself, but it doesn’t stop the small pang of self-consciousness.  

You don’t seem to notice. Or maybe you just don’t care, because your hand moves with purpose, stroking him with a rhythm that builds faster than he expects. Your lips are everywhere — on his neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth — and between kisses, you murmur things that make his head spin. “Not enough?” you murmur, your hand moving slowly, your thumb brushing over the tip just to watch him shudder.  

“Shit-” he hisses and you bite your lip to hide your grin. His hands find your waist, gripping you, but it’s no use. You’ve got him exactly where you want him, and you know it.  

“Fuck, you’re so good, Al.” you say, your voice a soft, breathy hum against his ear.  

“Oh-” his hips go jerking up into your hand, unable to stop himself. “Fuck, you’re gonna- god, you’re gonna-” he groans, his voice low and wrecked, the slick slide of your palm dragging him closer to the edge.  

“Good way to go.” you tease, leaning down to press your lips to his neck, and he lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a groan.  

“You’re impossible.” he says, but his hips are already moving again, thrusting up like he can’t help himself. He can’t.

“Impossible?” you echo, your tone mock-offended. “You’re the one who’s already- oh, god, Alex, you’re practically whining right now.”  

“I’m not whining.” he shoots back, but his voice cracks on the last word, and you snort.  

“You’re so whining.” you say, laughing softly against his skin.  

“Jeez.” he mutters, but he’s grinning now, his hands sliding down to your hips as he presses you closer. “You’re gonna regret teasing me.”  

“Am I?” you ask, your hand stroking him with just enough pressure to make him shudder again.  

“Yeah.” he says, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes that makes your stomach flip. Before you can respond, he’s shifting, his hands tugging at the waistband of your underwear. “Off.” he says, and you laugh, shifting to help him.  

“Demanding.” 

“Desperate.” he corrects. You can’t even argue, because his hands are already on you again, sliding up your thighs to pull you into his lap. “Fuck, I need to be inside you, girl.”  

You smile against his lips, “Then what are you waiting for?”  

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He barely manages to kick his pants down farther before he’s reaching for you again.  

“C’mere.” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, his hands warm against your chilled skin. You settle over him, the weight of you grounding him, and for a moment, he just holds you there, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. “You okay?” he asks, his voice soft, his thumbs brushing lazy circles into your skin.  

“Always.” you say, your fingers sliding into his hair, and the way you look at him — like he’s the only thing that matters — it makes his chest ache.  

“Mhm.” His hands tighten on your hips as he guides you down and the groan that tears from his throat when he sinks into you is almost enough to undo you completely.  

You laugh softly, your fingers threading through his hair. “Missed me, huh?”  

“Shut up,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.  

“Thought you weren’t whining?” you tease, rocking your hips just slightly, and his hands clamp down on you, holding you still.  

“Christ, you’re gonna drive me insane.” he mutters, his head tipping back against the pillow.  

“Already have.” you say, leaning down to kiss him, and he groans against your mouth, and his hips are moving again.  

“Impossible.” he mutters, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer. 

“You said that already.” you remind him, grinning against his lips.  

“Still true.” he says, and then he’s kissing you again, and it’s messy and desperate and perfect.  

He moves then, his hips rocking up into you, and the heat of him makes you forget about the cold entirely. The blanket slips off your shoulders, pooling around your back, but you don't care. He doesn't care. All he cares about is you and your warmth and your weight and the soft sounds you make as you move with him.  

“Fuck.” he breathes, his voice shaky as he buries his face in your neck. “You feel so good.”  

“So do you.” you murmur, your hands gripping his shoulders until they feel like they’ve been set on fire, until it feels like the whole world’s on fire.  

The pace builds, faster, rougher, but there’s still something tender about the way he holds you, the way his hands move over your skin like he’s afraid you might disappear. You feel like you might burst. You kiss him again, swallowing his groans as he thrusts up into you, and you think, I could live in this moment forever.

Alex doesn’t just lose himself in you — he unravels completely. His grip on your hips tightens as his breath comes heavy and ragged, his forehead pressed to yours for a brief moment before he pulls back. “You…” he mutters, his voice low and hoarse, as though that single word is the only one he can manage.  

Before you can respond, he flips you over. The mattress dips and you barely have time to gasp before he’s on you, his body pressing yours into the bed, pinning you down. His hands find your wrists, pulling them above your head as he settles between your legs. He’s everywhere, all at once, overwhelming and intoxicating, and you can’t help the small, broken sound that escapes your throat.  

“Shhh…” he murmurs, a crooked smile flickering across his lips, his eyes bright with amusement. “They’re still awake.” You know he’s talking about the thin walls, the parents in the other room, but it doesn’t matter, because his smile fades almost immediately when you clench around him, your hips lifting to meet his. “Fuck-” he hisses, his voice breaking, and he has to stop for a second, burying his face in your neck like he’s trying to compose himself. “Love, you’re gripping me so tight-”  

“I’m so close.” you whimper, high and breathless, and his head snaps up.  

“Yeah?” he murmurs, soft but teasing, and one of his hands leaves your wrist to smooth over your hair, petting you gently like you’ve just done something worthy of praise. “That’s my girl.”  

The words undo you. Your body tenses, arching against him as you come, your cries muffled by his hand when he moves it quickly to cover your mouth.  

“Shhh.” he murmurs again, more soothing. His hand slides from your mouth to your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he watches you fall apart beneath him as he starts moving again, rougher this time, and the sound of him sliding in and out of you, wet and obscene, fills the room. 

You can barely think, barely breathe, and when you dare to moan, loud and broken, he shuts you up with his lips. Messy and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours as he thrusts into you harder, faster. You can feel him everywhere, his hands gripping your thighs, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock stretching you so perfectly it almost hurts.  

“You’re so- fuck-” he mutters against your lips, his voice shaking. “You’re so good. So fucking good.”  

You’re too cockdrunk to answer, your head falling back against the pillow as your body shakes beneath him. He groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he chases his own release, his movements becoming erratic.  

“I’m gonna come inside you now.” he says, low and wrecked. He’s already halfway there and you nod, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Wasn’t asking.” he mutters.

“Please.” you whisper, and it’s that — your soft, trembling plea — that seems to undo him entirely.  

“Fuck.” he breathes, his hands gripping your hips so tightly it feels like he’s grounding himself on you, holding you in place as if he might get lost otherwise. His face twists, caught between pleasure and something close to pain, and you watch him fall apart, his usual control slipping away.  

It’s always like this when he comes inside you. Like he’s completely overcome, lost in the heat and wetness of you, in the way you take him so completely. There’s something elemental about it, like you’re the only thing keeping him on earth, and he clings to you like you’re the answer to every question he’s ever had. The sounds he makes are devastating: deep, broken moans mixed with your name, half-spoken, half-gasped. 

He presses his forehead harder against yours, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts, and you can feel his body trembling, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. “God, you feel so-” He cuts himself off with a sharp gasp, his hips stuttering and he presses deeper, hot and endless, and he can’t stop, and he doesn’t ever want to stop. “Fuck, fuck…” he mutters, the words tumbling out of him. He’s not even aware he’s speaking. His hand slides from your hip to your stomach, splaying wide over the place where his cum is now buried deep inside you, as if he’s trying to feel it through your skin.  

It drives him crazy, every single time. To be so bare with you, so vulnerable, to feel you around him like this, no barriers, nothing between you. It’s too much and somehow never enough.  

He stays like that, hips pressed flush against yours, his cock still twitching inside you. His eyes are shut tight, his jaw clenched, like he’s trying to hold onto the feeling, trying to commit it to memory.  

When he finally opens his them, they’re dark and glassy, still hazy with pleasure. He looks at you like you’re something unreal, something he can’t believe he gets to have. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, and it’s not just a compliment but a declaration, raw and unfiltered. His thumbs brush gently over your cheeks as he kisses you, slow and deep. It’s softer now, reverent, like he’s thanking you, like he’s worshiping you.  

You can feel him still, still warm and pulsing, and you know he’s not ready to pull away yet. Neither are you. 

“Fuck.” he mutters, his voice muffled against your neck.  

You laugh, your fingers sliding into his hair as you hold him. “Yeah.” you whisper, your voice shaky but warm. “Fuck.”

He stays inside you far longer than makes any sense, long enough that the warmth between you turns to a sticky, shared heat that you can feel seeping out, dampening the sheets beneath you. Neither of you moves, and he’s quiet everywhere — his body heavy against yours, his breaths slow and even, the weight of him pinning you to the mattress in a way that feels unshakable. It’s not the kind of silence that asks for anything. It’s just Alex. The way he lingers in moments like this, unhurried and unwilling to let go, like pulling away would break the spell. You know he should move, that you should clean up, but the thought of him leaving you empty right now feels unbearable. You don’t want to move. 

You tilt your head just slightly to press your lips to his temple, the salt of his sweat faint on your tongue. His eyes are closed, but you know he’s not asleep. He’s just…here, with you. Fully.  

“I love being with you,” you murmur, “even when you stay silent so long.”  

His eyes open slowly, and they’re impossibly soft, the kind of look that makes your chest feel tight and full all at once. He shifts just enough to press his lips to yours. “I don’t mean to stay quiet. Sometimes I just…don’t know what to say.”  

“You don’t have to say anything. I like it. The quiet with you.”  

He hums, his hand drifting lazily up and down your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, memorising you all over again. “It’s different with you.” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “The silence. It’s not empty. It’s…” He trails off, his brow furrowing. He’s searching for the right word.  

“Full.” you offer, and his lips twitch into the faintest smile.  

“Yeah.” he says softly. “Full.”  

Softening but somehow still so present. It’s ridiculous, how much you love him in moments like this — when he’s not doing anything extraordinary, just existing with you, just letting himself be here.  

“I should move.” he says eventually, though he doesn’t sound like he means it. His hand slips to your stomach, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin. “I’m probably making a mess.”  

You laugh, the sound light and quiet in the stillness of the room. “You are.” you say, and he groans softly, hiding his face in your neck.  

“Sorry.” he mumbles, though he doesn’t make any effort to pull away.  

You press a kiss to his hair, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along the nape of his neck. “Don’t be.”  

It’s not reasonable, staying like this. The sheets are ruined, and the air between you is heavy with the aftermath of everything you’ve just shared, but none of it matters. All that matters is him, here, with you, so close it feels like you might dissolve into him if you’re not careful.  

“You know,” he says after a long stretch of silence, his voice muffled against your skin, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before.”  

“What way?” you ask, your hand sliding to his shoulder, holding him a little closer.  

“Like I could stay like this forever. With you.”  

Your chest tightens, and you kiss him again, because you don’t know how else to respond to something so devastatingly simple, so honest.  

Forever. You think you could stay like this forever, too. 

The weight of Christmas morning presses heavier than it should, tension tightening the air like an over-wrapped gift. In the living room, the Turners exchange looks — small, darting ones that say everything without anyone daring to open their mouths. You can’t decide if the silence is better or worse than outright commentary, but either way, the room feels suffocating. It’s impossible to look at anyone directly. You can’t help but think, We really should’ve stayed at his place.

The first chance you get, you slip away upstairs to Alex’s room. Even as you ascend the stairs, snippets of hushed teasing float up from below, followed by poorly disguised chuckles. Your cheeks burn with fresh embarrassment.  

You collapse onto the bed, burying your face into the pillow to smother a groan of frustration. You don’t have to wait long before Alex joins you. The door creaks open, and his steps are slow and heavy, weighted with a mix of exhaustion and mortification. He practically slumps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He’s silent, but you can see his shoulders shaking. For a second, you think he might actually be upset — until he lets out a muffled laugh, half-horrified, half-disbelieving.  

“Oh my god.” he groans into his palms.  

You prop yourself up on one elbow, watching him with a mix of guilt and amusement. “That bad, huh?”  

The room feels smaller with him in it, or maybe it’s just warmer. Alex lies sprawled beside you on the bed, his arm still flung over his face like he’s shielding himself from the weight of the world — or at least his family’s knowing looks. His cheeks are still pink, and even though you can’t see it, you know the tips of his ears are red too. They always are when he’s embarrassed.  

“They’re relentless.” he mutters, voice muffled by the crook of his arm.  

“Do I-” you start.  

“Wanna know?” he finishes for you, dropping his arm to glance sideways at you.  

“Yeah.” you admit cautiously.  

“No, you don’t.” His lips twitch, and you can tell he’s fighting a smile.  

“Okay.” you say, drawing the word out as you roll onto your side to face him. “Were we…that loud?”  

He exhales sharply and presses the heels of his hands against his burning cheeks. “Loud enough.” he admits, his voice low and strained with amusement. “Apparently.”  

You can’t help it — you laugh. It bubbles up and spills out before you can stop it, and soon, Alex is laughing too, the sound soft and self-conscious but also a little freeing.  

He lifts his head just enough to peek at you. “Loud enough that everyone had something to say. Even grandma.”  

You cringe. “Oh no. What did she say?”  

Alex groans again, dropping his head back dramatically against the mattress. “Something about how ‘young love is passionate’ and how she’s glad we’re ‘keeping the spark alive.’” He lets out another strangled laugh, covering his face again. “I’m never leaving this room again.”  

You try to suppress a laugh of your own, but it bubbles up anyway. “Well, at least she was supportive?”  

“She also gave me a knowing look, like she’s proud of me or something. That’s even worse.” He groans, rolling onto his side to face you. “How are you so calm about this? I feel like I’m gonna die.”  

“Because,” you say, trying to keep a straight face, “it’s kind of funny.”  

“It’s not funny.”  

“It’s a little funny.”  

He glares. “You’re not the one who had to face my entire family while they all knew.”  

“True.” you admit, grinning now. “But you’re the one who said, ‘I’m gonna come inside you now.’ Pretty sure that set the tone for the rest of the night.”  

His jaw drops, and he throws a pillow at you. “You’re the one who begged me to!”  

“Shh!” you hiss, laughing as you dodge the pillow. “Do you want them to hear us again?”  

Alex groans, pulling the blanket over his head like a shield. “This is officially the worst Christmas ever.”  

“Worst?” you tease, crawling closer and tugging at the blanket. “You didn’t seem to think so last night.”  

He peeks out. “I’m serious. Next year, we’re staying home. Just you, me, and a soundproof door.”  

“Deal.” you say, leaning in to kiss his nose. “They’re not going to let this go, are they?” you ask.  

“Not in this lifetime.” he replies. “Ugh…Dad kept looking at me like I betrayed the family name.”  

“And your mom?”  

“Oh, she didn’t say anything.” He grimaces. “But that’s worse. I could feel her thinking things, and it was bad.”  

“Define bad.”  

He shifts onto his side to face you, his hand reaching out to lightly trace the edge of your jaw, his embarrassment softening. “Bad enough that I never want to find out for sure.”  

You snort, nudging his shoulder playfully. “We’re not sneaky, huh?”  

“Not even a little bit.” he says, leaning in to press a quick, warm kiss to your forehead. “But at least it’s over now.”  

“Over? Alex, it’s Christmas morning. We’re still here.”  

“Right.” he groans, flopping onto his back again. “Kill me now.”  

He’s a grown man now, but some things never change. Even at this age, Alex can’t quite handle being caught in the act. Not that you blame him. The Turners have a way of making their judgment feel monumental, like you’ve broken some sacred Christmas tradition by being, well, married. And doing married stuff.

He’s flushed and disheveled, his hair sticking up at odd angles from the way he’s been running his hands through it all morning. His shirt is wrinkled from where he flopped onto the bed, and the collar’s just slightly askew. He’s always been handsome in that unintentional, almost careless way, but right now, he looks adorable.  

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed, you know that?” you say, unable to resist teasing him just a little.  

“Don’t make it worse.”  

“I’m not!” you protest, biting back a laugh. “I’m just saying. Some things never change.”  

He raises an eyebrow, curious but wary. “Like what?”  

“Like how you turn into a human tomato whenever you’re even slightly flustered,” you say, grinning. “Or how you can’t make eye contact when you’re embarrassed. Or how you always-”  

“Alright, alright, I get it.” he interrupts, laughing as he rolls onto his side to face you. “I’m a walking cliché. Thanks for the reminder.”  

“Not a cliché.” you correct. “Just…you. It’s kind of endearing, you know.”  

He doesn’t respond, just looks at you with that quiet, searching expression of his. It’s that same look that made you fall for him in the first place.

“I really do love you.” he murmurs after a while, his voice low and warm.  

“I know.” you whisper back, resting your head against his chest. “For what it’s worth,” you say, glancing up at him, “I don’t regret it.”  

“Yeah?”  

“Yeah.” you say with a small smile. “Worth the teasing. Probably.”  

His laugh is warm and low, and he squeezes your hand lightly. “Well, remind me to return the favor next time we stay at your place.”  

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling as you nudge him again. “Merry Christmas, Alex.”  

“Merry Christmas, trouble.” 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

three and a half glorious months in complete and total secluded secret. only you and alex knew, and that was your paradise. you guarded that treasure with your mind and soul. you both knew it was taboo, but neither of you could deny that it added to the thrill. from the first day you stepped into his lecture hall, his eyes were on you and you alone. long gone were the women he had been interested in before. it was only you now. forever you.

the way your voice rang out when you called for him. "professor?" you'd ask in the sweetest voice. sugar wishes it was as sweet as you, he'd often think.

your voice stayed just as sweet through these three and a half months.

"alex?"

beads of sweat framed your forehead like a crown. you looked like a princess to him in that moment. if he could forever immortalize the both of you in that moment, he would. he rolls his hips up into yours ever so slightly, pressing a kiss as soft as a feather to your collarbone.

"yeah?"

"is something wrong? did i do something?"

he lifts his head from the nook of your shoulder and looks up into your eyes.

"you could never, even if you tried."

"then what's the matter?"

"just keep goin' for me, yeah? there's absolutely nothing wrong, baby."

just as you were about to object and implore him to share his inner thoughts, he silenced you by slipping his thumb into your mouth. instinctively, your tongue swirls around it, sucking and biting until he pulls it away with a soft pop. before you can even gather the thoughts flowing around your head, his thumb flicks at your clit at a tender pace as your bounces grow faster. he knew you so well.

too well.

he knew you better than he should. and that dug at him, twisted at his innermost soul like a knife.

"al, al, alex, please.." you begged, clutching at his hand. your nails dug into his skin, making him wince. he finally stopped.

"what?"

"i can tell something's wrong." you kiss his collarbone, specifically, you kiss the mark that you left a week ago that seemed like it simply didn't want to leave. "tell me," you kiss higher and higher, along his neck and up to his chin.

