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criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years

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Mates (Lesley Fic)

Summary: You and your roommate Lesley didn’t really think through the timing of this hookup.

A/N: It’s about the yearning. It’s about the idiots in love. Second & Third Person POV by request 💕 Couple: Lesley Smith-Juniment/GN!AFAB!Reader (no mention of breasts, pronouns) Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Oral sex (AFAB receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, mutual pining Word Count: 3.3k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————— You hadn’t intended to end up in bed with your roommate, but once you were there, you realized that there hadn’t been anywhere else you’d rather be. There had just been something about him that night, with his cheeks tinged like blush roses and his laughter laced with the heavy scent of sweet liquor. His honey irises and sweet scent drew you towards him.

When you’d moved closer to him on the couch, Lesley had not protested the proximity. If anything, he’d moved closer, too. The two of you had spoken about how silly it was that it could still be so cold this time of year, despite the thermostat inside reading a healthy 25°C. You’d taken full advantage of whatever excuse or justification could be thought up, and when you’d run out, you relied only on knowing glances and roaming hands.

You couldn’t remember which of the two of you closed the gap first, but it didn’t seem to matter. Once your lips touched, you’d given up at keeping any sort of score. You were too busy running tongue over pink peach lips, summer sweet and sticky from the spirits. It only seemed sensical, that the liquor would bring you two together again, and again, and again.

When Lesley had broken the kiss, you’d almost protested. But then his hand had found yours, and his eyes had lowered to watch the way your fingertips danced with his before falling into place between the gaps. He’d inspected the way you two fit together like one of his many creations. He’d looked at you like he’d seen the pieces of himself coming together.

You couldn’t remember which of you had closed the gap the first time, but the second time had definitely been Lesley. It had been less prepared, hasty and naive in his excitement. His free hand that’d been too shy to touch you before clumsily clambered to your face, where he’d pulled you even closer.

As you’d struggled to find air between him and his enthusiasm, you’d realized that maybe it had just been your time to go, smothered with the love of Lesley Smith-Juniment. Thankfully, though, he’d disagreed. He’d selfishly wanted to take just a little bit more before he’d let you go again. You’d had no objections.

He’d led you down the hallway of the house you two shared, and you’d sworn you’d never seen it look like that before. You’d looked at the walls, adorned with hand-painted art of every beautiful thing that had ever reminded you of him, and you wondered if he’d also infused you into every part of his world. You’d realized that at some point between the first time you met and he awkwardly shook your hand and that moment, you’d fallen in love with the human embodiment of everything pure.

And, somehow, he’d chosen you, too.

So there you were, caught between silk sheets and a man whose softness the threads would envy. With every eager kiss he granted, you would reward with a smile or a chuckle that was quickly mirrored. The silence was notable, but not unwelcome. Truthfully, you were convinced that if you’d spoken, you might spook the poor doe-eyed boy away entirely.

But then his fingers found their way under the hem of your shirt and you weren’t able to stop yourself from calling his name.

“Lesley…”

He paused, pulling back to look at you for what felt like the first time. You couldn’t be certain what he saw, but you could be sure that it was something beautiful. Because his lips barely parted to take in a sharp, quick breath that was immediately expended in kissing you again.

Deprived of oxygen and any lingering patience, the two of you got to work stripping the few physical layers that remained between you. Each inch of exposed skin felt like rediscovering yourself after a lifetime of waiting. He said nothing, but every so often he might murmur something that sounded like your name against your skin.

Curiously, once you were finally naked, Lesley didn’t touch you in a lewd manner. Everything about him remained so blissfully innocent, wrapping around your naked form and holding you tightly for a few moments that felt too brief. He drew his nose up your throat and over your chin, taking his time and utilizing every possible tactile signal to cherish you.

You hadn’t intended to fall into bed with Lesley, but he’d clearly been thinking of it as often as you had. There was no other way to explain the tenderness and care with which he touched you. The way drunken, whiskey and honey colored eyes watched your every reaction when his hands finally fell between your legs.

It felt a little bit like Heaven and a little bit sinful when his finger breached your opening, with precious precision but never any pain. He had no reservation or fear, just an unending desire to watch your mouth drop open to make way for lustful sounds of praise.

“You are so wonderful,” he whispered while he watched, and you wondered if he’d even meant to say it at all. But then he continued as his fingers found the place they’d sought, “I want to have you forever.”

And you wanted to tell him that he could have you whenever, forever, however he’d pleased. But you were too scared by the suddenness of the confession and the scent of sweet ethanol to allow yourself to take his words seriously.

You closed your eyes instead. You felt his warmth dissipate as he pulled away, and you thought to yourself that maybe you’d made a mistake in ignoring his honesty.

“Lesley, I—“

The words are cut off by the visceral reaction to his breath on your stomach. But he still paused, waiting for you to look down at him and tell him whether he should stop his descent or the affair altogether. His eyes are glassy with want and with an almost solemn wistfulness. Almost like he’d been looking at you like a dream that he’d only just remembered he would eventually have to wake up from.

You thought of the words you’d meant to say, the brief moment of doubt that had been immediately followed by an even more regrettable ardor to return the confession and join in his catharsis.

Deciding that a healthy compromise had never hurt anyone, you made up your mind.

“I want you, too,” you said, in place of the more honest but more terrifying, ‘I love you.’

