I had never known a man to be so gentle yet aggressive in his approach. I thought the two to be opposites, creating an oxymoron in the enigma that was Supervisory Agent Damien Rok. Now, living through it, I understood they were two aspects of the same characteristic: passion.

His lips, thankfully still followed by the soft pricks of his stubble, were what remained gentle about him. His hands were the most aggressive aspect of him, but one I did not deny. One hand rested firmly at my hip, not daring to go anywhere else almost in fear I’d reject any advances. The other tangled in my damp hair, not pulling, but caressing the raven threads. And every so often, I’d feel the edge of his thumb brushing against my jaw or chin.

Fuck. If it felt wrong to want him, then why did all of this feel so good?

I couldn’t deny my own feelings for him. He astonished me, surprised me in ways that I hadn’t seen possible on my first day of meeting him. My feelings, of course, were based on lust, and perhaps the idea that maybe we could get a mutual understanding of this moment of minor intimacy. He was right in that maybe I did need a form of stress release, and maybe he would be that avenue. I wanted him to know I cared, despite my actions earlier today.

I tried to attack him with the same vigor he gave me, but it was utterly useless. He towered over me with his height. I could feel just the rubbing of his bicep against my side as he embraced my hip. When I let one leg press between both of his own, it felt so miniscule compared to the width of his thighs. Yet I did my best to let my kisses against his skin show fervor and desire, but not enough to reek of desperation.

“Fuck, you’re a good kisser,” he pulled away softly, out of breath.

“Did you think I’d be so utterly terrible?” I asked, out of breath myself.

His gray eyes looked down at me, dilated far beyond anything I’ve seen from him before with desire, “Well, no, I just…”

I interrupted him with another kiss, angling my head opposite of his own to add power and pressure, my tongue gently prying for entrance which he gave me with an eager smile. My hands cupped both sides of his cheek, keeping him as close as possible to establish any sense of control. It was the only dominance he allowed me, one powerful enough to elicit a quick, deep groan.

What I wouldn’t give to hear his grunts of utter pleasure.

Yet amidst all this wonderful kissing, I could feel our hearts pounding for more. There was no way in hell I could kiss him like this and not indulge further. The tingle between my legs was subtle, but growing with every kiss and touch from him. I knew all it would take was me giving him permission to cause that ache to grow and grow before I would break. And I wanted this man to break me. All that was needed was for me to give him that consent.

My hand left his cheek to reach for the one resting on my hip, gently pulling at his wrist to let go. He obliged, still kissing me before I planted the hand at my right breast. He took the invitation instantly, groping it in the entirety of his palm which caused a soft squeal of delight to leave my throat. My nipples hardened at the touch, only the thin fabric of my black shirt to really contain them against his hand. I knew once I had given him that, he would take the rest.

In that, I was right.

I felt his hands everywhere. The edge of my thighs, a palm quickly embracing and groping a side of my ass, or even just the caressing of my scarred, webbed neck. Yet once he touched there, I pulled back at the slight sensitivity.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologized, pulling back to the point his hands lost all contact with my skin. I could feel my immediate disappointment, which slightly irked me. I was just touch starved…right?

“It’s fine, I…they’re a little sensitive,” I whispered, “they haven’t been touched by…well, anyone but me.”

At least, not like this. Doctors or nurses had been different in terms of the healing and rehabilitation process. To be touched sensually, or gently, I was the only one to really give my body that pleasure. My mind went to the very few, minimal nights I would show a man such a sight and how he’d glance away with disgust. I wondered what Damien would think, or if this moment would have to go entirely clothed to save me such embarrassment.

“Do they hurt?” he asked, before seeing me shake my head. They were more an internal than external pain, except when I didn’t have any cream lathered in the mornings. I didn’t think I could, though, feel pain from his touch. “Can I be the first to change that?”

“Well, you can’t change sensitivity-”

“The first to touch you…I want to touch you there,” he interrupted me, determination and almost slight competition in his eyes. He, clearly though, had no competition around him. Yet that wouldn’t stop his desire in the slightest.