"please?" you mutter, so close that your lips brushed his.

he hated making you feel like you did something wrong. he hated himself for it.

the first time he had made you feel this way, well, he could recall it like it happened seconds ago.

you had turned in a paper, a perfectly good one, only a day later than it was expected. and why? you were busy with him. fucking had never felt that blissful before. you arrived at alex's at 3:15 for lunch, cheerful and content, and you left at 7:45 the next day, even happier. however, when he next saw you, it was like everything had changed.

later that day, you wept to him at his flat. your cruel professor had been so harsh, and alex felt so bad. he knew that you thought it was your fault, when he knew it was his.

he began to resent himself, thinking he was ruining your life. he thought he could bury these emotions by spending time with you, but with every passing second in your company, he reached a conclusion.

alex, a man that had lived his youth thoroughly, was completely stealing yours.

he tipped his head back, resting on the headboard. he let out a deep breath, blinking his tears away.

"nothing's wrong, baby," he said with a smile, "don't worry at all."

you stared into his eyes for a quick second, before smiling yourself too.

alex's smile faltered. he knew you so well, so much better than you knew him.

you had ages to figure him out, though. if you stuck around. if you didn't leave him for someone younger, smarter, better.

and with that idea firm in his mind, he spiraled again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"it's definitely not the worst i've seen."

those four words were like a knife to the heart. you put everything you had into those pictures, worked on them for weeks, refining, editing, reshoots, and that still didn't please him. you gave him everything you had to offer, and it still wasn't enough. you could cry on the spot, but his voice pulled you out of your mind's abyss.

"do you want a second chance? i mean, i think you could do much better than this, not to be too harsh."

you had to stop yourself from showing your sheer happiness, you couldn't believe this. you try your hardest to compose yourself before speaking.

"yes, please," you mutter quietly, your voice coming out almost like a squeak. he found it endearing.

he sets your portfolio on his desk and stands up, sliding it over to you with a smile before taking a sip of his coffee.

"tell me if this crosses a line, but would you like to do the shoots at my studio? i have everything you need and more there, i think it'd be very useful."

reality hits you hard. you and your professor at his studio, all alone. if you weren't already trying to conceal your emotions, you were definitely doing it now. ignoring the heat pooling between your legs, you nod, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid of what would come out of your mouth.

"alright," alex grabs a pen from his shirt pocket and jots down his phone number and studio's address on a post it note and sticks it on the top of your portfolio, "how's this friday? is 7 good for you?"

you nod again, eyes fixed on his. "'s perfect, sir."

the sun was shining perfectly, his eyes illuminating like gold. he was so, so beautiful and it took everything you had to break that eye contact and walk out of the class.

come friday, and you're already panicking. you can't find any of the things you need, your reference pictures are shit in hindsight and your roommate had accidentally broken the lens you needed for your camera. regardless, you show up to the studio twenty minutes too early with all you could carry, hoping he wouldn't hate you for your lack of equipment.

he opens the door in a red shirt, a few buttons undone. you couldn't help but picture what he'd look like with the shirt off.

"you're early, doll," he lets you into the studio and shows you where to keep your stuff. "i would've rushed a bit more when cleaning if i knew you'd be so early."

your cheeks heat up as you take in his words.

"i can always come back later?" you say, almost immediately packing your stuff back up, only for alex to stop you with a hand holding your wrist firmly in place.

"it's fine, promise. just a tad unexpected."

he gives you that classic smile and all the worry in your heart seems to melt away. he asks if you'd like some space to set up, and as much as you want to spend time with him, you know it'd be best if you focused, so you say yes. alex darts off to the other side of the room where you see him fiddling with the portfolio from your previous meeting. you tear away your focus from him and set up your camera and all you'd need for the shoot.

he shuts it abruptly, the sound making you jump, his voice instantly soothing your mind.

"did you bring any references?"

shit, you think to yourself. you hated the references you originally had, you left them at home. you had absolutely nothing.

alex tuts, setting the portfolio back down and walking to you, tapping your chin so you'd look up at him, which you do.

"i can see you gettin' in your head. you don't have to worry, we can figure this out, okay?"

"okay."

you and alex stand there for a moment, faces so close, almost close enough for you to close the gap— to kiss him, but you choose against it. alex again seems to be the one to snap out of the haze first, taking a few steps away, clearing his throat. "i, uh, have some pictures you could use as a reference."

right. the photoshoot. that's why you're here.

"you wanna go get 'em for me?" alex asks as he sits down on the chair in front of your camera. you say yes, waiting on him to tell you where to go.

"just that shelf there, the gray one."

you hold the hefty photo album in your hand and hand it to him, standing behind him, leaning in to look at the pictures.

calling them gorgeous would be an understatement. you had been passionate for photography for as long as you could remember and you had never seen pictures that had captured the human essence that beautifully.

alex points at a specific picture and looks up at you, beaming.

the photograph looked simple enough, but there was something to it, something that made it transcend normalcy, the model looked ethereal. it was in black and white, and the standout feature was the bright red lipstick mark on the model's neck, you could immediately picture alex like that, he'd look so perfect.

you try ignoring how wet just the thought of him like that makes you and as if on cue, he says your name, you look away from the picture and back at him.

"i can see the ideas in your eyes, i think we'd best get started, hm?"

you let out a shaky breath and are about to go to your camera, before you pause and turn to him.

"am i.. do i have to take the pictures of you?"

and for the first time, you see a blush grace your professor's perfect face.

"that was the plan, yeah. we can always find a different picture to replicate if you want, it's fine, i don't mind—"

"no! i mean, it's fine. i'm alright with taking the pictures of you, sir."

alex runs a hand through his hair and licks his lips, "alright, okay,". he smiles at you again, making your heart melt and you feel yourself getting soaked. "think i should change this shirt, though. what do you think, sweetheart?"

based on the look on his face, you can tell he didn't mean to let the nickname slip. you'd be lying if you said you didn't love the way how naturally it rolled off his tongue, though. his accent made the word go straight to your core.

"you can change if you'd like."

he mumbles a quiet 'yeah', and goes off into the corner of the room, unbuttoning his shirt as he walks, unaware of how your eyes are fixed onto him. he slips the shirt off and turns to you, holding two shirts in either of his hands.

"black or white?"

you eye him up and down, replying despite being completely distracted.

"white."

he puts the shirt on as he walks back to the seat, you avoid eye contact because who knows what he'd say if you kept staring.

he sits down and you look back down at the reference picture, one question filling your mind.

"sir?"

he hums in response, fixing the camera slightly.

"the lipstick mark. do i have to—"

"if you want. it's not needed, you don't have to."

the second you hear alex say you can kiss him, you grab your red lipstick and apply it, not noticing how enamored alex is. he watches on as you swipe the lipstick along your bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to feel them against his, but at the same time, terrified that you don't see him the same way.

you stand in between alex's legs, one of his hands on your waist as you lean in and press your lips to the side of his neck, under his jaw. you hear his breath hitch as you pull away, the grip on your waist getting firmer.

"it doesn't look good, can i redo it?" you ask, just so you could kiss him again. alex nods and hands you his old shirt to wipe the lipstick off with. you kiss his neck again, this time with your lips parted, your teeth lightly grazing his pulse point.

alex's eyes fall shut and his mouth hangs open, a quiet groan gracing your ears. with his eyes still shut, he moves his other hand to your waist, pulling you closer to him. "that one good enough for you?", he asks, his hands moving to your back, wrapping around you.

"no, i think i need to kiss you again." you mutter, dipping your head even closer to his. alex doesn't hold back, this time. he leans in and kisses you, standing up and pulling away to kiss your cheek, laughing at the slight red tint he leaves.

"'m i right in assumin' my lips are red too, now?"

you nod as you tangle your hands in his hair, kissing him again, deeply, tongue and teeth clashing with no regard for anything but each other.

alex's hands slip down to your thighs, tapping on them and instinctively you jump into his grasp, letting him carry you with his hands planted firmly under your ass. he pulls away again, dipping his head to your neck, sucking, biting, licking— anything that makes you feel good. you feel how hard he is through your jeans, and you grind against him, making him moan along your collarbone.

"d'you wanna go to my room, baby?", he asks in between kisses. your mind is too overwhelmed with him to respond, so you just tug on his hair, hoping he'd take the message, which he does.

you can barely focus on where he's taking you, working on unbuttoning his shirt, not realising what alex takes with him into his room.

he lays you down on his bed, it dipping when he settles on his knees by your side, letting you unbutton his shirt. he shrugs it off, smiling at how you look at him, completely obsessed with you. he slides his hands under your shirt, waiting for you to let him know it was okay to take it off, which you do with a moan. you're grinding against his thigh now, letting him take your shirt off. while he's there, he also takes your bra off, swearing under his breath at the sight of your tits. he cups them, twisting your nipples between his fingers, watching as they harden, taking one into his mouth.

he sucks on it before pulling off with a pop, kissing all over your chest until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. he undoes the button and pulls them off slowly, along with your soaking wet panties, both joining the growing pile of clothes on his floor.

alex runs a finger through your folds and pops it into his mouth, humming as he tastes you.

your hips roll into his as you whine, "sir, i need you, please," you begged, and alex simply couldn't say no to you.

alex strips down fully in front of you, and just the sight of his cock makes you squirm. he was bigger than you'd imagined him being. trying to convince yourself that you could take him, you watch as he slides back in between your legs and places his arms on either side of your head. you can't help yourself from reaching out for his cock, stroking it and playing with the tip. his arms almost give in as he groans straight into your ear.

he moves one of his hands to pry yours away from his cock, "if you pull somethin' like that again, i'll make sure to leave you here, just like this. got it?"

the harshness in his voice makes you clench around nothing, you nod rapidly, biting your lip to keep quiet.

"good girl," alex mutters as he aligns himself with your aching hole, pushing in as slowly as possible, both of you moaning as he bottoms out. his hand goes to your clit, rubbing it in figure eights as slowly as possible as he pulls out almost completely, only to slam back in.

your hands go to his back, nails digging into his skin as he thrusts. he had a plan— he was going to take it slow, be as gentle as possible— but it all went to shit the second he saw the way your tits moved with every thrust.

he speeds up, going faster with every thrust, eyes flitting between your face and your tits. his fingers work your clit like magic and your back arches into him, tits pressing against his chest as he hits the perfect spot. you moan his name loudly, biting into his shoulder to muffle your noise. he strokes your hair softly, slowing down just a bit to kiss your cheek.

"feel good, princess?" he asks, his voice sweeter than sugar.

"so, so, so good, fuck—" you feel yourself getting closer and closer and alex can feel it too. you clench around him before you see white, the pleasure of it all taking over as you cum hard. alex fucks you through it, getting closer and closer to his peak.

just as he's about to cum, he pulls out, slightly too late. his cum spurts all over your thighs, stomach and cunt, but you're too fucked out to care.

"that was so good, love, you did so, so well for me."

he kisses your collarbone again, moving lower and lower, eventually settling with his face in between your thighs. he pushes the cum off of your stomach and thighs and into your cunt with his fingers, twisting them inside you. surprised, you tug on his hair, pulling him to look at you.

"i got you, good girl, don't worry, okay?"

you nod as alex pulls his fingers out and slides them into your mouth, making you suck them clean— which you do.

he kisses your inner thigh before finally licking a stripe up your worn pussy, making direct eye contact as he does so. his lips attach to your clit, teeth grazing against it as he flicks it with his tongue, eventually moving his thumb to do that job for him. he slides his tongue into you, tasting you as best as he can, moaning into your cunt. the vibrations drive you crazy, hips bucking into his mouth as he licks into you relentlessly.

his nose nudges your clit as you feel your peak getting closer once more, legs wrapping around his head as you cum again, letting him clean you up with his gentle kitten licks. alex looks up at you through his messy hair, laughing as you pry him away from your overstimulated cunt. he eventually gives in, moving away and kissing his way back up to your face.

the two of you sit there in silence for a while, the only sounds you hear is alex's quiet breathing as you run your hands through his hair.

"'m sorry," he mumbles against your lips. "you're my student, this isn't right, i shouldn't have—"

you press your lips against his once more, softer this time, less starved, less desperate. you kiss him as if you can see more of these kisses coming your way in the future.

"i can see you getting in your head, alex." he chuckles at the callback to what he had told you earlier, hiding his head in the crook of your neck. "i want this to work. i think if we tried, and if we're careful, it will."

alex takes a deep breath in, sitting up next to you, gently stroking your stomach as he presses another kiss to your neck.

"it better work, doll."

you feel yourself starting to drift asleep, only waking up to the feeling of alex's body leaving yours.

"what are you doing?" you ask quietly, voice too hoarse speak normally.

alex grabs what he took with him earlier, that object you couldn't quite make out, and waves it in front of your eyes. that fucking camera.

"just stay still, love," he says as he snaps a few pictures of you, smiling at the stills.

"so.. are those getting me my A?"

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The next morning arrived with an unsettling calmness. After the intense and weird night with Alex, you were supposed to visit your parents. It was a promise you had made when you first told them you’d be around. And while a part of you wanted to call and reschedule or something, you thought that maybe a day, or even just a few hours away from Alex might be what you needed. It almost felt necessary. 

The previous night still haunted you. How he had broken down in a way you’d never seen before. Seeing him cry while he was so intimately close to you was almost terrifying. You had hidden your true feelings in the moment, not wanting to make him feel even worse, but the memory lingered. It was unsettling. 

You prepared your things slowly, your mind replaying the events of the night before. Every tear that fell from Alex's eyes onto your skin felt like a heavy drop of sorrow, each one mixing with the sweat of the act between you. His sobs, so raw, so unfiltered, echoed in your ears, a stark contrast to the usual fake confidence and controlled persona he wore almost like a costume. 

Being so close to him, feeling his body tremble with each cry as he moved within you, should have been too much to bear. But you took it. It was a side of him you had never truly seen, not like that, a depth of pain that he had hidden so well until it erupted in the most unexpected of moments.

You found yourself torn between wanting to hold him, to soothe his pain, and the instinct to protect yourself from the overwhelming emotions that his breakdown had unleashed. It was almost frightening to witness someone that could make himself seem so strong fall apart, and it shook you to your core. You felt a need to be there for him and a simultaneous urge to escape and gather your own thoughts.

As he held you down, you couldn't help but feel a pang of something darker. It made you feel almost used, like a tool for his catharsis, even though you knew he would never intentionally hurt you. His tears, his anguish, everything seeped into you, leaving a lingering ache behind. Despite knowing his intentions were never to cause harm, his desperate need for release had left you feeling more like an emotional crutch than a partner. 

The memory of his broken sobs, the way his body shuddered against yours, lingered long after the physical connection had ended. It was a reminder of the fragile line between his cover and the ultimate truth that had been eating at him, a line that Alex had crossed right in front of you. And it was hard to shake off. 

As you finished getting ready, you glanced at your phone, contemplating the call to your parents again. The idea of seeing them, of stepping back into the familiar, felt like a chance to regain some semblance of normalcy. You needed the distance, if only for a little bit, the time to process everything that had happened without the constant presence of him.

You paused at the door, looking back at him again. He was still sleeping, but it had taken him a long time to be able to actually fall asleep. After that moment of clarity, after you had finished…he finished…where he seemed almost okay, he had started crying again. You remembered how helpless you felt, unsure of what to do other than hold him. His sobs had returned, even more heartbreaking than before, and he had clung to you desperately. Eventually, he fell asleep with his head on your chest, soothed by the gentle rhythm of your fingers playing with his hair. 

Both of you were exhausted. He had pushed himself to the point of feeling like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like his own body was betraying him with its overwhelming emotions. He seemed so lost, so unlike the Alex you knew, struggling to stop the tears that kept coming despite his efforts. It was clear that he didn’t want you to see him like that, but there was no hiding it now. He was laid bare before you. All of him. And you were not sure if he was ready to face the aftermath of that. 

You watched him for a moment longer. His face seemed peaceful now in his sleep, but the memory of his anguish was still so, so vivid in your mind. Proof of how fragile he was beneath the facade.

You decided to leave quietly, careful not to make any noise that might wake him, slipping on your shoes and grabbing your bag with a final glance at the door. 

Once outside, you inhaled deeply, the fresh air filling your lungs and providing a momentary sense of relief. The idea of driving his car felt too connected to him, too much like taking a piece of him with you. Instead, you chose to walk, needing the physical distance and the time to clear your head. The streets were quiet, the early morning light casting long shadows as you moved.

As you walked, your mind eventually wandered back to him, to the way he had looked at you. Part of you wanted to run back, to be there when he woke up, to assure him that everything would be okay. 

The familiar path to your parents' house brought a small sense of comfort, but as the walk seemed to stretch on, you started thinking about what you would say to them. How would you explain what you were feeling without revealing too much? 

Alex stirred, blinking repeatedly as he woke up. The bed felt strangely empty, and he instinctively reached out, expecting to find you beside him. But you weren’t there. There was only the cool, empty space where you should have been. Confusion clouded his mind as he tried to piece together why you weren’t there. He had been dreaming of you again, like he often did. And in his dream, everything was perfect, just as it should be.

Then, the memories began to trickle back. You were supposed to visit your parents today, right? Yeah. Yeah…But even knowing that, he couldn't help the pang of disappointment that you weren’t the first thing he saw when he woke up. 

Slowly, the events of the previous night came flooding back to him. His unfiltered breakdown, the tears he couldn’t stop, the way he had clung to you. His eyes felt sore as he rubbed them, trying to wake himself up fully. Each touch reminded him of how much he had cried, how he had fallen apart in front of you. 

“Oh fuck.” he whispered to himself, a wave of shame washing over him. He had fucked up. Really, really fucked up. The facade he tried to maintain had shattered, and he had exposed a part of himself he wasn’t sure he could ever take back. 

The room was bathed in the soft light of the early morning, but the sheer silence was deafening. He tried to shake off the remnants of his dream, the idealised version of reality where everything was still okay between you two. But the soreness in his eyes and the tightness in his chest kept reminding him of the truth. He sat up slowly, wincing at the dull ache that seemed to permeate his entire body.

He remembered how it had started. How he had tried to maintain control, to keep his emotions in check. But the dam had broken, and once the tears started, they had refused to stop. He had felt so…small. So utterly small and lost in that moment. You had held him, your fingers soothing through his hair, but even in your arms, he couldn’t shake the feeling of drowning himself with his own stupid mind. 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting there for a moment as he tried to gather the strength to stand. He had exposed his most vulnerable self to you, and now he was terrified of what that meant. Would you see him differently?

Would you still want him?

He ran a hand through his hair, the reality of your absence suddenly hitting him hard. You had left early, probably needing to escape the mess of what had happened. To escape him. His mess. He couldn’t blame you. He barely understood his own emotions, let alone how you must have felt being on the receiving end of them.