But that strange, soft boy smiled at you from between your legs like he’d heard it all the same. His fingers remained gentle and persistent, gently cradling you both inside and out and pressing soothing kisses just above your pubic bone.

He took his time loving and lavishing you, drawing his tongue through the wetness he’d elicited so far and seemingly smiling at the taste of you. There wasn’t a single complaint nor concern as he explored the area well enough to be able to rebuild the scene in his mind whenever he wanted.

Eventually, he took time to create new would-be-memories by pressing his tongue against the small bundle of nerves above where his fingers continued their slow, methodical ministrations. It was odd, how something so calculated could feel so intimate. But it had. It felt like he’d taken to you like one of his equations and he’d returned all of the right answers.

Lesley broke you down in the best ways, and when your legs started to tense and cover his ears, he only pulled them closer with his free hand. Short, blunt fingernails dug into your skin to demonstrate that you were not the only one who sought to be consumed by the other.

You glanced down at him, lost in the throes of passion despite having barely been touched so far, and you wondered how it ever came to be that you were lucky enough to land — completely by accident — into Lesley’s bed. Into his hands and possibly his heart.

That was the last thing you could think before the cosmos collapsed, the tension in your stomach breaking free in the form of his name forced between broken moans. The most bittersweet release, the otherworldly euphoria that meant that you were one step closer to his leaving your body again.

When he pulled away, though, he still stubbornly refused to go far. His lips, still wet with you, left a trail of sloppy kisses up your stomach and over your sternum until he found a comfortable home against your collarbones just like he had before. His arms were more tired, but still just as insistent when they wrapped around you.

“I want you,” he mumbled against your neck, and you felt it in every part of you.

“Still?” you try to tease, but he is not joking when he responds, “Always.”

Your breath caught in your throat, lodged with your heart that had leapt from its place in its pursuit of his. You didn’t speak, choosing not to trust your traitorous mouth not to spill its secrets in case the dam broke. Instead, you took a page from Lesley’s book and let your body say what you were too afraid to.

There was no struggle between your bodies. Your hand wrapped around delicate, silken skin and was rewarded with a low, rolling groan. The kind of wanton sound that somehow seemed both out of place and perfectly at home on his tongue that still tasted like you.

But when he kissed you, you realized that he had made you sweeter somehow.

Although you felt a little bit guilty for not spoiling him as he had done for you, you were also sure he hadn’t minded when you guided him to your entrance. Like always, Lesley’s passion quickly evolved, and he’d escalated your motions exponentially every time he was given the opportunity.

For every inch you lifted your hips, he was ready to meet you halfway until he had nothing left to give and you had nowhere else for him to go. But that stubborn boy persisted in his pursuit to imprint on every inch of you. When his tongue wasn’t tangled with yours, it was marking any skin that you could hide beneath clothing.

You tried not to overthink his mercy; you reminded yourself that he was kind and not conniving in his love. For a moment, you considered asking him to draw his signature with bruises across your neck for the whole world to see that you belonged to him, but then he began to move, and you were too devoted to memorizing that feeling to muddle it with any worries.

His hands caressed your face, feeling the heat at the apple of your cheeks with roaming thumbs. He held you in a way unlike anything you’d ever felt before, and you realized that you never wanted it to end. You realized too late, and your hands couldn’t catch his before your skin was exposed to the air that honestly did feel cold now that you knew the alternative.

“Hold me,” you begged, only to realize that your words had been premature.

His hands had found yours again among the strewn sheets. He clutched them for dear life, pressing the backs of your hands against the bed with everything he had in him. It wasn’t until then that Lesley met your eyes again, with an undercurrent of anxiety but an overwhelming reverence.

His hips moved slowly, drawing out each motion and moan. You took note of the veins in his neck calling out to your lips, and you tried to calm his pounding pulse with gentle brushes and butterfly kisses. The touches tickled, but his chuckle carried a heavy, somber feeling with it.

“Honestly…” he muttered once his little nudges guided you back to him. He lost the words for a second longer, watching you like he was already experiencing the nostalgia from how this would all end.

“Honestly, I’m afraid that I’ll never be able to let you go again,” he whispered.

So don’t, you challenge him with nothing but your stare. Again, it seems like he hears the words through the broken whimpers.

He felt the love flowing out from your fingertips that pressed into his hands. You felt guilty for holding him too tightly, for damaging those hands that did nothing but give. But you also knew he would understand how necessary it was.

The force behind each movement grew to overwhelming levels. Your legs that had been wrapped around his waist slipped and fell to the side, and he took advantage of the freedom it granted him. He held your legs just as delicately as he had everything else, but that time it was in strong contrast to the brutal crashing of hips.

The sounds and heady scent of sex filled the room, and you selfishly thought to yourself that some part of his room should belong to you. It was only fair, you reasoned, that he could give a pillow in exchange for your heart.

Lesley cut the thought off with another clumsy kiss, with teeth clacking together and his breath wetting your upper lip as he struggled to remain composed. He’d wanted to look you in the eyes again first.

Once he did though, he couldn’t stop what happened next. With your hands still in his, he bottomed out inside of you and held himself there. You watched the lights and euphoria dance along fluttering eyelids and dewy, pink cheeks, and were surprised to find yourself falling all the same.

The two of you fell like petals on the wind, unhurried and without anywhere else to go. Lesley managed to stay above you just long enough to watch the last of the display. He felt your body relax, but your hands held on, before he finally let himself let go.

He let go of your hands, but both of you used your newfound freedom to cling to each other in a different way. Lesley shifted so that he could look at the way you smiled when his fingers brushed over your still parted lips.

And you realized that maybe — just maybe — you had always intended to end up in his bed. And perhaps Lesley had intended for you to, too.

——————————————————

Lesley’s mothers were known for their intuition. Granted, their son had never really been very good at hiding secrets. His emotions had always been embroidered on his sleeve with rainbow-colored threads.

When the two of them had arrived at his house, to meet his new roommate for the first time and to celebrate a recent growth of his business, they had been expecting a few things. Awkward handshakes and insecure wayward glances; perhaps there might even be some stern warnings about the tender-hearted nature of their baby boy.

But it was clear upon arrival that any fear or concern about him was premature, and possibly entirely unnecessary.

Lesley’s mother watched him carefully as he cut the fruit in front of him. Each piece fell casually, with odd ends and disproportionate sizes. The inconsistency didn’t seem to bother him at all. He appeared downright serene, smiling without seemingly being aware that he’d taken on a new neutral expression.

She thought back, trying to find the last time she’d seen him look so… calm.

“You seem less stressed than my son. The one that I’m used to,” she commented.

The comment ripped him from his reverie, but he said nothing. Although, she noticed that he cleared his throat in a failed attempt to hide the way his cheeks turned pink and his breath came faster.

“Is work going well?” she asked.

Lesley quickly nodded, and his mother noted that he spoke faster and with a higher pitch when he had a secret to hide.

“Yeah, I just have more time now. I guess they weren’t lying when they said the more successful you are, the more boring your job becomes.”

Not much had changed since he was a boy. That was alright with her, though. She brushed his hair from his face to take in the sight of her son and all of his shifty glances. He was still smiling, albeit more nervously now.

“I don’t think any normal person would describe that exchange as ‘boring,’ but… I always knew you were at least a little bit exceptional,” she teased. He took the praise graciously, but was immediately surprised to hear the sounds of riotous laughter from the next room over.

The two of them leaned back to see their respective person, lost in the ruckus of their own voices. Lesley’s mother looked away approximately five seconds faster than her son, just so she could catch the way his eyes lit up at the sight of his roommate getting along with the more stubborn of his mothers.

“You seem to have found yourself someone nice to spend the time with.”

“Definitely,” Lesley whispered with an unmistakable fondness. A reverence that could only be described as the most powerful form of love.

But then he noticed the way his mother was looking at him, and pink cheeks turned hot until they matched the erratic slices of apples and peppers on the plate in front of him.

“Definitely nice… to... have a roommate, I mean.”

“Hmmm,” his mother mused with a knowing, scrunched up smile.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she assured her son, “I’m glad you’re happy.”

She paused when she noticed she’d lost his attention once more. She followed his eyes through the open door to see the others again.

His mother laughed as she took the knife from the hopeless boy to her left.

“And I am glad that your roommate is nice.”

“Yeah,” he said as the happiness spilled from his mouth in the form of a giggle, “Me too.”

Lesley’s mothers were known for their intuition. That was exactly why when they left later that afternoon, they were both exhausted and excited by the events of the day. It had been a good visit. They were proud of their son and the company that he kept.

But still, they found themselves caught in a different set of feelings only halfway related to the young couple they left behind. The two that were awkwardly standing just a little too close on the porch as they waved his mothers off.

“Seeing those two together brings back a lot of memories, huh?” his mother said, suddenly reminded of the days where the two of them had done the very same.

Both of the women recalled with perfect clarity the way that they both would hold hands under dinner tables and sneak kisses in poorly lit hallways.

“Yeah, it does,” her wife replied.

“I remember the days when that’s what we were,” she giggled.

Then, together, they both whispered in unison the word they looked back on fondly.

“Roommates.”

“They’ll laugh about it, too. One day,” her wife chuckled before interlocking fingers over the center console. They watched the couple disappear in the rear view, and one of them swore that she’d seen her son take his roommate’s hand too.

She almost said something about it, but like old married couples tend to do, her wife interrupted the thought with another astute observation.

“Our son… he’s not the brightest, is he?” she asked.

“No, poor thing is like a golden retriever,” Lesley’s mother answered a little too quickly. The two of them snickered at their shared secret; their knowing of the reason behind their son’s smitten smile.

They were both known for their intuition.

So they knew they were right when they agreed, “He’ll get there, though.”

“Yeah. They’ll get there.”

——————————————————

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criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years

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Damsel (Kyle Orfman/Fem!Reader)

Summary: You find a group to stick with in the zombie apocalypse, and Kyle is the only one with a bed big enough for two people.

A/N: I cannot believe I finished this in time, lmfao. This is for my Only One Bed Challenge, and it is dedicated to my wonderful friend who would hate if I tagged her here. I hope you all enjoy! Very bad gif is mine, btw <3 Couple: Kyle Orfman/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Gun mention, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (pulling out), mild D/s dynamics, brat kink, Daddy kink, mild degradation/praise, nickname “Princess” Word Count: 6k

MASTERLIST

——————————————————

I always thought that the end of the world would be followed by constant disasters of varying levels. The experts had warned us about the downfall of humanity, of the melting of the ice caps and the inevitable storm that never ended. But when the dead came to life, I guess all those theories went out the proverbial window.