As he stood up and moved around the room, the loneliness settled in even more. Every corner seemed to echo with little reminders of last night, and he found himself reliving each painful moment. The way his body had betrayed him with relentless sobs, how he made you just take it. He felt so ashamed, exposed in a way he had never been before.

He walked to the window, looking out at the still empty street, how everything was slowly starting to wake up outside. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, trying to steady his breathing. He had to pull himself together, had to find a way to make things right when you returned. But the fear gnawed at him…What if he couldn’t? What if he ruined everything? What if-

As the morning light grew brighter, he made a promise to himself. He would try to understand his own pain, to figure out why it had overwhelmed him so completely. And he would find a way to talk to you about it, to apologise for the mess he had placed on you. He couldn’t take back what had happened, but he could try to fix your trust that he felt had been so brutally tested.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he leaned against the window, concentrating on the cool glass against his skin. The memory of another night filtered its way into his mind. It was the first night he had truly let go with you. Right here. Your first night together in any way actually. It hadn't been as intense or overwhelming as the previous night, but it was the first time he had allowed himself to be vulnerable. 

He remembered how he’d drawn a bath that night, and how you’d climbed in behind him, your arms wrapping around his chest as he leaned back against you. The warmth of the water and your embrace had made him feel safe. He could feel your steady heartbeat against his back, your soft murmurs of reassurance helping to ease the tension in his body.

He had told you about the shadows that lingered in his mind, tentatively sharing some parts of himself to you. And you had listened without judgement, your fingers gently tracing patterns on his skin. You had listened with such patience and understanding it had been a revelation to him. He was safe with you, safe enough to let his guard down. That night, you had held him, your presence a comforting balm to his frayed nerves. Tears had come then too, but they were different. Quiet, softer, less consuming. He had managed to keep himself together, feeling a sense of relief in the release but not overwhelmed by it. 

Since that night, he had prided himself on maintaining control, on keeping the darker parts of himself hidden. He tried. And there were many points where he didn’t even have to try anymore, he could just let himself be. But he always wanted to be strong for you, to be the person you could rely on. And last night had just shattered that illusion he created for himself. Now he was left to pick up the pieces. The contrast between the two nights was stark, though at the same time it only showed him that he hadn’t changed as much as he thought. His control over himself was just as fragile. 

Thinking back to that night made him feel like…maybe it was okay to be vulnerable with you. And he didn’t have to get himself to that point of breaking. He hoped that despite the roughness of last night, you would still see him the same way. That you could still be his safe spot, even after witnessing him in a way that he wished he could take back. 

Alex sighed deeply, his thoughts pressing heavily on him as he moved to discard the last of the clothes he still had on from last night. He peeled off his sweatpants and boxers, feeling the uncomfortable stickiness of dried cum against his skin. The need to cleanse himself of it was overwhelming. 

He stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over him, washing away the physical residue of the night. As the water pounded against his skin, he closed his eyes, trying to let the warmth soothe his aching muscles. He scrubbed his skin almost aggressively, as if he could erase the memories along with the sweat and tears.

After a while, he reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. He moved to the mirror, finally daring to see his true state, bracing himself before looking up. The sight that greeted him was worse than he had expected. His eyes were bloodshot red and puffy, almost disappearing into the puffiness of his face, swollen from the hours of crying. His eyelids felt heavier with each blink. Dark circles hung heavy beneath them, evidence of the sleepless night, adding to the weariness etched on his face. His nose was red and raw, the skin irritated from the constant rubbing. His lips, usually a soft pink, were chapped and dry now. The overall effect was startling. Seeing himself like this brought a fresh wave of shame over him. It was humbling. And it made him realise just how much he had been hiding, even from himself.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, feeling the weight of his reflection staring back at him. Taking another deep breath, he decided that today would be about changing that. As difficult as it was, he had to confront his own vulnerability, not just for his sake, but for yours too. He had to find a way to navigate this in a way that didn’t rely on the fragile illusion of control. As his fingers moved through his hair, he noticed the grey strands scattered throughout, stark against the darker brown. They were more prominent in the harsh morning light. Normally, he didn't mind them, they were just signs of ageing. But in moments like these, they served as reminders of the gap between your lives.

Each grey hair seemed to glint in the light, accentuating the tired lines around his eyes. He could quite literally see the passage of time etched into his reflection, a contrast to your youth and vibrancy. And it wasn’t just the age difference. It was the accumulated emotional baggage he carried and that you didn’t deserve to bear.

He kept analysing his face, running his hand over his chin and down his neck, feeling the rough stubble growing in. I should shave…Yeah, I should, he thought. He began searching through his stuff but he couldn't find the things he needed. Of course, he still forgot something. Of course. Frustration bubbled up as he rifled through drawers and cabinets, finally finding an old shaving kit. Probably from when he was still in university himself and lived here. It felt like so long ago as he got out the brush and everything. 

The familiarity of it brought a faint, bittersweet smile to his face. He dipped the brush into the warm water, swirling it around in the soap. He started to lather it up on his face, careful to get all the spots thoroughly. The scent was comforting as it invaded his nostrils, a nostalgic reminder of simpler times. He applied it, methodically covering every inch of stubble. The repetitive motion was soothing. 

He carefully shaved, each stroke of the razor precise. As the razor glided over his skin, revealing the smoothness beneath, he felt a small sense of renewal, as cliché as it sounded. It was a minor change, but it made a difference. He rinsed his face and patted it dry, the coolness of the towel a relief against his raw skin.

Finally, he looked at himself again. He still saw the tiredness. He was far from okay. But he was taking steps, however small, to regain some semblance of control over himself. 

The sun warmed Alex's face as he stepped outside and started walking down the street, its rays almost feeling like they were burning  through his hair with their intensity. It made his scalp tingle. He decided to walk, clear his mind and get a feel of the world around him. 

The idea of buying you flowers popped into his head. It’s probably a dumb idea, he thought. Yes, it’s dumb. Maybe. But he didn’t know how else to start. Maybe it was a small gesture, but it was something tangible, something that could express what he couldn't yet find the words to say.

As he kept walking, he noticed the vibrant colours of summer flowers in bloom, their scents mixing with the city air. Each step felt heavy, but at least he found a purpose for them now. Physically, he felt drained, he felt the exhaustion from the previous night in his bones, his steps almost feeling like they required more effort than usual, but the fresh air was invigorating, and the sun’s warmth was comforting now. 

His thoughts, however, were still in a tangle. He wondered if you would even appreciate the gesture, if flowers could somehow begin to make up for what he had shown of himself. He questioned if he could ever truly piece himself back together, or if the fragments of his facade would always be there, waiting to crumble again. Anyway. At least he was doing something, taking an action, however small, to show that he cared about getting through this. He knew that you knew he cared about you. And he did, very much. Too much to let you go. 

As he approached the florist, the colourful display of blooms brought a slight lift to his spirits. He took a deep breath, letting the smell of flowers envelop him. He took a moment to choose the perfect arrangement, hoping it could convey even a fraction of what he felt. Or at least that the vibrant colours and fresh scent would bring a smile to your face. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. 

On his way back to the apartment, after making a stop at the shops to grab some stuff, Alex lit a cigarette, trying to ease the tension still lingering within him. He was deep in thought, puffing smoke into the warm afternoon air, when he was stopped in his tracks by a small, unexpected obstacle that caught his attention. He almost didn't notice it in time, halting abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk.

A pair of tiny eyes stared up at him, wide and curious. The streets were eerily empty, and it was just him and this little creature…a kitten, no more than a few weeks old. They stared at each other, neither stepping away, caught in a silent exchange. They didn’t move for a long moment, each assessing the other. 

Alex didn’t know what compelled him, but he felt an undeniable urge to act. Something about the kitten's innocent gaze stirred something inside him. He stubbed his cigarette out on the sole of his boot, shoving the butt back into the pack. Without thinking any further, he bent down, carefully scooped up the tiny ball of fluff, and fled the scene. 

What am I doing? he thought, his mind racing. He started walking faster, struggling to keep hold of the flowers, the shop bags, his own bag, and now this kitten cradled awkwardly in his arms. It fit snugly in one hand though, and it mewed softly, its small body trembling slightly against his palm. Alex felt a strange sense of responsibility settle over him. He wasn’t sure where this sudden impulse had come from, but he knew he couldn’t leave it behind. 

As he hurried back, the kitten nestled closer, its tiny heartbeat palpable against his fingers. It let out a small meow, its tiny voice barely audible above the thudding of his heart. Alex's thoughts swirled, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this unexpected encounter was somehow significant, a small piece of light amidst the chaos as he nestled it closer to his chest, its tiny claws digging into his shirt, but he held on tight.

He finally made it back to the apartment, pushing the door open with his shoulder and stepping inside. He set the flowers down on the kitchen counter, the bags tumbling beside them. His hands still cradled the fragile life he had impulsively decided to save. He glanced around and it was then that he realised he had nothing for the kitten. No food, no litter, no supplies. Nothing. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” he muttered to himself, pacing around the room. He needed to go back to the store, didn't he? Okay. 

He hurried into the bedroom, carefully placing the kitten on the floor. “You stay there, alright?” he said, gesturing with his hands in the air as if the tiny creature could understand him. “I’ll be right back, okay?” He turned around, closing the door to the room just so that it wouldn’t wander too far. He didn’t need it to get lost inside the house now.

With a sense of urgency, he grabbed his keys and headed back out the door, feeling a mix of anxiety and determination driving his steps as he made his way back to the store, hoping to find everything he needed to care for the unexpected new addition to his life.

He returned, struggling with two full bags in his hands, having grabbed anything and everything that might be useful for the kitten. He had no idea what he needed and he couldn't bring himself to ask anyone for help, so he just bought everything that seemed remotely necessary. 

As he opened the bedroom door, he realised the kitten was nowhere to be seen. Panic set in as he searched under the bed, on the bed, and around the room. He couldn't be going insane. It was real. He searched everywhere. There weren’t many places for it to hide. Then, he heard a sound from the drawer he had left open. He often did that, and had hurt his toes too many times by bumping into it.

Crouching down in front of his sock drawer, he felt a wave of relief. “There you are.” he said softly, reaching in to grab the kitten, which was half-buried inside one of his socks. He gently pulled it off its head and couldn't help but smile as he was greeted by its tiny face. The kitten mewed softly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Gently getting up, kitten in hand, he carried it to the living room. The small creature's trust in him was endearing, and he felt a renewed sense of purpose. “Alright, little one, let's get you settled.” he murmured, setting up a makeshift bed with some soft towels and laying out food and water. The kitten immediately started exploring its new surroundings, sniffing at everything with curiosity.

As he watched it, Alex felt a strange but welcome calm. This tiny, unexpected life had brought a sense of normalcy and responsibility that he desperately needed. And as he sat there, observing its tentative steps, he realised that perhaps this was exactly what he needed to start putting his own pieces back together.

He didn't even notice how fast the time went by. You should be back soon enough. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face you, but he desperately needed to see you at the same time. To distract himself, he decided to start preparing dinner. Cooking was something he loved, especially for you, though he didn't get to do it often. 

He began chopping vegetables and prepping whatever he needed, losing himself in the rhythm. Then, suddenly, he felt tiny, albeit very sharp, claws poking his feet. Looking down, he saw the kitten crying and pawing at his leg. “No, no, don't cry.” he said, crouching down. With his hands covered in food, he couldn't pet the it, but it didn't seem to matter. The kitten started climbing up his leg with astounding determination. Alex struggled to support it with his arm as he reached for a towel, trying to prevent it from falling.

And to his surprise, the kitten stopped crying as soon as it reached his chest. “You wanna stay here, huh?” he said softly. He wiped his hands and tied his t-shirt in a way that created a makeshift pouch, secure enough for the kitten to nestle in. It worked surprisingly well, though he thought he probably looked a bit silly with his shirt tied at his waist. But it didn’t matter because the tiny life nestled against him added a strange but comforting layer of companionship.

“We're gonna cook for mummy together, yeah?” Alex said softly, glancing down at the kitten sitting snugly in his pouch. He smiled at the fluff-ball, which seemed surprisingly content, its little head peeking out from under the fabric of his shirt. 

With the kitten snug against him, Alex resumed his cooking, moving slow as to not disturb it. Every now and then, he murmured softly to it, sharing the steps of his cooking process as if the kitten could understand. “First, we chop the vegetables, nice and fine.” he explained, demonstrating the motion with his knife. “But I already did that without you, sorry bud.” the kitten watched intently, its eyes wide and curious. “Then we sauté them like this in the pan until they're soft.” Alex couldn't help but chuckle at its focused expression. “You're a natural, you know that?” he whispered, continuing his work. 

The kitchen filled with the aromas of the meal, the sound of sizzling vegetables and the occasional meow from the kitten creating a soothing backdrop to his thoughts. He felt a delicate balance beginning to re-establish itself within his mind. With each step of the meal prep, he felt more grounded, more connected to the simple act of caring for something, vulnerable, much like his feelings towards you.

You opened the door, feeling the familiar sense of relief that washed over you at the sight of home. Home...he was home. The range hood was running at full power, a sign that Alex was out of bed, up and about. That was good. 

You put your bag down, slipped off your shoes, and walked to the kitchen. What you saw stopped you in your tracks. Alex was staring at you, slightly startled. He probably didn’t hear you come in over all the noise. But what really caught your eye was the pair of tiny eyes peering out from inside his shirt, mirroring Alex’s shocked expression perfectly.

Alex looked up at you, a tentative smile playing on his lips. “Hi.” he said softly, watching your reaction.

“Are you serious?” you asked, pointing to the kitten nestled in his shirt.

“What?” he responded, glancing down at the kitten and then back at you.

“Where did you get that?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

He looked down at the kitten again, then back up at you. “I found it on the street. I- I was buying you flowers, they’re right there,” he pointed to the table where a bouquet was now nicely tucked in a vase, “And I just…I couldn’t leave it there…Are you mad?” His voice grew weaker with the question, uncertainty filling his eyes.

“Of course I’m not mad.” you said, moving closer to take a proper look at the kitten.

Alex put down the spoon he was holding and stepped back from the stove. As you got closer, he felt a wave of relief and added warmth wash over him. Having you close again, almost like nothing had happened…Fuck. You’d still need to talk, but in this moment, with you beside him and the tiny kitten nestled against his tummy, he couldn’t think about that. 

You tried to gently take the kitten from his shirt, but it clung to him so tightly that you quickly gave up. Alex chuckled softly, “You wanna stay with daddy, that's right, hehe.”

You sat down at the table, watching him finish cooking dinner. He looked so focused, his arms strong and defined in the snug t-shirt he wore. The way he had tied it at his waist accentuated his lean figure, emphasising the subtle curve of his waist. His hair, clearly freshly washed, looked so fluffy and soft, practically inviting you to run your fingers through it. His movements were sure and practised. You knew he was a good cook, he’d cook for you any chance he got. 

As he worked, the smell of food filled your senses, mingling with the scent of the flowers he had bought for you. It was a strange yet comforting contrast, this little domestic scene. Alex glanced at you occasionally, a soft smile tugging at his lips, as if reassured by your presence. And you eventually got lost in thought. The tension from earlier seemed to melt away. 

The kitten mewed softly, drawing your attention back to Alex, who was now plating the food carefully. Dinner was quiet. Intimate. You shared the meal, exchanging small talk and letting the food fill the silence. The little baby eventually fell asleep in its pouch, and Alex gently transferred it to a soft blanket on the sofa before joining you there. The evening sun cast a warm glow over the room, and for a while, it felt like everything might just be okay.

But as the silence settled in, the earlier awkwardness began to creep back. You watched him. He watched you. Finally, he broke the silence.

“I should explain myself.” he said quietly.

You could’ve pretended that it was fine, postponed it for a little while longer, but you nodded, “Yeah.”

He took a deep breath, looking down at his hands. “When we went to see my parents, things…escalated. You know I told you to go to the car?” you nodded, remembering very well. “Yeah, well…they said some things about us, about our relationship. They’re afraid of the consequences of us being together, seeing as I’m your professor and…I don’t know, that triggered something in me, filled me with all this…I don’t even know what to call it.”

He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “I started to question everything. I didn’t want to be taking advantage of you in any way. I was scared that I might be, and that you couldn’t see it, and that I couldn’t see it either.”

His voice wavered, and he looked at you, “I love you, but their words made me doubt myself, made me feel like I was doing something wrong by being with you. And that fear just…consumed me, I guess.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his. “Alex, you’re not taking advantage of me. It’s not wrong…Can’t you see it? I chose to be with you, just as you chose to be with me. We both know what we want.”

He squeezed your hand, his eyes softening. “I’m sorry for how I acted, for breaking down like that and for…for how I came onto you.”

You took a deep breath, wanting to show him how much you trusted him. “Al, it’s okay. I know you, and I know you would never do anything to hurt me. I trust you.”

He nodded, your words settling in. “I’m going to talk to them tomorrow. I want to go over there and explain everything, set things straight. I want them to know we’re serious about this.”

You could see the determination in his eyes, to confront his fears and the doubts. “That’s a good idea.” you said, squeezing his hand reassuringly and then settling back to your side. 

To lighten the mood, you poked at him with your foot from the other side of the couch. He had his left leg propped over his right, and he touched you right back with a playful nudge. A small smile began to tug at his lips. You kept pushing him gently, each time intended to get that smile out fully. 

Finally, he laughed softly, the sound warming the space between you. That smile, the one you loved so much, returned to his face, and it felt like a small victory to see it. 

Alex grabbed you gently and pulled you on top of him, settling back down on the sofa. One of his hands played with your hair, fingers weaving through the strands, while the other rubbed up and down your back in soothing motions. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours with each breath, hearing the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. It felt incredible.

“Mmm…I think you’re the lady of my life.” he murmured, letting himself fully enjoy the moment. His voice was soft, and you snuggled closer, feeling a sense of peace wash over you both.

“Am I?” you asked, your voice light with curiosity. But before Alex could respond, the kitten jumped onto your back, instantly grabbing the attention of you both. 

“I'll have to get used to sharing you now.” you laughed softly. 

“Looks like it.” Alex giggled, the sound light and happy. 

The kitten settled down, curling up and falling asleep on your back. You didn’t realise it at first until Alex pointed it out, “Guess you can’t move.”

“You’re stuck with us now.” you murmured. 

The next morning, you were in bed checking something on your phone while Alex was getting ready to leave for his parents’. As usual, he was taking way too long. His shirt was half-buttoned, but his pants were nowhere to be seen as he paced around the room. 

You heard him swear and looked up to see him. He had left the drawer open again, of course, and he hit himself, again. He looked through it only to find the tiny cat inside, again.

“Oh, come onnn, not my socks.” he said, taking the kitten out and turning around to show it to you. “Look what he did.”

You couldn't help but laugh when you saw its little head poking out from a hole in the material. 

“He ripped them.” Alex laughed, trying to fake a frown at the same time.

“It's a boy?” you asked, still giggling.

“I think so,” Alex responded, turning it around in his hands to take a look, “Yep, surely a boy.”

“What do you wanna name him then?”

He took a moment to look at him, and then it was like something clicked. “Sock.”

“Really, Alex? Sock?” you asked.

“Well, he loves sleeping inside my socks.”

“I would've expected something more poetic from you, Mr. Turner.” you playfully shot back.

“Yeah, well, you should lower your expectations then. It's gonna be Sock.” Alex gave you a sheepish smile as he carefully set the kitten down on the bed. 

Sock seemed quite content, its tiny claws kneading into the soft duvet. Alex knelt down, giving him a gentle scratch behind the ears before standing up and running a hand through his hair.

“Okay, I need to get ready.” he said, more to himself than to you, as he moved to find his pants. You watched him, noticing how he seemed a bit more at ease than the day before. He continued the search for his pants, mumbling to himself as he checked various piles of clothes scattered around the room. “I swear I put them here somewhere…”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You always lose things when you're stressed.”

He glanced at you with a half-smile, finally spotting his pants draped over the back of a chair. “Found them!” he announced triumphantly, quickly slipping into them. He finished buttoning his shirt, tucking it in.

As he turned to leave, he paused and came back to you, his hands gently cupping your face. He leaned in for a kiss, and you felt yourself melting into him. You didn't want to tear yourself apart from him. 

Instinctively, you pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, the force almost making him lose his balance. He braced himself against the headboard just in time, deepening the kiss as you felt him groan softly into it. 

Reluctantly, he pulled back, his eyes filled with emotion. “I have to go…” he whispered.

You nodded, “I know.” though not letting him go. 

He took a second to look at you, and then his lips were back on yours. The kiss was intense, filled with unspoken words and pent-up emotions. Your hands roamed over his back, pulling him closer and closer until you pulled him onto the bed, and he followed willingly, his body pressing against yours. The desperation in his kiss matched your own. 

It felt so good, so right. You shoved your hand past the waistband of his pants, feeling the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his underwear. He moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. “I should go...” he said, his voice shaky.

“You should.” you replied, but neither of you stopped. 

You kissed and kissed until he melted into you, your tongues tangling, breaths mingling, the kiss deepening, growing more urgent. He melted into you. 

“Lie down.” you murmured.

And he did. He obeyed, positioning himself over your legs with his head resting on your knees so he could still kiss you when you bent down. His fingers fumbled with the button of his pants desperately, pushing them down as quickly as he could to give you access. 

“Please.” he whispered, tugging on your top, pulling it down to reveal one of your breasts. 

He reached out, cupping your breast gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple. You moaned softly, your hand slipping inside his underwear to grasp him fully. The feel of him, hard and pulsing in your hand, made you go crazy. He thrust into your hand, his movements frantic and needy. His eyes darkened with desire as he looked at you, his lips parting slightly. You could see the need in his eyes, the same need you felt. He leaned forward, his mouth closing over your nipple, sucking gently, his eyes closing as he moaned around it. 

“Alex.” you breathed, and he looked up at you again. You leaned down to kiss him again, your hand moving rhythmically. His hips bucked against you, seeking more friction, more contact. You responded by tightening your grip slightly, earning another groan from him. The sound was intoxicating, driving you to push him further, to give him everything he craved and needed. 

“Please…” he repeated, his voice a raw whisper, filled with need. The kitten mewed softly in the background, reminding you of his presence, but in that moment, all you could focus on was Alex, on the way he made you feel. The way you made him feel. Everything about him. 

Time seemed to stand still as you both got lost in the sensations, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. His breathing became ragged, his grip on your shirt tightening as he neared his release. You increased the pace, your own excitement building in response to the pure look of pleasure on his face. 

“God, I love you.” he whispered against your lips. 

“I love you too.” you replied. 

His hips bucked in broken movements into your fist wrapped around his cock, his mouth falling open and his eyes rolling back as he came. The intensity of his orgasm hit him hard, cum shooting out and splattering his shirt, completely ruining it. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he had you. 

He panted, his body shuddering, and then he whispered, “I don’t want to get up.”

You knew he had to go, that there were things that needed to be said and done, but you couldn’t help but kiss him for just a minute longer. 

Eventually, he sighed and got up, reluctantly pulling away. He glanced at his ruined shirt and chuckled softly. “Well, this one’s done for.”

He changed into a different one, one he thankfully had ironed, and looked back at you, his eyes lingering, wishing he could stay. But he had to go now, or else he’d lose the courage he managed to build up for himself, and he needed to set things right with his parents.

As he grabbed his keys and wallet from the nightstand, you got out of bed and walked over to him. “Good luck.” you said softly, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“Thanks.” he said, leaning in for one last kiss, this time on your forehead, before heading out the door. And he hugged you tightly. “I'll see you later.” 

You watched him leave, the door closing softly behind him. Sock mewed from the bedroom, drawing your attention back to him. You went over there and scooped him up, cradling him in your arms. “Looks like it's just you and me for now, little guy.” 

A few days later, you were reading in bed, lying on your front, though not completely immersed in your book. Alex had been working in his office nearly all day, and you found yourself wishing he’d be done already. Right as that thought crossed your mind, you felt his hands on the back of your thigh. You pretended not to be affected, but you were. Oh…how you were. The sexual tension had been brewing for a while. He hadn’t touched you like this since that night, other than the quick moment before he had to leave. But that one didn’t count. 

You kept reading, trying to maintain your focus, but then you felt him start placing kisses on the inside of your thighs. His lips were soft and warm, each kiss sending a shiver through you. He pulled your underwear to the side from under your skirt, running a finger along your entrance, teasing you. You tried your best to keep reading, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he was affecting you, but it was useless.

“Please…” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. 

With that, he didn’t need anything else. He pulled down your skirt and panties in one go, undressing himself as he let you take care of your top. You fumbled with the buttons, your hands trembling with anticipation. 

Alex climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He lowered his head, his breath warm against your skin, and began to kiss his way up your thighs again. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the tension between you building with each touch, each kiss.

His lips trailed along your spine. He paused at the small of your back, shifting to lie down more comfortably next to you, his head right next to your hip. His kisses continued along your side, his hands caressing your body. His fingers splayed on your ass, sometimes slipping between your cheeks just to tease you. 

As his own need grew, he moved lower, hugging your legs to himself. His kisses became more urgent, and you could feel his breath hot against your skin. He nuzzled closer, his fingers tracing patterns on your inner thighs. 

His hands gripped your thighs firmly as he kissed and nibbled at the sensitive skin. His movements were slow and deliberate, driving you wild with need. You felt his tongue flick out, teasing you, and you couldn't help but let out a moan of pleasure. 

You arched your back slightly, pushing your hips towards him, silently begging for more. He responded by running his tongue along your entrance, making you grip the sheets between your fingers. 

His fingers joined in, slipping inside you with ease. His only goal was to see you cum, to make you feel so good that you couldn't think of anything else. He kept a steady rhythm, his fingers moving with precision, slowly fucking your brains out. His hand was getting wet from how much you were dripping, his wrist starting to ache slightly, but he couldn't stop. You looked so pretty, you sounded so pretty, all because of him. His gaze was fixed on you, drinking in every reaction. Your gasps and moans spurred him on, his determination unwavering. 

He watched as your body tensed and writhed under his touch, his fingers bringing you closer to the edge. He curled them inside you, hitting just the right spot, making you cry out. The sight of you, so lost in the pleasure he was giving you, fueled him. He pressed his thumb against your clit, adding to the exquisite torture, the rhythm of his fingers never faltering.

Your whole body trembled, teetering on the brink of release. His hand almost felt numb, but he ignored the discomfort. He was entranced by you and the way you responded to his touch. He leaned in, murmuring soft words of encouragement, his voice a low, soothing hum.

“That's it, baby,” he whispered, “Let go for me. I want to see you come.”

The combination of his words and the relentless motion of his fingers sent you over the edge. Your cries of pleasure filled the room, your body arching off the bed as you came, your walls clenching around his fingers.

Alex didn't stop, drawing out your orgasm until you were a quivering mess beneath him. Only then did he slow his movements, easing you back down from that high. He gently withdrew his fingers, his eyes filled with pride and adoration even though you couldn’t see them. 

He bent your legs, positioning himself to kiss his way up, whispering how beautiful you were with each press of his lips. His kisses were soft, lingering on the tender skin of your calves, then moving upward. He licked a path from your knee to your feet, the wet feeling making you shiver under him. 

As he reached them, he took each one in his hands, massaging them gently. His fingers pressed into the soles, kneading away any remaining tension. His tongue traced along your arch, a contrast to the firm pressure of his thumbs. He seemed to take his time, savouring each moment, every second of it. 

His hands then moved up and down your calves, massaging them with firm but gentle strokes. The sensation was both relaxing and arousing, his touch igniting every nerve ending. His kisses followed, each one a reminder of his devotion to you. 

“You're so beautiful.” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. “Perfect.”

You felt cherished, adored, every part of you attended to with such care as his hands and mouth continued their worship, making you feel like the most precious person in the world.

He pulled away, lying back against the headboard with a smile tugging at his lips, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you. 

“What? You’re getting old? Can’t fuck me anymore?” you joked, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Want you on top…” he said, extending his arm toward you as a sign to come closer.

“Mhmm…” you replied, positioning yourself in his lap.

“I’m always on top. Come on.” he added with a grin.

Just then, you felt something else on top of the bed. Sock had joined you, the kitten’s curious eyes watching intently.

“Oh, fucking hell, Sock. Not now.” Alex whined, gently getting up from underneath you to nudge the little one out of the room. “Sorry, poppet, but you’ll have to wait for a bit.” he said as he closed the door, Sock outside.

As he walked back to you, you admired the sight of him. His body, completely naked. Beautiful. It caught the light just right. The lines of his lower abdomen were sharply defined, leading down to his erect cock, which bounced slightly with each step. And that stupid smile on his face as he brushed his hair back with his hand made your heart flutter.

You reached out to him, your desire for him only growing stronger with each passing second. Alex climbed back onto the bed, his hands immediately finding your hips as he guided you back into his lap. His lips met yours in a searing kiss and you felt him moving his hips, his cock rubbing against you, teasing you mercilessly. He was so close to being inside you, almost there, but not quite slipping in. The friction was intoxicating. 

His hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you to move with him. The sensation was maddening, and you couldn't help but let out a moan of frustration. His mouth moved to your neck, sucking and nibbling gently. 

You rocked your hips against him, desperately trying to find that sweet spot, but he maintained his teasing rhythm. Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled back, positioning his cock properly. You felt the tip of it right against your entrance, and you pushed down onto him, needing to feel him inside you already. 

He entered you slowly, letting you adjust to the sensation. You both moaned at the feeling. Being intimate with your special person when you had been apart for so long was unmatched. His shaky gasps you felt against your lips when you started slowly moving were everything. Feeling him clawing at your back, to release all his tension that’s been built up. Alex watched you ride his cock slowly, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t stop himself from moving his hips in time with yours. 

“Please, ah- Al-” you moaned.

“Tell me what you want…Exactly what you want.”

“Fuck me…” you breathed out.

“Tell me how you crave me…” he said, his voice dripping with need.

“I need you so bad-” you gasped, “So bad…it’s not enough.”

With that, he flipped you around, thrusting hard into you, making you grip the sheets and press your face into the pillow on one side.

“Look at me.” he ordered.

You struggled to keep your head straight, his thrusts making it almost impossible. He didn’t hold back, his movements powerful and precise, fucking you senseless. You could feel yourself drooling, almost crying from how good he was making you feel.

The room was filled with the sounds of your bodies moving together, the bed creaking beneath you, and your combined moans and gasps. Alex’s intensity drove you wild, his determination to pleasure you making you feel like the most desired person in the world. The relentless pace pushed you closer to the edge, and you could feel the build-up of another orgasm already. 

He moved your legs over his shoulders, allowing him to get even deeper. The new angle made him groan, the sensation overwhelming him in the best way. He couldn’t get enough of you, burying himself inside you as deeply as he could with each thrust. It would never be enough, but it was the most he could physically do, and he wanted to give you everything.

Seeing him like this, handling you however he wanted, was incredibly hot. Fuck. It was such a turn-on to witness him not holding back at all.

“M- More.” you begged, babbling random nonsense to him.

He looked you right in the eyes as he brought his hand up to your neck, choking you gently. He watched every expression you made, listened to every sound as he pulled almost all the way out just to thrust harder into you.

It felt so good that almost no sound came out of your mouths anymore. Your eyes rolled back from the intense pleasure, his cock inside you, the way your legs were bent to such an extreme they were going numb, the pressure on your neck from his hand…It was all too much and just perfect.

“Fuck, I’m close.” he groaned, his voice strained with need. His hand slipped from your neck to grip your hip tightly. “Can I come inside?”

“Please, please, I want to feel it.” you panted. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore. With a final thrust, he buried himself as deep inside you as he could. His hips stopped their movements as he came, his body trembling. You could feel the warmth of his cum filling you, the sensation pushing you over the edge once more, leaving you both breathless and spent. Alex collapsed against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder as you both caught your breaths. 

As you tried to get up to clean up in the bathroom, he clung to you, not wanting to let you go just yet. He hugged you from behind and walked with you until you gently shut the bathroom door in front of his face, giggling.

He sighed to himself and made his way to the office to grab his pack of cigarettes from the desk, still naked. He didn't care enough to get dressed. And he wouldn’t mind spending more time with nothing separating him from you. He got back to the bedroom right as you exited the en-suite, joining him back in bed.

“Do you mind?” he asked before lighting the cigarette.

You shook your head 'no', settling on his chest, hugging him to you. Sock eventually joined too, you could hear his little paws on the wood floors before he jumped on the bed. 

Alex took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke softly as he wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. The room felt peaceful, filled with the quiet sounds of your breathing and soft purring in the background. 

“I like when you take over,” you said softly, “It's hot.”

Alex's face turned an even deeper shade of pink, and he got all shy, so you dropped it, brushing his hair back as you looked up at him.

“I think I wanna buy a new car.” he said suddenly.

“That came out of nowhere.” you replied, surprised.

“I've been thinking about it for some time,” he continued, stopping to take another drag, “I actually have an appointment to check one out in a few days. I think I forgot to mention it to you, I just remembered now.” 

“What kind do you want to get?” you asked, curious.

He smiled and shook his head. “You should come with me, we can choose together.”

Your curiosity piqued even more at his response. “Really? Want my input?”

“Of course.” he said, taking another drag of his cigarette and exhaling slowly. “So you won’t get to make fun of it anymore. Plus, I trust your taste.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “My taste?”

He smiled, a hint of playfulness in his eyes. “Yeah, you did choose me, after all.”

You laughed, feeling your cheeks warm. “Well, you are a pretty good choice.”

He wrapped his arm around you tighter, his smile widening. “Exactly. So, no worries about the car.”

You laughed softly. “Alright, I’m in.” 

You snuggled closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The peaceful silence returned as you lay together, Sock curling up at your feet. 

You two finished up pretty fast at the dealership. You settled on a car relatively quickly. And it was a nice one, something sleek and modern that felt like a good fit for both of you. Safe to say you were both pleased. 

Now getting back inside his old car, you were surprised that Alex insisted on driving. The ride back home was going to be long, but apparently not long enough for him to not wanna drive. 

About halfway through the trip, he caught you off guard by pulling off the road into a quiet, secluded field. Once he stopped and pulled the brake, he bent over to your side and kissed you. You giggled at his spontaneity.

“What are you doing?” you asked, still laughing as he kissed all over your face, holding your head in place with his arms.

“I think we should give my old ‘grandpa’ car a nice goodbye, don’t you?” he said with a grin, pulling you over his lap. You gasped at the sudden action, the tight space between the seats making it a bit challenging, but he was careful, making sure nothing got hurt in the process.

“Alex, we're in the middle of nowhere!” you exclaimed, half-laughing, half-mortified.

“Exactly,” he smirked, “No one’s around. It’s just us.” His hands moved to your waist, guiding you to straddle him. 

You settled onto his lap, the car's familiar scent mixing with his even more familiar one. He kissed you deeply, his hands roaming your back, pulling you closer. You could feel the heat radiating between you two, the confined space of the car adding to the excitement. He tugged at your shirt, lifting it over your head. And then his lips found yours again, more urgent this time, as if he couldn’t wait any longer. 

“Are you sure?” you whispered, feeling the anticipation build up inside you.

He nodded, his eyes dark with desire. “Yeah. I want to remember it for more than just going to work.”

You couldn't help but smile at his sentiment. His hands moved to unbutton his jeans, and you shifted to help him, the space cramped but manageable. The car's seats creaked under your movements, and the windows would’ve been fogging up from your heavy breathing and the sheer heat if they weren’t already open. Alex's hands slipped under your skirt, making you gasp against his mouth as he grabbed at you harshly.

“Thank god you wore a skirt.” he murmured, a grin tugging at his lips.

“You told me to wear it, remember?” you shot back, your breath hitching as he unhooked your bra.

“Mhmmm, lucky coincidence.” he whispered, his fingers deftly removing the garment. Your nipples brushed against his shirt, sending shivers down your spine.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” you asked, gasping as he left tiny bites on your shoulder.

“Maybe…Did I tell you I’ve been hard the whole way here?” he replied, his voice low and husky. “Let’s give it a proper farewell.” he murmured against your skin. 

Finally, with both of you ready, Alex guided you onto him, the sensation making you both moan in unison. You moved together, the rhythm slow at first, adjusting to the tight space. But soon, the urgency took over, and you rode him harder, the car rocking slightly with your movements.

His hands gripped your hips, his head falling back against the seat, eyes closed in pleasure. “God, you feel so good.” he groaned, his voice husky.

You leaned down, wanting to capture his lips in a kiss, but he stopped you by placing his fingers on your lips, slowly shoving two past them. He watched intently as you took them into your mouth. The image of your lips wrapped around his fingers fucked with his head so bad, and he didn’t even know why. Your plump, wet, and shiny lips, the feeling of your tongue moving under his digits. Fuck. Having your pretty little lips around his fingers while he pounded into you was something else.

He kept you in place by the hips, harshly thrusting deeper just to hear your cries over him, silently begging him to destroy you. His grip tightened as he continued to thrust harder, his breath ragged and his eyes fixed on your mouth, watching the way you took him everywhere.

“Fuckkk…” he groaned again, the sight of you driving him wild. You could feel him twitch inside you, the rhythm becoming more desperate. The mix of his fingers in your mouth and his cock inside you created an obscene sensation, pushing you both closer to the edge.