Most days the world looked pretty much the same, save for the occasional walking, talking corpse. But that day was not one of the good ones. The rolling thunder was somehow less off-putting than the crackling spit of electricity ripping through the atmosphere.

But there I was, wandering on the side of an abandoned highway littered with empty, looted cars and flanked by forests. I’d meant to return home — or whatever version of it I’d found — sooner than this. Realistically, I figured the last group had left without me after the 48 hour mark. I wouldn’t have blamed them.

When you run into people in the apocalypse, there is always a certain set of risks. The cliques had formed early, and the bonds were, for the most part, pretty unbreakable until someone required a bullet in their skull. I was one of the unfortunate few who never really found a group willing to take me in.

So, I was alone. Terrified, but willing to take the risk of running into a nasty group of lowlifes if it meant shelter from the kind of wildfires Smokey used to warn me about all the damn time.

As I stumbled upon the small local inn, sporting lit windows and a functioning A/C unit, I considered the possibility that it was all an elaborate trap, a mirage of an oasis in the apocalypse. Of all the things that could have been waiting for me on the other side of the door, Judy Orfman was the last thing I ever would’ve considered.

The woman ushered me through before a single droplet of rain had the possibility of slipping through. I wish I could say she was wordless through it all, but she wasn’t. In fact, she said so much in such a short span of time that I honestly couldn’t track half of it.

There were, however, a few recurring themes. One in particular.

“Oh! You’ve got to meet my so— I mean Kyle,” she’d gushed, like the correction would be enough not to rouse my suspicions. “He has a room with extra space for you, dear. And I know it’s probably unsettling to stay with a man, but my son—Kyle— is very respectful.”

Of course, it wouldn’t have been the first nor the last time a mother was wrong about her son. But she’d made it sound like it was the only real chance I’d had of sleeping in a bed that night. And realistically, I was fully prepared to kill a man if it meant a peaceful night’s rest. Wouldn’t be the first time, although I suppose it would be the first fully live one.

Moments later, there I was, standing outside again, but this time in front of a different door. Right after I knocked, I glanced behind me to find Judy still peeking around the corner, although she tried to hide at the last second.

I was thankful for it, though, because it meant when the man named Kyle opened the door, he caught me with a rare, genuine smile. His face, however, looked nothing short of baffled. That would be the second thing that I noticed about him, though. The first thing I’d thought when I’d seen him was twofold: (1) The Orfman family had powerful, beautiful genes, and (2) this man did not need his mother picking up women for him. Not even in the apocalypse.

Nothing he wore was noteworthy. If anything, it looked like he was trying to blend in the same way a soldier in a lineup might. He wasn’t quite good enough at it for me to mistake him for military, but I could tell from lean muscle and a firm hand on his holster that his not being a soldier hadn’t been for a lack of trying.

My slack-jawed staring wasn’t doing either of us any good, though, and it was clear from his equally shocked expression that he wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence.

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you. I just got here and I was directed to your room by…” I considered referencing her by name, but then decided the more awkward, and thus the funnier way, would be to say, “a very kind woman who I can only assume is… your mom?”

He didn’t laugh at my joke. From the crew cut on his head to the desert eagle in his holster, I really should’ve gotten the feeling he wasn’t a laughing sort of guy.

Instead, he asked, “Why did she send you here?”

Fighting the urge to ask him if we could talk about it inside, rather than continuing to leave me to the storm still raging on behind me, I tried to summon enough courage to laugh.

“Um… I think she was— I mean, I was… sort of hoping I could maybe… stay with you? Just for the night?”

Kyle didn’t answer. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw his grip around the gun loosen. I clung to that hope, the gleam of weak lantern lighting off silver, the sliver of light through the storm.

“It’s kind of scary to sleep alone out here, and I got separated from my group. Who I’m also pretty sure left already, so…”

“So you want to stay… here?” he continued without hesitation, “In my room?”

I once again snuck a look into his room, surprised to see that he let me. He took a step back for a brief second, but then returned to his prominent placement in the threshold.

He was still a few inches away from me, but I could feel the rush of cool, dry air from within the room. Still, that wasn’t the oddest part about him. No, that was the distinct lack of smell. There was no overcompensation of cologne, no body odour, no… nothing. Not until I inched ever so slightly closer and caught the faintest hint of laundry detergent.

I’d also caught his eye, in a number of ways. Frantic, wayward glances seemed impossible for him to control. Every time he would come back to my face, he’d get distracted immediately. Either by the outline of my body in the soaking wet clothes, or by the realization that he should really be looking anywhere else.

“Sorry, is this too weird?” I said to break through the nonexistent chatter.

Kyle started to shake his head yes, then changed direction to try to say no. Neither was particularly convincing.

“It’s fine if it is. I thought it might be weird, but your mom—“

He cut me off before I got too far, stepping aside and beckoning me in with his hand now fully off the weapon.

“No, it’s fine. It’s fine. Come in.”

It wasn’t until I fully entered the room that it had occurred to me why he had questioned my desire to stay in his room. Against the wall on the side of the room not visible from the door was a bed.

Just the one.

I cared less than he might’ve thought I would. After all, it wouldn’t be my first time sleeping on the floor. Probably wouldn’t be the last, either. The only unfortunate part about it was that my sleeping bag — along with basically everything else — was sitting in the lobby and soaking wet.

While I’d been cautiously scoping out the room now that I’d been offered refuge, Kyle had done very little. He was still standing just a couple feet from the door, and staring at me.

I opened my mouth to say something, but he showed no signs of a reaction. For whatever reason, it was the apathy that made my stomach flip. I turned away from him before he could spot any sign of just how flustered I was. That brought my attention to the carefully organized collection of toiletries laid out on his bathroom counter.

“Oh, wow, do you guys have running water here?”

Kyle joined me much faster than I’d been anticipating. I hadn’t even heard him approach me before he was right next to me, barely avoiding touching me.

“Yeah, it even has a water heater,” he answered before stepping past me to flip on the switch. I hadn’t really needed a visual demonstration to believe him, but was nonetheless happy to see the water run clear.

My mind was racing with potential. I was glancing back and forth from the door to the bathroom, wondering how stupid it would be to go get my things in the hope of sneaking a shower.

The desire must’ve been obvious from my actions, because Kyle immediately asked, “Do you… want to shower? You can if yo—“

I didn’t need his permission before I yelled back, “Yes! Oh my god, yes!”

If I’d taken a moment to pause, I would’ve seen the way my enthusiasm made him smile. Although, I would’ve simply written off his fondness as relief that he wouldn’t have to smell the delightful mix of rainwater and body odor.

“I promise I’ll hurry!” I shouted from inside the bathroom, although I had no intention of doing such a thing.

That time, as the door shut behind me, I did manage to catch a glimpse of a charming little smirk sprouted over slightly pink cheeks. I couldn’t be sure if he actually had been as cute as I imagined, or if it’d just been too long since I found a man who hadn’t made me hate him in the first five minutes.

But one thing was clear about this man based purely on his bathroom setup: he took care of himself. Each thing had its place, and each place was carefully cleaned in a way that most people would have given up on the day the apocalypse began.

As the freshwater washed over me, I found myself wondering about the man on the other side of the tile walls. I wondered if he was the kind of person that was calmed by things like the scent of bleach; whether he took the utmost satisfaction in watching the water turn brown and then back to clear as it slipped through the drain.

I had to giggle when I opened his shampoo to find that it smelled exactly like one would expect a guy like him to smell like. Although I much preferred flowers or fruit to the masculine scent of wood and whatever the fuck ‘musk’ was, I was still grateful to find that the product hadn’t completely obliterated my hair.

Instead of dwelling on the fact that I now smelled of a log cabin filled with whiskey and idiots, I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy this small moment of bliss. I was unbothered by the realization that I would be marking this memory with his smell — knowing full well that olfactory memory was one of the strongest — in fact, I reveled in it.

My bliss was enhanced when I heard the gentlest knock on the door, which was answered to reveal only his hand offering a t-shirt and gym shorts. When I finally emerged from the bathroom, what I’m sure was ages later, I found him with his back turned and his hands busy unraveling a sleeping bag over a cot in the corner of the room.

“Oh, thanks! I had my own, though. You didn’t have to lend me one.”

Kyle was, in the very least, kind enough not to point out that my sleeping bag, like the rest of my belongings, was currently drenched and sitting on a pile of towels in the lobby of the inn many doors down. He was also gentlemanly enough to make sure his eyes scanning over my figure in his clothes was quick as could be. However, that was where his mercy began and ended.

“This is mine,” he stated as definitively as humanly possible. “You’re staying in the bed.”

What is this, a bad romcom? I thought to myself. When my dropped jaw apparently hadn’t said enough for him to understand, I somehow managed to make it say words.

“What? No! I can’t take your bed from you.”

Kyle remained stoic, if not a little annoyed at my refusal. In a way, I think he thought I’d only been refusing the offer because I wanted him to insist. But in all actuality, I hadn’t wanted to take his bed because it was big enough for the both of us.

If I hadn’t made it abundantly clear by this point, it had been a long time since I’d found anyone even remotely close to a viable suitor. And Kyle almost made it, too, if not for the regrettable sigh followed by the worst string of words in the English language.

“You’re a damsel in distress. You take the bed. It’s the rules.”

“Excuse me?” I balked, “According to who?”

But without skipping a beat, he gave me an answer that was so infuriatingly charming that I felt inclined to forgive him.

“My mother,” he said, “My mother decided when she sent you to me and you listened.”

I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth because I was worried that if I had let myself speak, I would’ve said something regrettable. I barely knew this man, and what I did know of him was that he was both charming enough for me to not want to strangle him but infuriating enough that I honestly might if he’d wanted me to.

After I took a few deep breaths, I settled.

“You know what? Fine. Sleep on the floor for all I care.”

I’d meant for it to be insulting, or at least mildly condescending. So why was it, then, that when I’d heard him chuckle in response, my heart skipped a beat? Why had I immediately felt my own lips follow, stretching across my cheeks like a smile in return would be any closer to kissing him the way I’d wanted to?

My questions would go unanswered. The man whose mother had funneled me towards him with high praise and overt intentions remained dedicated to the gentlemanly persona he’d adorned from the first time our eyes met.