He spit onto his other hand, using it to rub your clit as you ground your hips into him. The added stimulation was all you needed. His fingers in your mouth, the drool dripping from the corners, and the way he touched you just right were too much. You came hard, your walls clenching around him, a muffled cry escaping as you bit down gently on his fingers.

The sight of you, utterly lost in pleasure, pushed him over the edge. He came deep inside you, his own moans mixing with yours. Finally, you leaned back, releasing his fingers from your mouth, both of you smiling at the intensity of the moment. Alex’s hands moved to gently caress your hips, his touch tender now,  

“That was…” you started, but words failed you.

“A perfect goodbye.” Alex finished for you, a satisfied smile on his lips.

You laughed softly, “Definitely unforgettable.” you agreed, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He pulled you up just a bit, enough to slip out of you, quickly pulling your panties back in place to prevent his cum from dripping out. “Don’t wanna ruin the seats now.” he said, patting you gently over the material.

He opened the door and shifted to get out while also placing you in his seat. Adjusting himself back into place in his pants, he lit a cigarette. The sun was setting behind him, casting a warm glow that made him look almost ethereal. You wanted to capture it, to remember him like that forever. 

You remembered he probably had a camera stashed in the glove compartment and…Yes! There it was. You turned it on and turned back to him.

“I’m gonna miss this old thing.” he said with a smile, glancing around at the car, and you managed to capture it perfectly, right on time. He didn’t even notice until the bright flash went off, covering his face with his hand.

“Stoppp.” he said, and his undeniable smile was still visible no matter how hard he tried to hide.

You got out as well, and he helped you put your top back on, his fingers deftly working the buttons that got undone in the heat of the moment when he simply pulled it off. He brushed your hair back, his touch was gentle, and he leaned in to kiss you against the side of the car. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, “I love you.” he whispered, his thumb brushing your cheek. 

He kissed you one last time before helping you back into the passenger seat. The drive home was filled with a comfortable silence, both of you lost in your thoughts, enjoying the lingering warmth of your impromptu ‘goodbye’.

a/n: i’m so attached to him…i don’t know what else to say, i hope you like it

The energy at the Glastonbury after-party was electric, a palpable sense of euphoria lingering in the air from the band’s performance. The crowd in your area now was a mix of industry people and fellow musicians, all caught up in the night. The makeshift party area was alive with laughter, music, and the occasional burst of fireworks illuminating the night sky above you.

You stood at the edge of the temporary dance floor, a menthol cigarette perched between your fingers, watching Alex as he navigated through the masses of people with a drink in his hand. Your mind replayed the night’s performance over and over. The way he had commanded the stage, his voice effortlessly captivating the massive crowd, and the raw energy that radiated from every strum of his guitar. It was his second time headlining Glastonbury, but your first time witnessing it, and he made sure you would be there to share the experience.

Your heart swelled with pride and awe, the memory of him on stage a vivid contrast to the intimate moment you were about to share. Alex’s eyes were locked on yours as he moved through the crowd, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. With each step he took closer, the sounds of laughter and music faded into the background, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

He reached you, his presence a tangible force that seemed to make the air around you vibrate. Without a word, he leaned in, the scent of his cologne mixing with the smoky air, creating an intoxicating blend that made your heart race. His hand, still cool from holding his drink, brushed against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, his breath hot and inviting on your face.

“Can’t believe you did it again.” you whispered, your voice barely audible over all the noise.

Alex’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes dark and intense, fixed firmly on your lips. “Couldn’t have done it without knowing you were watching.” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

He stepped closer, his hand finding its way to your waist and pulling you into him. The crowd around you seemed to melt away as he guided you backward until your back was pressed against the temporary wall. The makeshift structure barely registered in your mind as his body pressed against yours, creating a barrier between you and the world outside. His gaze never wavered, locked on your lips as if they held the answer to every question he could think of.

You took a drag of your cigarette, the cool menthol filling your lungs before you exhaled slowly, the smoke curling up around his face. Alex’s eyes darkened even more, a hunger evident in their depths. He leaned in, capturing your lips with a fervour that took your breath away. The taste of menthol from your cigarette mixed with the bitterness of the liquor on his tongue, creating a heady blend that made your knees grow weak.

Everything around you ceased to exist. The music, the people, the lights. It all faded into oblivion as Alex kissed you, his hands roaming over your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

His fingers trailed up your spine, sending sparks of electricity through your body. He cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against your jaw as he deepened the kiss. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, a rapid, steady rhythm that matched your own.

When he finally pulled back, it was just enough to speak, his forehead resting against yours. His breath came in short, heated bursts that matched the intensity of his gaze. “I can’t wait to get my hands on you after this.” he whispered.

You smiled, your fingers tangling in his hair and messing up all the gel work as you pulled him back for another kiss, losing yourself in the sensation of him. The taste of him. The feel of him.

His hands wandered, exploring the curve of your waist, the small of your back, each touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You arched into him, your body responding instinctively to his, a plea for more.

Alex’s lips left yours, trailing a path of kisses along your jawline and down your neck, making you shiver. He paused, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

You nodded, unable to form words, your mind already clouded with him. Just him. He took your hand, leading you through the crowd. The party seemed to blur around you, the noise fading into a distant hum as he navigated you both towards a more secluded area, through the maze of temporary walls and corridors, the thrum of the music growing softer with each step.

He led you down a narrow hallway and through a door into what seemed like his dressing room. Or maybe it was a storage area. You couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t care. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a single lamp casting shadows on the walls. Alex turned to you, his eyes dark and smouldering, filled with a hunger that made your knees weak. He stepped closer, his hands finding your waist as he pressed you against the wall. His lips found yours in a searing kiss, one that left you breathless and wanting more. The air was thick with the lingering scent of his cologne and the faint aroma of sweat and excitement from the performance.

He started gently pushing you back until you felt the edge of a seat behind your knees. Before you could react, he crouched in front of you, his eyes glinting with a risqué look in them. His hands moved up your legs, his touch firm yet gentle, sending a thrill through your entire body. You watched, entranced, as he lifted up your dress, his fingers brushing against your skin. He began kissing his way up. And up. And up.

You could feel his slight stubble scratching your skin, each graze sending shivers through your whole body. Even though you couldn't see any facial hair on his face, you could always feel it, the invisible little rough bits appearing just hours after he’d shave.

Alex’s eyes never left yours as he slid your underwear to the side. He knew exactly what he was doing, and the anticipation made your heart race. You watched, breathless, as he lowered his head between your legs, his big brown eyes staring right back at you from below. He started to move, his tongue and lips working on you and leaving you breathless.

The first touch of his tongue was electrifying. A slow, deliberate stroke that made your body tense. He moved with expert precision, his tongue flicking and swirling over your most sensitive spots. His nose nudged at you as he slipped his tongue inside, the pressure adding to the overwhelming sensations. Each breath he took was heavy and warm, the air leaving his nostrils hitting your sensitive skin and intensifying the feeling.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he worked, his tongue exploring every inch of you with hunger. You could feel every flick and each movement drawing you closer to the edge.

His gaze never wavered, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you feel completely exposed and utterly desired. There was something about the way he looked at you. You could see the desire in his eyes, the satisfaction he took in watching you unravel under his touch.

As his tongue delved deeper, his nose pressed harder against you. He was relentless, his movements precise and focused, his tongue slipping in and out, curling inside you, reaching places that made you see stars. You felt his lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over it.

Your breath came in gasps, your hands clutching at the sides of the seat, your knuckles white with the intensity of your grip. You could feel the heat pooling in your core, the pressure mounting with each flick of his tongue and each suck of his lips.

He seemed to sense exactly what you needed, adjusting his pace and pressure to push you further towards the edge. As you felt yourself teetering on the brink, Alex redoubled his efforts, his tongue moving faster, more insistently, his nose rubbing against you with every movement. The sensation of his warm breath against your skin, the feel of his tongue inside you, the sight of his eyes staring up at you, all combined to push you over the edge.

Your orgasm hit you and crashed over you with an intensity that made your entire body shudder. You cried out, your back arching, your hands flying to his hair, gripping it tightly as you rode it out. Alex didn't stop, his movements gentle but persistent, drawing out every last bit of your climax until you were spent, your body trembling with the aftershocks.

He finally pulled back, his lips glistening, a satisfied smile playing on his face. He stood, his hands coming up to cup your face, and kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“That was quick.” he chuckled softly as he pulled back. “Hehe, it’s my turn now.”

You looked up at him, a playful smile on your lips. “Is it?” you asked, playing dumb.

Alex raised an eyebrow, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I think I deserve it, after all, I did rock that stage, didn’t I?”

He unbuttoned his jeans, sliding down the zipper and slipping his cock out of his underwear. The sight of him, hard and ready, just from eating you out, made you almost drool as you reached out, wrapping your hand around him, giving a gentle squeeze.

“Do you want to fuck me?” you asked, your voice low and sultry. “I'll do whatever you want tonight.”

Alex shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “No,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “You know I don’t like being rushed. Just suck my dick now.”

You moved to your knees, positioning yourself in front of him. You looked up, your eyes meeting his as you leaned in, your lips brushing against the tip of his cock. You could see the anticipation in his eyes, the way his breath hitched as you opened your mouth, taking him in.

Your tongue swirled around the head, tasting the saltiness of him leaking. You moved slowly at first, enjoying the feel of him in your mouth, the way he fit so perfectly. Alex’s hand found its way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he guided you to take him deeper. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the tension in his muscles as he tried to control himself.

His breaths came in short, heavy bursts, his eyes never leaving yours. “Fuck.” he muttered, his voice rough. “Best way to end the night.”

You hummed in response, the vibration making him groan. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, your hand working in tandem with your mouth. You could feel him getting closer, the way his hips started to move, his control slipping.

“Just like that…” he murmured, his voice a strained whisper. “Yeah, take it all.”

He pushed you down further, his hand firm on the back of your head, guiding you to take his whole cock down your throat. You could feel him hitting the back, the sensation both overwhelming and exhilarating. You fought the urge to gag, focusing instead on being good for him. He deserved it. Every inch.

Your throat tightened around him as he pushed deeper, his cock filling you completely. The heat of him, the slight pulsing as he grew closer to release, was intoxicating. You could feel your growing need to please him driving you forward.

Alex’s grip in your hair tightened, his breaths coming in harsh, uneven bursts. He was close, so close. You could feel his hips thrusting harder, seeking more.

“Fuck, it’s perfect.” he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure. “So fucking good…”

You looked up at him, your eyes watering slightly from the effort, but the look of sheer pleasure on his face made it all worth it. His head was thrown back, his jaw clenched, every muscle in his body taut.

With a final thrust, he buried himself fully in your throat, his body tensing as he came, hot and fast. You swallowed around him, your throat working to take everything he gave you. His groans filled the small room, low and guttural, a sound that sent a thrill through your entire being.

As his high subsided, he loosened his grip on your hair, his breaths coming in tired gasps. You slowly pulled back, his cock slipping from your mouth, and looked up at him. His eyes were half-lidded, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

He reached down, cupping your face in his hands, and pulled you up for a deep, lingering kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, the mingling of your flavours potent as your tongues touched.

a/n: pretty short, idk how i feel about it. actually i do, i think it’s a bit boring and nothing that hasn’t been done before but yeah

The morning light poured into Alex's kitchen, scattering rays across the room, casting a warm, golden hue that brought a sense of serenity to the space. The small table by the window, where the two of you sat, seemed almost magical in the soft glow. The sunlight filtered through the leaves outside, creating a delicate pattern of lights and shadows that danced on the walls, adding to the peaceful ambiance of the morning.

Alex sat across from you, shirtless, wearing a pair of faded shorts that had clearly seen better days. They were frayed at the edges, and the colour had long since faded from repeated washings, but they were his favourite pair, so comfortable that he refused to part with them.

He’d gotten a haircut a few days ago, and his hair still bore the uneven signs of the fresh trim. The sides were too short, while the top was a messy tumble that defied any attempt to tame it. You had to suppress a smile at how it made him look slightly boyish, though no less handsome.

He was an effortless vision of rugged charm, his skin glowing warmly in the morning light, muscles relaxed, exuding that casual confidence that drew you in. As he ate a piece of toast, you couldn't help but watch him, enamoured by the simplicity of the moment. There was something so special to you about seeing him in this unguarded state, doing nothing more than enjoying his breakfast.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, catching you in the act of staring. A small smile played on his lips, and you felt a blush creep up your cheeks. You took a sip of your tea to cover your embarrassment, the warmth of the drink soothing your nerves. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with the sounds of the morning. A bird chirping outside, the distant hum of early traffic, the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Despite basically living in the same house, as you'd spent nearly every night here for months now, you didn't often get moments like this. One of you always left before the other, rushing off to classes or some errands, rarely getting the chance to savour the quiet intimacy of a shared morning. It was nice, really nice, to finally have him all to yourself, without the usual interruptions or the ticking clock pushing you apart.

He cherished these rare, unhurried mornings. Watching you across the table, sipping your tea with that slight smile playing on your lips, he felt a sense of peace that was hard to come by before. He was used to the constant movement, the early mornings where he left you sleeping soundly, or the late nights when he’d slip into bed after you’d already drifted off. But this. This was different.

He admired the way the morning light highlighted your features, casting a soft glow that made you look ethereal. You were beautiful, always, but there was something about the quiet moments that made you seem even more so to him. Maybe it was the way you looked at him, with such genuine affection, or the way you seemed to savour every moment, as if you were storing them away for the days when life would inevitably get in the way.

Alex took another bite of his toast, unable to keep the smile from his face. He didn’t need grand gestures or elaborate plans. This was enough. More than enough. Just being here with you, in the comfort of his own kitchen, sharing a simple breakfast, was more precious than he could put into words. It was in these small moments that he felt the depth of his feelings for you, realising just how much you’d become a part of his life, his routine, his heart.

“You know, I've been thinking about something.” Alex said, breaking the serene quiet. His tone was casual, but you detected an underlying note of excitement.

“What?” you asked, your curiosity piqued. You took another sip of your tea, savouring its warmth.

“We should go back home for the summer,” he suggested, his eyes locking onto yours with a hopeful glint, “It's cooler up north. You could stay with me, I mean, at my place there, if you want. What do you think?”

His words hung in the air, filled with promise and possibility. The thought of spending the summer with him, away from the heat and hustle of the city, and especially not having to hide so much anymore, was incredibly enticing. You imagined the two of you exploring all the places you already knew, but now together, and sharing lazy afternoons in the cool shade

A smile spread across your face as you considered his proposal. The idea of seeing and experiencing the places that had shaped him through his own eyes was thrilling. More than that, it was the chance to actually spend time together properly, not just locked inside of his apartment.

“I think it sounds perfect,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his, "I'd love to go with you."

Alex’s face lit up with a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you adored, when the faint wrinkles started to show. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles in a gentle, familiar caress, a silent promise of everything he couldn’t quite articulate.

“Then it's settled.” he said, his voice warm and full of promise. “But…I have something else to tell you.”

You looked at him curiously, sensing a shift in the air. His eyes held a mixture of excitement and a hint of nervousness.

“What is it?” you asked.

Alex took a deep breath, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “I’d like to take you home,” he said, his gaze unwavering, “As in, to my parents’ house. To meet them.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. The idea itself made you incredibly nervous. Meeting his parents was a big step, one you hadn’t quite prepared for. You hadn't told anyone about your relationship, not one person. Would he expect to meet your parents too? The thought alone was enough to make you break out in a cold sweat. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how that would go. It was overwhelming, a cascade of anxiety threatening to break the serene bubble you'd built around your relationship. Your mind started racing, considering all the implications. The world outside this kitchen alone suddenly seemed too complex, too filled with expectations and judgments.

You felt a rush of nerves, and Alex noticed immediately. He brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it sweetly, his touch grounding you, pulling you back from your spiralling thoughts.

“Why?” was all you could manage to say.

He wasn’t offended. He could see the hesitation in your eyes and understood. “I might have accidentally told my mum that I’m seeing someone,” he admitted with a sheepish grin, “And now she wants to meet that someone. And that someone is you, sweetheart.” He smiled, his thumb massaging your hand in a reassuring rhythm.

“Oh. Uhm...I haven’t told anyone.” you said, your voice small, barely above a whisper.

“I know.” he replied instantly, his tone gentle. “We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, but I’d like to.”

You didn’t say anything, still thinking of all the things it would imply. This would be like breaking the little bubble you’d built around your relationship, a bubble you’d managed to keep hidden for so long. Your relationship had been safe from the outside world's scrutiny and expectations. Stepping out of that felt like a leap into the unknown.

“She made fun of me when I talked to her on the phone the other day and it slipped out.” he continued, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “She said it was ‘about time,’” he paused, smiling to himself as he remembered the conversation, “that I’m getting ‘too old.’” He chuckled, showing the quotation marks with one of his hands while his other hand held yours, his fingers still moving in that same soothing motion over your skin.

You watched him, feeling the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his words. He wasn’t pushing you. He was inviting you, offering you a glimpse into another part of his life. It was a big step, but as you looked into his eyes, filled with affection and understanding, you felt a flicker of hope. It was clear how much this meant to him, and despite your nerves, you couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through you at the thought of being included in this part of his life.

“It’s just…a lot.” you said finally, your voice trembling slightly.

“I know,” he said softly, his eyes filled with understanding. “And we don’t have to rush into anything. But I want you to know that you mean a lot to me.”

“Okay.” you said, your voice soft but steady. “I’ll meet them.”

His face lit up with a bright smile, and he squeezed your hand gently. “Thank you.” he said, his voice filled with gratitude. “You’re going to love them,” he added, his excitement palpable, “And they’re going to love you.”

You hoped he was right. This was a new chapter, one that held as much promise as it did uncertainty.

“So, should I book the train tickets, or do you want to get them at the station?” Alex asked, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

You looked at him, confused. “Why the train? You have a car. Old, like you, but working.”

Alex put a hand over his heart, pretending to be offended. “Old, like me? Ouch.” he said, his eyes widening in mock hurt. “I’m not that old.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his theatrics. “Oh, come on. You know what I mean.”

He pouted dramatically, his lips forming a playful frown. “I’m in my prime, thank you very much.”

You reached across the table, giving his hand a squeeze. “Sure you are, grandpa.”

He gasped, drawing back in exaggerated shock. “Oh, okay. Now you’ve done it. I’m deeply wounded.”

Rolling your eyes, you chuckled. “Alright, alright. You’re young and spry. Happy?”

“Much better.” he said with a satisfied nod, his playful grin returning. “But seriously, I don’t like driving long distances.” he admitted, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Seriously?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m serious.” he said, trying to sound firm.

“Well, I’m not going on a train with you again. You know how that went.” you replied, the memory of the last train ride flashing through your mind.

Alex smirked, clearly remembering it well. “Well then, you can drive. And for the record, I enjoyed that train ride.”

You rolled your eyes at his relaxed posture as he slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly amused by the situation.

“I’m not driving your old car.”

“It’s not that old.” he chuckled.

“It’s a relic.” you teased. “I’m surprised it even starts.”

“It has character.” he defended, his tone mock-offended.

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Okay, fine. I’ll drive. You’ll be my passenger princess. But only because I love you.”

His expression softened, and he leaned forward, pressing another gentle kiss to your hand. “Thank you.” he said, his voice sincere. “I love you too.”

You were finally in the car and onto the road. Finally. Alex had taken longer than you would’ve thought to pack everything. Sure, you would be staying there for quite a while, but he really didn’t have to overthink everything you might need. It was adorable to watch him though, pacing from room to room, remembering that little thing you might need, just in case.

He double-checked the toiletries, triple-checked the clothes, and even packed extra blankets, “just in case it gets chilly at night.” which didn’t make any sense. You stood by the door, shaking your head in amusement as he darted back and forth, grabbing yet another item that suddenly seemed essential.

When he finally declared himself ready, he loaded everything into his not-so-old car and you set off. Despite your initial doubts about it, his car wasn’t bad to drive at all. In fact, it was quite comfortable, and the familiar hum of the engine you’ve come to know from all the rides back home together became a soothing background noise as you navigated the roads.

Alex, taking his role as passenger princess very seriously, immediately started fiddling with the radio, putting on his playlist he made for the journey. Every ten minutes, he would ask if you wanted any water, until you had to tell him to stop. “I’m fine, Alex, really. Relax.” you said, shooting him a playful glance.

“Just making sure.” he replied with a grin, turning the volume up on a favourite song.

The landscape began to change as you drove further from the city, the buildings giving way to fields and trees. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds, and the air felt increasingly fresher the further north you went. Alex sang along to the music, his voice mingling with the melody, creating a perfect soundtrack for your journey.

You glanced over at him, feeling a surge of affection. His excitement was contagious, and despite your initial nerves, you felt a growing sense of anticipation. This trip was a new step, a new adventure, and you were glad to be sharing it with him.

As the familiar chords of ‘A Song for You’ by Leon Russell began to play, Alex's face lit up with joy. “Oh, I love this song.” he said, his voice softening with emotion. “It’s one of my all time favourites.”

You glanced over at him, seeing the genuine affection in his eyes as he started to sing along. His voice carried the heartfelt lyrics with a tenderness that made you feel as though he was singing directly to you.

“I've been so many places in my life and time.” he sang, his voice strong yet intimate. As he continued, he glanced over at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “It always gets to me.” he confessed, his eyes holding yours. “Makes me think of all the things we sometimes don’t say enough, love and gratitude and all that stuff.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as you listened to him, the sincerity in his voice touching something deep within you. The way he connected with the song, the emotion in his eyes, it all spoke volumes about the kind of person he was. He felt deeply, and you knew it caused him trouble sometimes, but it was beautiful.

When he reached the chorus, his voice became even more tender. “And I'm singing this song to you.” he sang, his gaze never wavering from yours. You glanced over at him. His excitement was contagious, and despite your initial nerves, you felt a growing sense of anticipation.

His voice softened as he sang the final lines, his eyes never leaving yours.

“And when my life is over, remember when we were together. We were alone and I was singing this song for you.”

As the song came to an end, Alex leaned back in his seat, a contented smile on his face. “I’m so grateful I have you.” he said softly. “Do you like it?”

You reached over and squeezed his hand, your heart full. “It’s beautiful.” you replied. “And so are you.”

He chuckled, squeezing your hand back. “Thanks.” he said, his voice filled with warmth. “I'm glad you think so.”

As you drove, the conversation flowed. Alex talked a lot about his childhood, sharing stories about the places you’d soon visit. His eyes sparkled with nostalgia, and you could tell how much this meant to him.

It was so cute to see him get excited, especially when he reminisced about the familiar spots you both knew. Even though you’d moved away when you were younger, you still visited sometimes, and it was incredible to realise how your paths had been so close without intersecting until you met him as your professor.

“You remember that little candy store on the corner?” he asked, his voice animated.

“Of course!” you replied, laughing. “I used to save up just to buy stuff from there.”

“Same here! I used to go there every Saturday.” he said, shaking his head in amazement.

You smiled at the thought, picturing a younger Alex, excitedly picking out his favourite sweets. “And the old cinema? The outdoorsy one, we went there every summer when we came up here.”

His eyes lit up even more. “That place was like a second home to me. First movie I ever saw at there was ‘The Lion King.’” Alex chuckled, clearly enjoying this trip down memory lane. “And there’s this little bakery in town,” he said, “They make the best apple pie. We have to go there.”

“Apple pie, huh? Is that your secret weakness?” you teased, glancing over at him.

“Maybe.” he admitted with a laugh. “You’ll see. It’s so worth it.”

The miles passed quickly, the road stretching out before you like a ribbon. The car was filled with laughter and music. Alex occasionally reached over to squeeze your hand, wanting to touch you every chance he got.

You two finally arrived at his apartment, the familiar sight bringing back a flood of memories. It was here, in this space, that everything had really started. You remembered the first time you’d stepped through the door, the awkward tension that had quickly melted away. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Alex set the bags down and immediately shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. He began unbuttoning his shirt, a look of relief on his face. “I need to take a shower right now.” he declared. “Maybe you were right, I should probably get a new car. No AC is torture.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” he said, rolling his eyes playfully. He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist just as you were trying to take off your shoes. “Are you joining or what?” he grinned, his breath warm against your ear.

Before you could respond, he started kissing your neck, his lips trailing soft, teasing kisses along your skin. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, tracing random patterns on your tummy, sending shivers down your spine.

“Alex!” you murmured, half-laughing, half-sighing as you tried to keep your balance while removing your shoes. “You're not making this easy.”

“I never do.” he whispered, his voice low and playful. He turned you around in his arms, capturing your lips in a deep kiss, his hands moving to cup your face gently.

You melted into him, the tiredness from the journey and the stress that was haunting you, of eventually meeting his family, all fading away in his embrace. His kiss was warm and inviting, filled with a tenderness that made your heart race.

Pulling back slightly, he looked into your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of desire and affection. “So, what do you say?” he asked, his voice a soft murmur against your lips. “Shower together?”

You smiled, feeling a surge of affection for him. “Go ahead, I’ll just be a minute.” you replied, your fingers trailing down his chest as he gave you one last quick kiss before walking away and into the hall bathroom.

You followed Alex into the bathroom just a few moments later. The sound of the water running could be heard from outside. When you opened the door, you found him already under the stream, his hair slicked back from the water pouring over his head. The droplets glistened on his skin, highlighting the contours of his body. He looked like a vision of effortless masculinity, standing there relaxed.

You took a moment to appreciate the sight before starting to undress. As you slipped off your clothes and placed them to the side, you caught Alex eyeing you up and down shamelessly. His gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of admiration and want.

“Stop it.” you said, feeling a little self-conscious all of a sudden. He’d seen you countless times, but the way he looked at you always made your heart skip a beat.

Alex's eyes softened, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “I can't help it,” he murmured, beckoning you over to join him, “You're beautiful.”

You stepped into the shower, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you close. The warmth of his body combined with the hot water was intoxicating. His hands slipped on your skin, gliding effortlessly from the water streaming down the two of you.

He rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath hot against your ear. “This feels nice.” he whispered, his voice low and soothing.

You leaned back into him, closing your eyes and savouring the moment. “It does.”

For a while, the two of you just stood there, wrapped up in each other, letting the water wash away the exhaustion from the journey. His hands moved in slow, gentle patterns over your skin, massaging your shoulders and back, easing away any remaining tension.

“You're too good at this.” you sighed, almost letting out a soft moan from how good his hands felt on your body.

“Well, I do have some motivation.” he replied, his lips brushing against your ear. “I want you to feel as amazing as you make me feel.”

You turned in his arms, facing him, and cupped his face in your hands. “You always make me feel amazing.” you said softly, pressing your forehead to his.

He smiled at you. “I know a pleasant way to make you feel even better.”

Alex's smile turned into a sultry grin before he captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer as the water continued to cascade around you. Breaking the kiss, he gently turned you around, pinning you against the shower wall. You gasped as your breasts pressed against the cold tiles, the contrast of sensations making your skin tingle.

He began trailing kisses down your spine, each touch sending shivers through you. His hands glided along your sides, feeling every curve and dip of your body as he lowered himself. When his mouth reached the small of your back, he bit softly at the flesh of your arse, making you moan.

Alex's hands gripped your hips, positioning you so he could get a better angle. He spread you apart, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. Without hesitation, he dove in, his tongue licking a stripe from your clit to your hole, savouring the taste of your arousal. The sensation was electric, and you couldn't help but push back against his mouth.

He didn't stop there, though. To your surprise, his tongue moved higher, teasing your other hole. He circled it slowly, the intimate touch making you tense and then relax, your body responding to the new sensation. Alex's hands pulled your cheeks open further, giving him full access as he buried his face even more into you.

The feeling was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and vulnerability from being so exposed that left you breathless. His tongue worked skillfully, alternating between gentle licks and firmer strokes, driving you wild. You felt every muscle in your body tighten, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he continued his relentless attention.

He circled your rim with tantalising precision, each stroke eliciting a new wave of pleasure that left you quivering. Alex pulled back for a moment, his breath hot against your sensitive skin as he murmured, “You taste so good. I can't get enough of you.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, amplifying the intensity of the moment. He resumed his ministrations, his tongue now more insistent, pushing against your tight entrance. The wet muscle teased and probed, working you open with slow, deliberate movements.

As his tongue pressed deeper, you felt the tight ring of muscle begin to yield, allowing the wet intrusion to slip inside the slightest bit. The feeling was exquisite, the stretch leaving you gasping for air. Alex groaned against you, the vibration adding another layer of sensation as he worked his tongue further inside you.

Alex's hands roamed over your hips and thighs, steadying you as his tongue continued its relentless exploration. He licked and sucked, creating a delicious friction that had you pressing back against him, seeking more. He kept pushing deeper, stretching you with careful precision. Each thrust was calculated, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion. The wet, slippery sensation of his tongue inside you was overwhelming.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his desire evident in every movement. He pulled back slightly. “You're so tight.” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with lust.

“It feels so good,” you moaned, your voice a breathless whisper, “So good, Alex.”

He groaned against you, your praise fuelling him. His tongue pushed back inside you, each thrust filled with his intent of making you feel as good as possible. You moaned his name, the sound echoing in the shower as he continued his relentless assault.

He pulled back again to catch his breath, and you chased the feeling, trying to push back against him and whimpering weakly at the loss of him.

“Tell me what you want.” he murmured, his hands grabbing at your flesh.

“Just don't stop.” you gasped, your voice trembling with need. “Please, Alex, don't stop.”

His response was immediate, his tongue diving back in with renewed intensity. It felt like he was stretching you further with each thrust. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and a slight hint of discomfort that left you teetering on the edge.

His hands gripped you tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you steady. He twisted his tongue inside you, seeking out every sensitive spot and lavishing it with attention. The intensity of his focus was almost too much to bear, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

You reached back, threading your fingers through his wet hair, holding him close as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His tongue circled your rim one last time before he moved back to your clit, his lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to make you come.

Just after a few more licks and suckles around your clit, the intense pleasure built up to a shattering orgasm. Your entire body tensed, and you let out a sharp cry, your fingers clutching Alex’s hair tighter as the waves of ecstasy crashed over you. He groaned into you at the sharp feeling, sending an added jolt of pleasure through your already trembling body.

He held you steady, his strong hands gripping your hips as you rode out the orgasm. His tongue and lips slowed their movements, gradually easing you down from the peak of pleasure. Each gentle stroke and caress kept the sensation alive, prolonging it.

As your breathing began to steady, he shifted to leaving soft, reverent kisses on your cunt, making you shiver each time he made contact with your overly sensitive spot. Your legs felt weak, barely able to hold you up, but Alex's grip on you remained firm and reassuring.

He eventually stood up, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and adoration as he looked at you over your shoulder. “Good?” he whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

You smiled, still breathless from the intensity of your orgasm. “Good? That was more than just good.” you replied softly, leaning in to kiss him. The taste of yourself on his lips sent another small thrill through you.

He grinned, a look of pure pride and satisfaction spreading across his face. He pulled you close, enveloping you in a warm embrace. “Let me get you cleaned up.” he murmured, his voice a soothing relief. He reached for the showerhead, gently rinsing the remaining suds and evidence of your passion from your skin.

As you finished up in the shower, Alex wrapped you in a soft towel, his touch tender and caring. “Come on, let’s relax for a bit.” he suggested, guiding you out of the bathroom.

You followed Alex out of the bathroom, both of you wrapped in towels, his hanging loosely around his hips. He guided you to the bedroom, and you both lay down on the soft bed, not bothering to change into something else.

As you settled next to him, you couldn't help but notice the telltale tent in his towel, his cock hard and straining against the fabric. You instinctively reached out to touch him, wanting to reciprocate the pleasure he had just given you. But he gently caught your hand, stopping you.

“Later.” he murmured, his voice a soft promise. He turned around, pulling you close to him, his arms wrapping around you in a protective grip.

You could still feel his hardness pressing against your thigh, a persistent reminder. “Are you sure?” you asked, your voice laced with concern and desire to make him feel good too.

“Yeah,” he replied, nuzzling his face into your hair, “It'll go down. I just want to hold you for a bit.”

His voice melted any lingering tension in your body. You relaxed into his embrace, feeling his steady heartbeat against your own. “Okay.” you whispered, snuggling closer to him.

You closed your eyes, enjoying the closeness, the simple joy of being held by him. As you lay there, you felt his breathing slow, matching your own, the rise and fall of his chest a calming rhythm. Despite the persistent press of him against your thigh, there was no urgency, no rush. Alex's arms tightened around you slightly, a silent affirmation of his own contentment.

You had finished unpacking some of the essentials you’d need more often, leaving the rest for another day. Alex had ordered some food for the two of you, and you ate dinner together in his living room, cuddled up on the sofa. He suggested going out, given how you always stayed in back in the city, but you said it was fine staying in and just getting something for now. After the long drive, you weren’t in the mood to get ready for an outing. There would be more than enough time to go out on another day.

Once you tidied everything up a bit and got ready for bed, it didn’t take long for things to heat up between you. Lying next to each other, your lips found his, and soon you were making out, the intensity building with each passing second. You instinctively climbed into his lap, feeling the familiar warmth of his hands roaming your body. He expertly removed your top without breaking the kiss for too long.

“Can I ask you something?” you murmured, your hand slipping into his pyjama pants. You quickly realised he wasn’t wearing any boxers, making it easy for you to feel his cock starting to harden as you stroked him slowly.

“Mhm.” he murmured back, his eyes closed as he sought your mouth again, not wanting to lose the contact.

“I wanna try doing that thing from earlier again.” you said, your voice shy but hopeful.

A smile spread across his lips, almost a purr, as he rubbed his nose against yours. “You want me to eat your ass again?” he chuckled, his breathing getting heavier under your touch.

“No...I wanna do it to you.” you admitted, feeling a surge of vulnerability at your bold request.

His smile faded, replaced by a look of surprise and slight tension. “I’m not sure...that’s different.” he said, his body stiffening at the idea.

“Why? It feels really good. I think you’d like it.” you insisted gently, your fingers still working to keep him aroused.

“I- I don’t know...I’ve never…” he paused, sighing deeply. “I’ve never done something like that. Wouldn’t it be, I don’t know...weird?”

You could see the hesitation in his eyes, a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. You leaned in, kissing him softly, trying to reassure him. “Why would it be weird?” you asked genuinely.

“I don’t know...it’s just...it’s different, okay?” His voice was almost a whisper, and you could feel the tension in his body. He was so rarely this shy, and it made you love him even more.

You kissed him again, slower this time, letting your lips linger on his. “Different doesn’t mean bad. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

He looked into your eyes, searching for reassurance. “I know.” he said softly. “It’s just...I’ve never thought about it before. I never imagined I’d want to try something like that.”

You smiled, your fingers gently tracing the lines of his jaw. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s fine, we can do other stuff, but I just…Nevermind.”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No, it's okay that you asked. Really.”

You met his gaze, feeling a sense of relief. “We can take it slow.” you assured him, your voice gentle. “There's no rush.”

He nodded, his expression a mix of apprehension and curiosity. “I trust you.” he murmured, his voice gaining a bit more strength. “It’s just...I’m not used to feeling this way.”

You could see the thoughts racing through his mind, the internal struggle between wanting to try something new and the fear of the unknown. “What are you thinking?” you asked, wanting to understand his hesitation better.

He sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. “I think that maybe I do want to try it. I’ve never felt like this before, but with you...I don’t know, it feels different. Like it might be something I’d enjoy.”

You felt a surge of affection for him, appreciating his openness and willingness to explore something new. “We’ll figure it out together. I’ve never done this either, you know.” you said, your own shyness matching his.

He nodded again, his body relaxing slightly. “Yeah, okay.” he said, his voice steadier. “Let’s try it. But please, be gentle.”

You kissed him deeply, feeling the excitement coursing through you. “I will,” you assured him, your hand moving to caress his cheek, “I’ll be gentle.”

He smiled, the tension in his eyes easing as he let himself relax into your touch. “Thank you.” he whispered.

You nodded, kissing him deeply before shifting off his lap. You helped him out of his pants, revealing his erection. He was clearly aroused by the whole thing, his cock standing hard despite his initial hesitation. And you loved to see it. It reassured you that he wasn't just agreeing to please you, but was genuinely curious and open to the experience.

You guided him to lie back, his eyes never leaving yours, a mixture of trust and apprehension in his gaze. You started by kissing his thighs, your lips brushing against his skin, feeling him relax under your touch. Slowly, you worked your way closer, your kisses getting more deliberate and teasing.

“I think it would be better if you turned over to your front.” you whispered softly.

He looked at you, his apprehension clear, but after a moment he nodded. “Okay.” he said quietly. The idea of being so exposed to you made him a bit nervous, but he figured it would be more comfortable than lifting his legs and having you see his face at the same time.

He rolled onto his stomach, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. You ran your hands gently down his back, feeling him relax again under your touch. “Just tell me if it’s too much.” you murmured.

“Okay.” he replied, his voice muffled by the pillow but filled with trust.

You continued on your way down his body, your kisses trailing lower until you reached the curve of his ass. His breath hitched, and you could feel him tense up again.