While I laid there, alone in his bed with a perfect view of his back as he lay a few feet away from me, I tried to think of literally anything else. I wanted to hit myself every time that my mind took notice of another one of his movements. But like a nightmare, the harder I tried to suppress it, the more pervasive the thoughts became.

It was so hard not to notice. The sleeveless shirt revealed enough skin of his back that I could see the prominent arch of his shoulder blades. The broad, albeit bony protrusions of his shoulders that rose and fell with each slow, rhythmic breath. Around his neck was a simple chain bearing dog tags, providing a hint of a gleam each time that the lightning struck.

I decided then that his beauty had not been a figment of a tired, touch starved brain. That strange, soldier-like man had complexities that I wanted to unravel like a kitten with a roll of string. Although I might end up tangled in a foolhardy excitement, I would be willing to deal with the aftermath if it meant that my limbs would be locked with his. Even just for one night.

“Kyle?”

“Is everything alright?” he asked, turning to remind me just how sculpted his jaw really was.

“Are you cold?” I asked.

“I’m alright, why?”

Finding no other reasonable alternative, I did what anyone would do in that situation. I lied.

“I’m just really chilly and I was wondering if you were, too.”

It was a reasonable solution, although foolish with the little bit of knowledge I had about the man. Because before I could tell him to stop, he was already halfway across the room and pulling an extra blanket from the closet.

“I don’t know how you’re cold,” he muttered, “but here.”

His hands were careful, coming as close as possible without touching me as he draped the extra blanket over my body. Although he couldn’t seem to meet my eyes, they were stuck on him. They bounced along every feature and freckle on his face, trying to memorize the way the little bit of moonlight caught along his skin.

“Goodnight,” he whispered upon the beginning of his retreat.

He never made it far. Almost like one of the walkers, my hand came to life without my knowledge. It shot out to him, grabbing hold of his wrist and halting all movement. I swore we didn’t even breathe.

“Okay, fine, I lied. I’m not cold,” I admitted, unsure of where to go from here. The truth — that I wanted him to come, to touch me and hold me and make me feel something beautiful for once — seemed either too intimate or too crude. I couldn’t decide.

I hardly knew him. I had nothing but loneliness to blame for the way my heart ached for him, my body starved for touch.

My attention was briefly caught by the reflection of lightning off pistols and bullet casings, all in their rightful place. And I came up with an idea.

“I’m… scared,” I whined, frightened to hear how genuine the words sounded. “Will you come lay in bed with me?”

Kyle’s demeanor shifted, a strange defensiveness forming while his eyes wandered over my almost trembling figure. Tucked away underneath the blankets on his bed, he must’ve seen some truth to my words.

Oddly, when he did answer, he phrased it fairly differently.

“You really think I can protect you?”

My toes curled involuntarily, my stomach tensing at the latter half of the phrase. The sentiment behind the words, the thought of someone taking on the role of protector for no reason other than finding me worth having.

I nodded.

Again, he began to shift, although this time literally. His hands were in his pockets, but I could see him readjust himself. He’d tried to hide it behind the sound of clearing his throat, but that did nothing to dissuade me from shamelessly ogling him while he inched closer.

“Fine,” he said simply, “But only because I trust myself not to take advantage of this… delicate situation.”

I would’ve laughed if I hadn’t felt paralyzed. My heart was beating so fucking hard that I thought he might be able to hear it. I didn’t even turn to follow him when he walked to the other side of the Queen sized bed. I just waited; listened and felt for his presence once the sheets started moving.

It felt like neither of us were breathing. My eyes had fluttered shut, waiting for the warmth of a body pressed against mine that seemed like it was never coming. But I wanted to be held by him so badly, that the second I felt his leg brush up against me, I squirmed backwards until I felt his chest against my back.

His breath hitched, a sharp inhale into empty lungs. He wouldn’t breathe again until I reached back and grabbed hold of his hand — not his wrist this time — and draped it over my hip. Kyle stayed dead still in every way but his mouth.

“Your hands are cold,” he pointed out matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, I wasn’t totally lying about being cold.”

Again, silence fell between us. That odd man still hadn’t moved after several moments had passed, other than a brief moment where his hips shifted away from me in a movement that seemed purposeful. I allowed him to retreat. The sting of his rejection would be healed by the softness of his embrace, and the knowledge that there were still men out there who would hold you when you were scared without trying to force anything else out of you.

But I wanted him to try. I wanted him to desire me and my touch the same way I clearly craved his. Although I tried to stave off the thoughts, they wouldn’t stop returning. The wondering and yearning for a reality wherein the gentle man couldn’t resist touching me harder.

I daydreamed at night, unable or unwilling to fall asleep when I was surrounded by him. I wanted to remember each sensation, each twitch of his muscles. The longer I envisioned him lost with me in a passionate exchange of souls and saliva, the harder it became to separate my fantasies from reality. It seemed impossible and downright cruel to sit still when he was there, with blunt nails digging into my hip and his legs winding ever so cautiously with mine until…

“Fuck.”

Kyle pushed away from my body quickly. He held me at a full arm’s length, but I still felt the force with which he was breathing as his hands remained on me despite the distance.