“Sorry.” he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. “I'm nervous.”

You paused, kissing his lower back reassuringly, “Take your time.”

He took a deep breath, nodding slightly, and you felt him start to relax under your touch. You continued, your kisses growing more deliberate and soothing until his tension eased away completely.

This time, he didn’t tense up. You spread his cheeks gently, kissing the sensitive skin there, and he let out a soft moan, a mix of surprise and pleasure.

Your breath was warm against his skin. You flicked your tongue out, running it along his entrance, and felt him shiver beneath you, but you kept your movements gentle.

Alex gasped, his hands gripping the sheets. You took it slow, your tongue exploring him with care. You could feel him slowly start to relax again, his breaths coming in heavy, uneven sighs.

You felt a rush of excitement and nervousness yourself. You didn't fully know what to do, but you tried to guess what he would like, thinking back to what he had done to you earlier. You traced gentle circles with your tongue, exploring his most intimate spot with tentative, affectionate licks. His reactions were your guide, his soft gasps and moans spurring you on.

You pressed your tongue a little more firmly, trying to mimic the way he had lavished attention on you. It felt incredibly intimate, and you hoped he was feeling the same mix of pleasure and connection that you had felt. Each time he relaxed and let out a soft sound of enjoyment, it reassured you that you were on the right track.

The sensation was unlike anything he had experienced before. The warmth and softness of your tongue against such a sensitive area sent shivers of pleasure through his body. It was a delicate, electrifying feeling that made him acutely aware of every nerve ending. He felt very vulnerable. He had never let anyone touch him like this, and the trust he was letting himself place in you felt exhilarating.

The combination of actual pleasure he was feeling and the emotional connection made him feel exposed yet deeply cherished. He realised that this act wasn't just about the physical sensation, it was about the intimacy and trust shared between you. The way you explored him with such care that it made his heart swell. The mixture of apprehension and pleasure swirling within him only intensified his need, leaving him yearning for more of your touch.

You continued, growing more confident with each passing moment, savouring the way his body responded to your touch.

“It feels good.” you murmured between licks, feeling him shudder at your words. “I hope I’m doing this right.”

He moaned softly, the sound encouraging you to keep going. You worked him open with your tongue, pushing your tongue in just the slightest bit, you felt him tense and then relax, the intrusion turning into a new source of pleasure for him.

“Oh god.” he gasped, his voice shaky. “That…Fuck- keep doing it.”

You smiled against his skin, feeling a rush of satisfaction at his response. You continued your movements, your tongue pushing a bit deeper, the sensation of the wet muscle inside him driving him wild. His moans grew louder, his body trembling with pleasure.

Instinctively, he bent one of his legs on the bed, his knee lifting slightly as he arched his back, his body urging him to open up to you more. The motion gave you better access, and you pressed your tongue deeper, feeling the taste and warmth of him.

As he shifted, he could feel his hard cock brushing against the soft sheets, the friction adding to the pleasure he felt. His hand moved down between his legs, wrapping around his cock and beginning to stroke it in rhythm with your tongue’s movements. He let out a low groan as he matched the pace of your pace, his movements slow and precise.

His breathing became more erratic, a mix of gasps and moans escaping his lips as he focused on both of the sensations. The heat of your tongue on his ass, combined with the steady rhythm of his own hand, pushed him closer. He bit his lip, trying to contain his sounds, though the pleasure was becoming overwhelming.

“I never knew...it could f- feel…this good." he managed to say between gasps.

You kept going, your own arousal building as you pleasured him. It was a new experience for both of you, but the trust between you made it feel natural, perfect even.

He could feel his cock pulsing in his hand, each stroke aligned with the flick of your tongue against his sensitive entrance. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, and he found himself moving his hips instinctively, trying to chase the feeling of your touch, wanting more.

“Don’t stop.” he pleaded, his voice needy and weak.

You had no intention of stopping, not until he was completely undone beneath you. Your tongue moved with purpose, pushing him closer and closer to the climax you knew was building inside him. The way you could feel his every reaction made it even more intense.

His fist moved faster around his cock, stroking himself with an urgent need. He moaned louder, his voice breaking with pleasure as he felt himself teetering on the edge. With one final, deep thrust of your tongue, he arched his back, his body bowing with the intensity of his release.

He cried out as he came, his hips bucking against the bed. His hand moved in a blur, stroking himself through it as his cum painted the sheets beneath him in hot, thick spurts. You didn’t stop, your tongue continuing to tease and pleasure him, prolonging his orgasm until he was utterly spent, his body trembling with the aftershocks and his moans turning into breathless gasps as he finally began to come down from the high.

You gently eased your tongue out, leaving soft kisses on his sensitive skin as he lay there, spent and trembling from the intensity of it all.

When you finally pulled back, he looked at you over his shoulder for a second, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He managed a tired but genuine smile, his eyes shining with satisfaction and a hint of shyness.

Then, with a soft laugh, he turned back and buried his face in the pillow, hugging it to himself as if trying to hide. His body curled slightly, the vulnerability of the moment making him endearingly shy.

“Fuck- That was…” he whispered, his muffled, “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smiled, crawling up to lie beside him, your own body buzzing with satisfaction. “I’m glad you liked it.” you said softly, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on his back. “I wasn’t sure if I was doing it right.”

He turned his head slightly, peeking out from the pillow. “You were amazing.” he murmured, a small, appreciative smile tugging at his lips. “I never thought I’d be into something like that, but…wow.”

You chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words as he reached out, intertwining his fingers with yours.

A few days later, you had settled into the rhythm of your new ‘summer home’ so to speak. The place that had once felt foreign now felt familiar.

But today was different. Today was the day you would meet Alex’s parents.

As he drove you both to their house, you couldn’t help but feel a knot of nervousness in your stomach. Maybe more than just one knot. The drive was scenic, with the town blurring past, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

Alex, however, seemed completely at ease, his arm casually draped out the open window, his other hand steady on the steering wheel. The wind tousled his hair, and every now and then, he’d glance over at you and smile. Those smiles were like a pill, easing your anxiety. You had him. Remembering you had him felt a surge of reassurance.

As you approached the door, the nervousness you’d felt earlier began to ebb away, replaced by a sense of calm. You had Alex by your side, and that was all you needed. The rest would fall into place.

“So,” Alex said, breaking the comfortable silence, “Any last minute questions before we go in there?”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “Nope. I’m ready.”

He gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and a quick kiss on the top of your head before knocking on the door. The sound echoed briefly, followed by the muffled sounds of footsteps approaching. The door swung open to reveal his mother’s warm, welcoming smile.

“Alex!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a hug before turning to you. “And you must be his lady now. Lovely to finally meet you.” Alex’s father appeared behind her, offering a friendly wave.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you as you stepped into their home. Alex kept his hand on the small of your back, guiding you inside, his presence a constant source of comfort.

As the initial introductions were made and you settled into their cosy living room, you felt the last remnants of your nerves dissipate. Alex’s parents were kind and welcoming, making you feel instantly at ease.

Everything was going well until they eventually asked how the two of you met. You didn’t know what to say, or what Alex would have wanted you to say, so you let him answer instead. You could notice how he instantly tensed up, his shoulders stiffening as he debated internally what he should say.

You could feel his hesitation as he finally spoke. “We met at the university.” he said carefully, his voice steady but betraying a hint of unease. “She was my student, and...well, she still is.”

His parents exchanged a quick glance, the briefest flicker of surprise crossing their faces, but they didn’t say anything about it. Sensing how Alex didn’t want to dwell on the topic, they quickly jumped to a different subject.

You breathed a silent sigh of relief as the tension began to dissolve, grateful for the change in topic. Alex’s hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He glanced at you, a small, apologetic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You squeezed back, letting him know it was okay.

“So, what are your plans for the summer?” his mother said brightly, steering the conversation towards safer waters.

Alex took a moment, his hand tightening slightly around yours. “Well,” he began, “We’re going to be staying here, at my old place, to get away from-” He stopped himself, shaking his head as if to clear away the thought. “Anyways,” he continued, offering a small smile, “She’s from here too, so…yeah.”

His parents smiled warmly, and his father nodded. “It’s always nice to come back home.” he said. “There’s something special about this place.”

You felt Alex relax beside you, the tension easing from his shoulders. The conversation flowed more easily after that, the initial awkwardness dissipating as his parents asked about your favourite spots in town and shared stories from Alex’s childhood.

By the end of the evening, you felt a sense of accomplishment and relief. Meeting his parents had been a significant step, and despite the brief moment of tension, it had gone well, you thought. As you and Alex prepared to leave, his mother pulled you into a warm hug.

“It was so lovely to meet you, dear.” she said sincerely. “We’re glad Alex brought you here.”

“Thank you,” you replied, smiling. “I’m glad too.”

As you stepped outside, Alex noticed a subtle look from his mother, a mixture of concern and unspoken words. He turned to you and suggested, “Why don’t you drive us back now? Go ahead and get the car started, and roll the windows down so it can cool off a bit.”

“Sure.” you agreed, and he gave you a quick kiss on the forehead before you walked toward the car.

Once you were out of earshot, Alex turned back to his parents, his stomach knotting with anxiety. He could tell something was wrong. His mother’s warm demeanour shifted slightly, replaced by a more serious expression.

“Alex,” she began, her voice gentle but firm, “She’s lovely, truly. But are you sure this is right, considering you’re her professor?”

Her words hit him like a ton of bricks. All those thoughts he had worked so hard to bury came rushing back, a torrent of doubt and self-recrimination. He had convinced himself that what he felt for you was genuine, that your relationship was built on mutual respect and affection. But now, standing there with his parents’ concerned eyes on him, the uncertainty clawed at him.

Is it wrong? he thought, his mind spiralling. Are they suggesting I’m taking advantage of you?

Am I?

His father chimed in, “We just want to make sure you’ve thought this through. There are power dynamics at play, and it can get complicated.”

Alex felt his heart race, a mix of guilt, fear, and defensiveness churning inside him. “I love her.” he said, his voice tinged with desperation. “It’s not about power or control or anything like that. It’s real.”

His mother reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “We know you believe that, Alex. We just want to make sure you’re both aware of the potential repercussions.”

He nodded, feeling a wave of frustration. “I’ve thought about it. Trust me. I’ve tried to be careful, to make sure this is right for both of us but…” His voice trailed off, the whole situation pressing down on him.

He could see you in the distance, waiting by the car, oblivious to the storm of emotions raging inside him now. He wanted to protect you, to shield you from any harm or judgement. But the doubts were insidious, creeping into his mind and casting shadows over everything.

As he walked back to the car, his steps felt heavy, burdened by the weight of his parents’ words. Sliding into the passenger seat, he forced a smile, not wanting to worry you. But the questions lingered, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness.

“Ready?” you asked, glancing over at him.

“Yeah.” he replied, his voice strained. “Let’s go.”

As you drove away, he stared out the window, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He loved you, that much he was sure of. But now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he had been fooling himself all along.

Back at home, you noticed Alex's mood had shifted dramatically compared to how he was before you left. As soon as you walked through the door, he went straight to the sofa without saying a word, his usual warmth replaced by a cold, distant silence. The drive had been uncharacteristically quiet, and now he had turned the TV on to some random sports channel, his eyes fixed on the screen but not really watching it.

You sat next to him, close enough to lean into him and press soft kisses down his jawline. Slowly easing your way into his lap, you brushed his hair out of his face, hoping to draw him out of whatever was bothering him. He felt the warmth of your touch, the familiar comfort of your affection, and part of him wanted to melt into you. But those nagging thoughts were still at the forefront of his mind, casting a heavy shadow over his heart and clouding his feelings.

You felt his lack of response, but you assumed he was just being moody or tired like he sometimes was and he needed a little push. Determined to lift his spirits, you started grinding your hips onto him, giggling softly as you kissed down his neck. Your hand moved to palm him over his pants, expecting to feel him harden under your touch. But he wasn't. And usually he would have been by now.

“Come on, Mr. Turner.” you whispered playfully, trying to tease him into responding.You kissed him again, trying to coax a reaction out of him. He tried pulling his head away, a move that felt like a knife to his heart because he didn’t want to reject you, but he couldn’t reciprocate either.

The playful use of his title only made things worse for him. The reminder of it reinforced everything that made this wrong in his mind. It brought back all the doubts, the guilt, the feeling that he was crossing a line that shouldn’t be crossed. He felt a wave of nausea and self-loathing wash over him, his body stiffening in response.

“Stop.” he said, his tone harsher and more hostile than you’d ever heard it. He gently pushed you off his lap, his touch firm and reluctant. The tension in his voice and the force of his words struck you deeply.

You were stunned, feeling a mixture of hurt and confusion. He propped his legs up on the small table in front of the sofa, keeping his gaze stubbornly focused on the game playing on the TV. He didn’t even look back at you, his silence and cold demeanour making you feel almost discarded in a way.

“I’m going to bed.” you said softly, the pain evident in your voice, hoping he would at least acknowledge your departure with more than just a word.

“Goodnight.” he muttered, not even turning to face you.

As you walked back to the bedroom, you glanced at him one last time. He looked distant, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his calm exterior. You closed the door behind you, feeling a knot in your stomach, the weight of his rejection heavy on your heart. He was never like this.

Alex sat there, his eyes fixed on the TV but his mind a chaotic mess. Hearing the door close behind you, he felt a wave of anger directed at himself. He hated how he had acted towards you, how he had pushed you away for no apparent reason. You didn’t know what his parents had said to him that made him feel like this. But it wasn’t their fault either. It was him. He was the one who couldn’t get past those doubts, those fears that maybe he was doing something wrong, maybe this relationship was wrong.

“Fuck.” he muttered under his breath, his fists clenching in frustration. The guilt and self-loathing were suffocating, and he wished more than anything that he could just turn off his brain and let himself be happy with you. The realisation that he was hurting you, pushing you away when all he wanted was to hold you close, only made the turmoil inside him worse. He felt trapped by his own thoughts, unable to find a way to reconcile his love for you with the doubts that had been planted in his mind.

You sat in bed, staring at the ceiling, and you waited for him, the sheets cool and unfamiliar without his warmth beside you. You couldn’t fall asleep. You had grown used to having him there beside you basically every night. And your mind racing with questions and concerns. Why had he been so cold all of a sudden?

You watched the light from the TV in the other room flicker through the slight gap under the door, the shadows dancing and shifting with every change on the screen, just a reminder of the distance he set between you. You watched as it played out, casting shifting shadows in the room, hoping he would come to you.

He did come into the room at one point and, instinctively, you pretended to be asleep. Why? You didn’t fully understand, but that’s what you felt like doing. Maybe it was because you weren’t ready to face whatever it was that had caused this shift in him. He was only inside for a short couple of moments, though. You could hear him moving around, opening and fiddling through the drawers, rustling through his things. It was probably the one where he kept his sleep clothes. He stayed just long enough to grab whatever it was he needed, and then he left.

Though you couldn’t see it, Alex did pause by the door, his eyes taking in the sight of you lying there. As he stood there, watching you from the doorway, his chest tightening, he could tell you weren’t really asleep. He had watched you too many times to be fooled. The gentle rise and fall of your breathing, the slight tension in your body. He memorised it all. He knew you were awake. He could see the tension in the way you lay, the slight rigidity that betrayed you.

He just wanted to slip right beside you so badly, feeling undeniably drawn to you, to the point where he felt empty without you. He wanted nothing more than to hold you and feel your warmth against him. There was a gaping hole inside of him that could only be filled by you. He was utterly infatuated with everything you did. The way you walked, the way you spoke, even just the way you breathed. Every part of you drew him in, made him feel complete in a way nothing else could.

Tell me what to do with all this love…

The silent plea echoed in his mind as he watched you. He didn't know if he was asking you or himself. The confusion and self-doubt were overwhelming, but the love he felt for you was undeniable.

Finally, with a heavy heart, feeling like he wasn’t only betraying you, but himself, he turned and left the room, returning to his spot on the couch. The TV's flickering light cast shadows across his face, but all he could see was the image of you lying in bed, waiting for him. He didn't know how to make things right, how to reconcile his love for you with the doubts that plagued him. All he knew was that he needed you, more than he'd ever needed anything in his life. But would that be right of him?

The next morning, you woke up to an empty house. At some point, exhaustion had overtaken you, and you did fall asleep, but it was restless, punctuated by uneasy dreams. Now, as you moved through the quiet, unfamiliar space, you felt a growing sense of displacement. The place already felt new to you, and without him there, you felt out of place, like you didn’t belong there.

You went to the kitchen to drink some water and make coffee, trying to shake off the weirdness from the night before. The silence was odd, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves coming from the open window. The loneliness of the house pressed down on you, making you feel even more out of place. As you sipped your drink, the quiet enveloped you, a stark contrast to the usual rhythm you got into for your mornings with Alex.

Then, suddenly, you heard the sound of the lock turning and the door opening, breaking the silence. You stayed in your place, feeling a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, unsure what to expect. Your heart beat faster as you waited to see what he would do.

Alex walked in, his steps soft and hesitant. He came up behind you, his presence a familiar and comforting weight as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, a part of you relaxing. He must’ve been out for quite a while, you could smell the faint scent of sweat clinging to him. Maybe he’d been for a run. Possibly. But he didn’t say anything to you. Despite everything, his touch was still a comfort.

He leaned into you, his head resting on your shoulder. The silence between you was heavy with unspoken words. As he held you, he wished he could find the right ones to explain, to make you understand what he was feeling, make sense of the mess inside him. But it didn't even make sense to him. He felt the need to apologise, to reassure you, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. Instead, he held you tighter, his embrace a silent plea for forgiveness and understanding.

Holding you in his arms, he felt a mixture of relief and anguish. The scent of your hair, the feel and warmth of your body against his, the softness of you…it was everything he needed and more. He inhaled deeply, wishing he could have your scent permanently embedded in his nostrils, a constant reminder of the love you brought him. He wanted to tell you how much he needed you, how much he loved you, but all he could manage was to hold you closer, hoping that somehow you could feel it.

For a long moment, the two of you stayed like that. Alex's mind raced with thoughts, each one more confusing than the last. He wanted to be better for you, to be the man you deserved, but the doubts gnawed at him, making him question everything.

“I…” he started, but the words failed him. Instead, he held you even tighter, his arms a little more desperate. He would give anything to make things right, to have you understand the chaos inside his mind. Yet, all he could do was hold you.

You leaned back into him, your hand reaching up to touch his arm. You sat there, feeling the weight of his head on your shoulder, the tension in his embrace. You wanted to turn around and face him, to ask him what was wrong, but you also feared the answer. Instead, you leaned into his touch, hoping that your presence could offer some relief to whatever was going on.