“Sorry, I—” He continued to struggle for breath, his hands unsure of just how dedicated he should’ve been to letting me go. Eventually, his palm flattened against my hip, softening his arm until he began inching back. “I’m afraid your movements, while probably completely innocent, are having a very unintended effect and…”

But while he was talking, I was doing absolutely nothing subtle. I had grabbed hold of his arm, tugging him back to me at a much greater speed while he dutifully followed my lead. Through that obvious excitement, though, he still managed to choke out a few more words he clearly meant, but didn’t want to say.

“I-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Kiss me,” I answered.

Before I’d even finished the words, he was already agreeing, “Okay.”

Immediately, I’d forgotten even the vaguest concept of ‘cold.’ The second Kyle’s hand cupped my cheek, I was completely aflame. Engulfed in the white-hot flames of ungodly lust. Without moving our positions, he craned my neck back until our lips met.

From there, I fell apart beneath him. Each staccato breath was devoured by him, each whimper consumed and returned through a wide range of noises of his own. Every now and then, his moans would crack and reveal a song that reminded me of lightning, only to be followed by the thunder of his groans.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he mumbled between the kisses.

His hips, which had been still before, were now rocking against mine. Our bodies rolled harshly against one another, seeking friction that we both knew wouldn’t be enough. He must’ve felt my frustration, too, because he quickly switched our positions.

I couldn’t even keep track of my limbs, and I didn’t want to. I wanted him to do what he would with them. I fell like a ragdoll when he flipped me onto my back, looking up at the man now straddling me with half-lidded eyes and my mouth hung open while I struggled to breathe.

Based on my limited experience with him, I got the feeling that he was smarter than people had led him to believe. Because I saw the way that he analyzed every aspect of my expression, carefully noting how badly I was begging him to touch me. Kyle stopped, every few moments, ever so surely, to be absolutely certain that I was still enjoying myself as much as he’d wanted me to.

But something about the way I looked then must have been different than before. There was no more fear in his eyes, no more apprehension or concern that he was ‘taking advantage.’ And he was right to think as much.

The second his fingers reached under the waistband of the shorts he’d provided me, I threw my head back with relief. My hips lifted for him, and he wasted no time in revealing the bare skin underneath.

Once I’d wiggled out of them, Kyle lowered himself above me again. Except, unlike before, he placed only one soft kiss against my lips. I was charmed by the tenderness with which he’d done it, but realized that it had only been shown to me to contrast the delicious torture of rough fingers slipping between my folds.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he whispered with saccharine sarcasm.

I wanted to say yes, but just as I went to answer, he began a fast, ruthless pace. It would’ve been impossible for it to hurt because the anticipation was practically pooling at my thighs. The slick sounds of sex were filling the air like the echoing storm outside, and all I could do to answer him was nod.

“You’ve been begging me to fuck you ever since you showed up at my door,” he whispered before he spat, “Brat.”

My mind was spinning, my body unable to do much of anything beyond responding to the rhythmic pumping between my legs.

“Please…” was the only pathetic utterance I could make, and just like everything else, he gladly accepted the offering with no hesitation.

“You want me to take care of you, huh?” he whispered playfully. Then, with that trademark sarcasm that made my teeth rot, he cooed, “I’ll take care of you, Princess.”

But he immediately betrayed the promise, pulling his fingers out of me and laughing at the way I whined.

“Calm down,” he ordered. When my squirming continued, his voice dropped in register and the enunciation of each word became firmer. “I said be patient, you spoiled brat.”

I tried — god as my witness — I tried. But the waiting was torture. I swore, he was taking longer than any human could possibly need. When he had removed all of his own clothing, he was even slow to help me finally remove the last piece of my own. He pulled his shirt off of me and then stared with hungry, greedy eyes at the sight of my fully naked figure.

He took a few more moments to just touch me, to run calloused fingers over softer skin and see how he could make me shake. When he had finally had his fill of my humiliation and desire, he straddled me once more. With one hand, he guided the head of his dick and pressed it just hard enough against my heat for me to feel the muscles start to stretch.

Then, he stopped. My body immediately protested, my back arching and hips rocking as I tried to take more of him in. Kyle didn’t stop the way one might expect, either. He did not force my hips down, nor did he provide an order to stop.

Instead, he forced his fingers past my lips. Although I accepted them, displaying my tongue for him despite the pressure he exerted, he still wasn’t satisfied enough by the submission.

“Beg me,” he commanded.

“Please,” I answered without hesitation. The word was muffled, but I didn’t care. I said it again and again until I choked on it. Until tears welled in my eyes and my whole body was vibrating with need for any movement at all.

“Please what?” he teased.

“Please fuck me,” I warbled, pleased to find that his fingers lifted enough for the words to become understandable again. That way he could hear me perfectly when I rasped, “I want you to fuck me, please.”

What he heard pleased him, clearly. Because Kyle had started to move again, slowly inching deeper into me with each sound of desperation I awarded him. That cold, analytical facade was fading faster with every passing second, revealing a man filled with emotions and fantasies that were equally debaucherous to my own.

“Not so bratty anymore, huh?” he said through a smile. But that smile, too, would fade. When there was almost nowhere left to go, Kyle pressed harder against my hips until he elicited an honest to god scream from my throat. Until he was as far as he could go, with his cock pressed against the very end of me.

“You fit me perfectly,” he groaned. “Fucking made for me.”

I couldn’t argue with him. He had been right. Any protest or agreement would have been lost, anyway, because before I could speak, he withdrew and bottomed out again in an instant. The force with which he fucked me was reflected in my body sliding against the sheet and his dog tags tickling my chest.

I couldn’t breathe, but I still begged him, “I need you, please.”

I didn’t even know what I was asking for. I couldn’t put any words to the thoughts and feelings raging inside of me. All I knew was that I wanted to feel him, the pure, unadulterated honesty behind the front. Sure, I wanted to see the polite, charming boy his mother had spoken so highly of. But more than that, I wanted to see him for who he really was.

A man who wanted something to protect. To feel coveted and strong. To have something of his own, for his consumption alone.

Catching his face in my hands, I tried to kiss him, but wasn’t able to close my lips long enough. Instead, the pleas poured out of me like a prayer until they changed just enough to matter.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” I cried.

The risk was calculated, but it was worth it. As soon as the word left my mouth, any semblance of gentility vanished with it. His rough thrusts became even harder, an almost unbearable pressure of his hips meeting mine with bruising force.

Unable to hold back anything anymore, my mouth dropped open in a moan perfectly timed with the thunder. But while I was more than happy to sing him praise, Kyle was quick to silence it with a firm hand over my mouth. I could feel the way he struggled to keep his touch light, but my head sunk into the pillow and the headboard had already started to shake the walls.

“Be quiet unless you want everyone to know,” he growled before giving a dark little chuckle. “You’d probably like that, though.”

Barely able to keep my eyes open through the pleasure alone, I struggled to memorize the way the drips of sweat clung to his jaw. I just watched and basked in the glory of his ruthless passion. I couldn’t keep my legs up, so I simply let him hold them open while he continued to slam into me with his full force. He finally removed his hand from my mouth, but I was too busy trying to catch my breath to provide him anything but the softest whimpers.

“You know exactly what you’re doing. Using this tight little fucking body—Fuck—“ he cried, his voice breaking from the force with which the word came, “—letting me fuck you so I’ll protect you.”

But Kyle was nothing if not persistent to his clear objective; to thoroughly break me down to my parts so that he could tuck them neatly away. To consume me like an indulgence of the highest sin. There was no feeling as sweet, no taste as delicious as his lips against mine until we both tasted like me. The passion ended purely out of necessity, by nature of his laughter as he came to a conclusion that made my hair stand on end.

“And let me tell you, Princess,” he whispered, “I think it’s gonna work.”

“Please, daddy,” I whined back without pause. Then, just as his hips began to falter, and his jaw dropped open with heavy breath, I repeated, “Take care of me, daddy.”

“Fuck!” was the final eloquent cry, the last sound of pleasure before the silence as he swiftly pulled out of me. His hand continued to work over his aching cock, aided by the wetness left behind, until he finally finished in hot spurts across my stomach. Each drop that hit me still felt hot against my skin, like the gentle embrace of showers and Summer rain.

But after a couple of seconds, the chill of the air conditioning — and the lack of his body heat — kicked in.

“Shit,” he muttered when he’d finally caught his breath. I shared the sentiment.

But when he followed it up with, “Are you alright?” all I could think to respond was, “Gimme towel.”

To his credit, he tried not to mock my slurred speech. I couldn’t blame him when some slipped through, though. I decided it was nice to hear him laugh.

When he returned, he didn’t hand the warm, wet washcloth to me. Instead, he cleaned the mess he’d made with the utmost care. Similar to how he had draped the blankets over me, Kyle made sure that I felt welcomed, comforted, and cared for until the very end.

He climbed back into bed with me without thinking, and when he settled down next to me, I think he realized that he hadn’t stopped to seek permission first. Any worries were sated immediately, because I wrapped my arms and legs around him before he had a chance to protest, either. And neither of us did.

“All dirty again right after my first real shower in like a month,” I said with a heavy sigh to fill the silence.

Kyle snorted in response, displaying his own slurred speech proudly as he muttered, “You can take as many as you want.”

“Oh really?”

Turning to look me in my eyes despite the darkness, he whispered words that sounded like a promise and made my heart stop.

“I told you I’d take care of you.”

I couldn’t be sure if he had mistaken my blissful joy as abject horror, if he simply hadn’t meant for it to sound so intimate, or because he had been shocked to hear his own feelings bleeding through, but Kyle cleared his throat. He rid himself of the tenderness and turned back to stare at the ceiling.

“For the record, as excited as I am by the prospect of fucking you again, I would have protected you regardless.”

When the lightning struck again, I saw an unmistakable pink tint covering his cheeks. And I realized that, sexual persona aside, his mother had absolutely been right about him. No matter how badly he wanted the world to see him otherwise, he was at his core a good boy with a big heart.

“… Hey, Kyle?”

“What?”

After a moment of silence, and another calculation of risk, I broke into a fit of giggles.

“Your mom got you laid.”

“I’ve changed my mind, suddenly, actually,” he squeaked, shooting up in bed in a feigned attempt at leaving. But the combined sound of our laughter stopped him, and he was already laying back down when he sighed sarcastically, “That sleeping bag is looking real appealing.”

Kyle turned to me again, meeting my eyes as the pouring rain began to settle into a melodious pitter-pattering in tune with our hearts.

“No, stay,” I begged for the umpteenth time that night. “I want you to stay.”

“Sure thing, Princess,” he whispered back. “Whatever you want.”

And, like a true gentleman, Kyle stayed true to his promise.

—————————————————

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