The following few days were a careful dance around the unspoken obvious tension between you. At least Alex was talking to you again, which felt like a step in the right direction. However, each conversation was laced with an awkwardness, a silent agreement, that you didn’t actually really agree to, of avoiding the topic that hung between you. He only gathered the courage to speak to you when he sensed that you wouldn’t push him to explain. Deep down, he knew you should have. He shouldn’t get away with avoiding it. But the thought of talking about it felt hopeless, like it would break him.

You noticed his distance, the way he seemed to calculate every move around you. His touches were rare and hesitant, limited to a quick hug or a kiss on the forehead. There was an invisible barrier between you, a rupture that hadn’t existed before that night. Each day, you hoped for a sign that things would return to normal, but the uncertainty lingered.

Alex felt trapped in his own mind, wrestling with the guilt and confusion that plagued him. Every interaction with you was followed by the fear that he was doing something wrong, that he was hurting you in ways he couldn’t quite understand. The memory of his parents' words gnawed at him as a constant reminder of the doubts he couldn’t shake off.

Despite his internal struggle, he tried to act normal, to go through the motions of your daily routines. There were moments when he would catch himself staring at you, overwhelmed by his feelings, and he’d have to look away, afraid you’d see the change in his eyes. He wanted to reach out, to hold you close and let you know how much he loved you, but the fear of his own inadequacy held him back.

You, on the other hand, were caught between giving him space and wanting to confront the issue head-on. The silence was deafening, and the lack of physical affection felt like a gaping hole in your relationship. But you held back, hoping that he would open up to you.

Even with his best efforts to maintain some semblance of normalcy, the distance between you grew more pronounced each night. He still wasn’t sleeping with you. Literally just sleeping. He wasn’t sleeping in the same bed. Though, he pretended to. He came to bed, lying beside you, but after a while, you could always feel him leave. He tried to be quiet, but the absence of his warmth in the middle of the night was impossible to ignore.

You knew he was trying to avoid confronting whatever was bothering him. He knew that you knew, no matter how many times he would say that he just woke up earlier or couldn’t sleep. It was no use. The bed felt emptier without him, and the lies, as well-intentioned as they might have been, stung each time.

He would slip out to the living room, sinking into the sofa where he could hide for a little while longer. As he lay there, staring at the ceiling, he could feel the weight of his own insufficiency pressing down on him. He missed you, missed the comfort and the intimacy that came with sharing a bed. Everything would twist in his stomach, making it hard to breathe. He longed to return to you, to hold you and let you know that everything would be alright. But he couldn’t shake the fear that he was failing you, that he was somehow not enough.

You, lying awake in the bedroom, could hear the faint sounds of him settling into the sofa, the creak of the springs, the rustle of the blankets. The place felt too big, too quiet without him beside you. Each night, as you lay there, you tried to think of ways to reach him, to break through the wall he had built around himself. But the fear of pushing him too hard, of driving him further away, held you back. So you waited for him. Waited. And waited.

In the early hours of the morning, he would sometimes drift back into the bedroom, hoping you were asleep so he wouldn’t have to face the disappointment in your eyes. He would lie down beside you, trying to pretend that he had been there all along. But you always knew. His movements were too careful, too deliberate.

One evening, as you sat on the couch reading a book, Alex walked in and hesitated before sitting next to you. He glanced at you, his eyes filled with a mix of longing and regret. “Hey.” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence that had settled between you.

“Hey.” you replied, looking up from your book and offering him a small smile.

“I’ve been thinking…” he began, then paused, struggling to find the right words. “Look, I- I know I haven’t been myself lately. And…I’m sorry for that. I just…Can I come to bed with you tonight?”

You looked at him, seeing the vulnerability etched on his face. “I didn’t ever not want you there, Alex.” you said gently. “You don’t need to ask. It’s your house.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s my house.” he said, his voice tinged with frustration and sadness. “But it’s not about that. I want to know that you want me there…that you’re okay with me being there.”

Alex’s eyes searched yours, looking for some reassurance. He looked tired, evident in the lines on his face and the tension in his posture. His usual demeanour was replaced with a tentative, more or less boyish uncertainty. His gaze flickered between your eyes and the floor as he spoke, as if he couldn’t bear to fully face the possibility of rejection.

You could see it in his eyes, the fear that he was losing you, the contradicting desperate hope that you still wanted him despite everything. His voice wavered slightly, betraying him. “I want to be with you.” he continued.

You reached out, placing your hand on his. “I want you there, Alex. I want you with me.” you said, your voice soft but firm. “I’m okay with you being there. I need you there.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, and he squeezed your hand gently, holding onto it like a lifeline. He nodded, taking a deep breath as if trying to steady himself. “Thank you.” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I…I’ll do better. I promise.”

He looked at you, and you could see how much he was struggling to hold it all together. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he seemed to take comfort in your words, drawing some strength from your reassurance.

For a moment, the room was filled with a silence that wasn’t oppressive this time. You leaned in, resting your head against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. The connection between you, though strained, was still there.

He held you, his heart pounding with the momentary relief and still lingering anxiety. He wanted to believe that everything would be okay, that he could overcome the doubts that had been eating away at him. As he sat there with you, he felt a glimmer of hope, a fragile but precious thread that he was determined to hold onto.

Later, you both prepared for bed, like usual. You could sense Alex’s nervous energy as he emerged from the bathroom wearing a pair of old loose gym shorts and a well-worn, faded t-shirt that hung slightly off his shoulders. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he was trying to gather his courage for what came next.

When he finally joined you in bed, he hesitated at the edge, as if unsure of his place. He slipped under the covers, keeping to his side, his body stiff and uncertain. You could feel the gap between you, like a physical barrier of the distance that had crept in. It wasn't what you wanted, and you knew it wasn't what he wanted either.

“Come closer.” you whispered, your voice cutting through the quiet of the room. You reached back, turning slightly, your fingers brushing against his arm, urging him to move.

He glanced at you and, after a moment, he slowly scooted over, the mattress shifting under his weight as his body inched closer to yours. As he positioned himself behind you, you felt the warmth of his presence, his warm breath on the back of your neck, a comfort you had missed dearly. Cautiously, he started to play with your hair, his fingers tracing gentle patterns in it on the pillow. The repetitive motion was soothing, a small gesture that made you feel a bit better.

You reached back, taking his arm and moving it over your waist, pulling him closer. He responded, wrapping his arm around you, his grip timid at first but growing more secure as you shuffled back into him, pressing your body against his, moulding to him.

Alex's breath hitched slightly as you entwined your legs with his, rubbing against him, the soft hairs on his legs brushing over your skin. He tightened his hold on you, his arm resting firmly over your waist, his fingers tracing light, absentminded patterns on your stomach.

The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against your back, the warmth of his breath on your neck, the gentle pressure of his arm around your waist…it was all so achingly familiar. The tension of the past days seemed to melt away, replaced by a delicate sense of serenity. The doubts and fears that had plagued his mind still lingered, but they felt more distant, taking the backseat, overshadowed by the sheer feeling of you so close, the scent of your hair, the feel of your skin against his, the way you fit perfectly into the curve of his body.

He marvelled at how something so simple could feel so right and wrong at the same time. He tightened his grip around your waist even more, his fingers splaying out over your stomach, holding you as if you might slip away. The thought of being without this was unbearable.

In the morning, very early, you stirred from sleep. The faint light of sunrise seeping through the gaps in the curtains cast a soft glow over the room. You blinked a few times, your eyes adjusting to the dim light, and became aware of the comforting weight of Alex's arm draped over your waist.

Still half asleep, you felt a slight, rhythmic movement against you. It took a moment for your foggy mind to process what was happening, but then you realised. Alex was still in the same position you both had fallen asleep in, his body pressed closely against yours. He must have been dreaming, unaware of his actions, but you could feel him hard against you, his arousal unmistakable as he unconsciously rubbed himself against you.

The sensation stirred something within you, longing. You just wanted to lay back in his tenderness. You missed this closeness, this intimacy that had been so absent in the past few days. You could feel the shape of him, the firmness, and it awakened a need in you that you had pushed aside for too long already.

You stayed still, savouring the moment, the feel of him against you. His breath was warm against your neck, his grip around your waist tightening slightly as he moved. You could sense his need, even in his sleep, and it mirrored your own.

Slowly, you pressed back into him, encouraging the contact, your body responding to his in a way that felt so natural. You shifted slightly, adjusting your position to align with him better, feeling a wave of warmth spread through you as his movements became more insistent, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in the sensation, the familiar rhythm of his body against yours, the heat of his skin, the sound of his breathing.

His body continued to move against yours, a soft, involuntary groan escaping his lips as he gradually became more conscious. The sound was low and throaty, a mix of desire and the remnants of sleep, and it sent a shiver down your spine. His grip on your waist tightened momentarily, his fingers digging into your skin to keep you pressed up against him.

You turned your head slightly, whispering his name softly. “Alex…”

He stilled instantly, the fog of sleep lifting as he became aware of what he was doing. You felt him tense, his body going rigid behind you. For a moment, there was silence, then he let out a shaky breath, another soft groan escaping his lips as he processed the situation.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, the word telling of his obvious arousal and frustration. His breath was hot against your neck, and you could feel his heart pounding against your back.

“I'm sorry.” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and something else. Guilt, perhaps. “I didn't mean to…”

You turned in his arms, facing him. His eyes were wide, filled with a mix of embarrassment and regret. You reached up, cupping his face, wanting to press a gentle kiss to his lips but he turned away before you could.

Suddenly, he got up from the bed, wiping his tired eyes and adjusting his erection in his shorts so it wouldn’t be as obvious to you as he walked to the bathroom, even though he clearly knew you were aware of the situation going on down there. He went into the bathroom with a quick, almost desperate stride, unintentionally closing the door harshly behind him. The loud sound woke him even more and brought him back to reality.

Inside, he braced himself by the sink, his hands gripping the edge tightly. He pondered whether he should look at himself in the mirror or not but decided it would be better not to. The sight of his own reflection would only deepen his frustration and guilt. He turned on the shower, the sound of the rushing water filling the small room.

He couldn’t stand to look down and see his erection straining against the material of his shorts, thinking of how he had been rubbing up against you. No. With a sense of urgency and frustration, he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, turning the knob to the coldest setting. He stood under the stream of cold water, hoping it would just go down. But he couldn’t help himself. The cold water wasn’t enough to subside the heat of his arousal. The memory of your warmth, the feel of your body against his, the soft way you whispered his name, it was all too much.

His hand moved instinctively, wrapping around his cock, and he stood there as the water poured over his back. The cold did little to help him. Instead, the stark contrast of the water against his heated skin only seemed to heighten the sensations. His movements were quick and desperate as he began to stroke himself. He leaned against the cool tile wall, his other hand splayed out for support. His breath came in short heavy bursts as he pumped faster and faster.

It didn’t take long for him to come, the pressure building rapidly as he moved his hand. The pent-up desire and frustration made the release quick and intense. His breathing was ragged, each exhale mixing with the rhythmic splashing of the water. He couldn’t even find the strength to hide his sounds. You could hear him from the bedroom. The sharp intake of breath, the soft, involuntary moans, the groans that grew louder as he approached his climax.

His head fell back as he came, the water splashing his face and mixing with the sweat and tears he didn’t even realise were there. He could feel his cum spilling out and saw as it was beginning to mingle with the water before quickly getting washed down the drain, leaving him feeling both relieved and more frustrated than ever.

As he stood there, catching his breath, the reality of the situation settled in. The cold water continued to pour over him, a reminder of his attempts to distance himself from you, and the failure of those attempts. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his own conflicted emotions bearing down on him. He wished he could find a way to make sense of it all. But for now, all he could do was stand there, letting the water wash away the evidence of his need.

A few days after that morning, the tension between you and Alex remained unspoken. Neither of you mentioned what had happened, and while you tried to back off, the emotional distance was becoming unbearable. You found yourselves in the bedroom together again, sat in bed next to each other, the faint sound of music playing from the other room from when you ate dinner.

You thought that maybe, just maybe, tonight would be different. Maybe he would warm up to you this time. You shifted closer to Alex, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. He didn't pull away. You leaned in more, pressing soft kisses to his face and, again, he didn't seem to mind. Encouraged, you kissed his lips, an unsure, testing gesture. And to your relief, he reciprocated, kissing you back. There was a tentative quality to his movements, but the softness in his touch was unmistakable and it made your heart ache.

As he kissed you, Alex felt a whirlwind of emotions. The warmth of your lips against his, the familiarity of your touch, everything he had been missing. The longing he had kept at bay surged forward, mingling with guilt and fear. He wanted to lose himself in the moment, to let go of the doubts and everything, but they clung to him, a persistent shadow. He wanted this, wanted you, but it all gnawed at him, making him question if he deserved it. Each kiss felt like a lifeline.

Your desperation grew as you felt him respond. You climbed into his lap, kissing him harder, your tongue slipping inside his mouth. You tugged at his hair, the intensity of finally tasting him again overwhelming your senses.

Alex's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of arousal and an underlying sense of unworthiness. He felt himself getting hard beneath you, a physical reaction that clashed with his emotions. He wanted to give in, to let himself be with you completely, but something held him back. Alongside the physical desire was a persistent sense of unease. He still didn’t feel like he should allow himself to get horny around you, the lingering guilt making it hard for him to fully give in to the moment. He was torn between the intense need for you and the fear that he was doing something wrong.

You could feel his body responding, feel him growing hard underneath you. As you kept making out, grinding your hips and losing yourself in the moment, you started to notice his movements faltering. The rhythm you had built together began to stutter, and it then registered to you that something was wrong. Only then you noticed the wetness on his cheeks.

You pulled back to look at him, your eyes widening and your heart sinking as you saw the tears streaming down his face. Alex quickly covered himself with his hands, bending his head down in an attempt to hide. His body shook with silent sobs, the dam of emotions he had been holding back finally breaking.

“Alex…” you whispered, your heart breaking at the sight of him. You reached out, trying to comfort him, but he pulled away slightly, still hiding his face.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out between sobs, “I just… I-”

He shook his head, his shoulders shaking with silent cries. You felt a wave of helplessness wash over you. You wanted to fix it, to make everything right, but you didn’t know how. All you could do was hold him. You gently pried his hands away from his face, revealing the raw pain in his eyes. The vulnerability you saw there broke your heart.

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away his tears. “It’s okay.” you said softly, trying to soothe him. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

He leaned into your touch, his tears still falling, but the weight on his chest felt a little lighter knowing that you were there. He looked at you, his eyes red and filled with anguish, and for the first time, you saw the full extent of it, of everything he’d been struggling with.

He just cried, and you felt helpless, unable to find the words or actions to make it better. You held him, feeling the tremors of his sobs against your body, wishing you could fix it all.

After what felt like an eternity, he moved suddenly, pulling your top over your head with a desperate urgency. Confusion washed over you as he started to push down his own sweatpants. You tried to stop him, your hands on his, asking, “What are you doing?”

His response was wordless, pushing your hands away. He tugged down your shorts, flipping you over so you were face down on the bed. He couldn’t look at you. His weight pressed you into the mattress, a mixture of comfort and confinement. It would have been everything you wanted if it weren't for the sound of his crying still coming from behind you.

You could feel him against you, still hard, his body moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The sensation was intoxicating, but the context made it bittersweet. You could feel the desperation in his movements, the way his hips ground against you. He adjusted slightly, his hand guiding himself between your thighs.

When he entered you, both of you gasped at the intense, familiar feeling. His gasp was caught in his throat, his breath hitching as he struggled to breathe through the sobs. You felt a mix of pleasure and pain, it felt good, but it was confusing.

He began to move inside you, his pace slow and unsure. You could feel his tears on your back, the occasional sob breaking through his heavy breathing. It was as if he was trying to find his answers in the physical connection, a way to drown out everything in his mind. His movements were a strange combination of tenderness and desperation, each thrust a silent plea for comfort and understanding.

Your own emotions were a whirlwind. You wanted to be there for him, to make him feel better, but the intensity of the situation left you feeling exposed and vulnerable. You reached back, trying to touch him, but he was lost in his own world.

“Alex.” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It’s fine…you- you don’t have to.”

He didn’t respond, his focus entirely on the act, as if it was the only way he could express what he was feeling. The tears continued to flow, mingling with the sweat on his face. His sobs were quieter now, but the pain was still palpable.

Despite everything, there was a certain release in the act. You could feel him pouring everything into each movement, trying to find some relief, a way to cope with the overwhelming feelings inside him.

As the moments stretched on, you felt a shift. His movements became more steady, the desperation easing slightly as he found a rhythm. His grip on your hips tightened, his body pressing more firmly against yours. The intensity was still there, but there was also a hint of something else. Perhaps acceptance. Or a fleeting sense of peace.

Finally, he came, his body tensing as he shuddered, his breath hot against your skin. His sobs mingled with the sounds of his release as you felt him spill inside you, his grip loosening as the last of the pleasure coursed through him.

He collapsed onto you. His breath was ragged, his body trembling slightly. You lay there, both of you trying to process the moment. The room was filled with the sound of your breathing, the aftermath of his emotional storm.

After a while, he rolled off you, lying beside you on the bed. He looked at you, his eyes red and swollen. But he finally looked at you, fully.

“I’m lonely,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “Horribly lonely because of this love I feel for you, and I don’t know what to do with it. It feels like I’m right back at the beginning…But when we’re together, it’s like we melt into each other. Like we’re edged with mist…making an unsubstantial territory.”

His words hung in the air, unfiltered. You moved carefully back into his lap, straddling him again. This time, there was no rush, just a gentle persistence. You began to pull his shirt off, your hands moving with a slow, deliberate intent. He wanted to stop you at first, his hands catching yours, but you whispered, “Let me move.”

He let go, his hands falling to his sides. “Just lay back.” you said, hugging him close, pressing your naked chest to his. You felt his skin stick to yours, a mingling of warmth and sweat. “Why won’t you let me love you?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly.

“I want to,” he murmured, “I want to fill you with the sweetest love…all over.”

“All over?” you repeated, the words tasting like a promise.

He nodded, his eyes locking onto yours. “All over.”

“Then don’t try to fight it.” you told him, your tone gentle but firm.

You felt his resistance waver, his hands moving to cup your face, pulling you into a tender kiss. This time, there was no desperation, only a deep, abiding love. His lips moved slowly against yours, savouring it. You could feel the shift in him, the way he began to relax into your touch, the tension melting away.

a/n: i know his change in behaviour seems a bit harsh and out of nowhere but i hope you can see what i tried to convey. it ends a bit abruptly but he’ll get back to normal soon. and sorry if there are any mistakes or bits that don’t make sense but it’s a lot and i kept staring at it for way too long😭