I wanted to prove him wrong. There was a slight ache inside me that kept whispering in my head that he was lying. That once he saw the real me he’d back away in disgust. And I was letting that temptation win.

I lifted my shirt over my head, discarding it across the floor and feeling the slight breeze from my room prickle my skin. My erect nipples jolted at the sensitivity, knowing that my left breast was riddled in that burning webbed scar just from the edge of what was internally my lung. I knew one good look and he’d turn away.

Yet he stood there like his knees would buckle. His muscles were tight, now clearly visible through his shirt, as if he was tensing up to not lose any control over his animalistic desires. I couldn’t help but let my lustful eyes glaze over him, the throbbing of his Adam’s apple, the heaving of his muscular stomach with heavy breaths…and the clear visual of his growing erection pressing against the fabrics of his cargo pants.

Within seconds his hot skin was pressed to mine, his lips not meeting mine but rather the edges of my jaw and neck. He did not hesitate to press his lips against the scars, his touch softer than even prior, but he found an indent of bliss, lips gently sucking at the spot. I couldn’t let an approving whine leave my lips, my fingers moving to tangle into the back of his short hair. Luckily the hairs were just long enough to establish a good, tangled grip to encourage him further.

Yet his lips moved downward, following the trail of scars, making sure to kiss on them and around them to show equalness of normal and disfigured. I could feel my own limbs grow weak, resisting the desire to fall limp in his arms. With that, I’d be well in his control. His hands revisited my breasts, groping tenderly before I felt his wet tongue envelope one nipple. I could tell from his eagerness and constant revisitation to my breasts that he certainly enjoyed them.

“Oh, Damien…” I moaned, hearing an encouraging noise leave his own throat. It seems he liked the reaction of me moaning his name.

My fingers moved to claw at his backside, digging into the fabric of his shirt in hopes to move it up enough to pry it over his own head. I wanted to feel his own hot skin now, to be equal in terms of that. He seemed to get the message, pulling away slightly to pry his own shirt over his head. My hands did not provide him the same gentleness he gave me.

I clawed at his chest, feeling the tight pecs riddled in soft, short brown hairs before moving further down. I loved the soft patch of hair between his chest, the rest of his abdomen mostly bare and smooth until the patch continued as a happy trail down to his midriff and lower. His body was searing hot as if he was on the verge of a fever, hints of sweat already forming despite no great physical exertion. I wanted to feel every single muscle he possessed, the bulging of his biceps, the tenseness of his obliques, or the hardness of his thighs. I even enjoyed the small parts of his body not riddled in muscles, a softness hidden amongst them, equal to his own hidden tender nature.

We were both playing this tug of war, bestowing pleasure to each other but wishing ultimate control. It was a game I knew from the beginning that I would lose, but I still gave forth my best effort. I wouldn’t go down without a fight. It wasn’t until I felt his fingers pry at the seams of my night shorts and infiltrate between that I knew his victory had been claimed. His rough, calloused fingers glided over my wet cunt, his longer middle index immediately flicking against my clitoris as if he knew exactly where it was.

“Oh Doctor, you’re so fucking wet,” he observed with a delightful smirk.

I don’t know why, but just him calling me Doctor in a moment like this immediately tightened the boiling hot coil of pleasure building in my core. And that was something he seemed to pick up on immediately. He didn’t need to call me that in such an intimate setting like this, but clearly he knew somehow it would turn me on.

Three of his fingers rubbed my clit, moistening the area with friction as his lips met mine softly. The onslaught of moans that left my lips, the slight shakiness in my legs, was enough to feel that smirk of his remain against my cheek. He knew he had won, and while I would never verbally admit it to him, he didn’t need such confirmation.

“Your scars aren’t the only sensitive thing about you, hmm Jacqueline?” he whispered, his voice sending absolutely delicious chills down my spine, “Don’t tell me I’m also the first one to touch you down there.”

“Oh fuck off,” I scowled slightly, my hand gripping his wrist, not as a deterrence but an encouragement for him to continue. As if the rolling of my hips against his hand wasn’t apparent enough.

“Tell me, Jack. No, enlighten me. What’s the last thing you thought of when you touched yourself recently?” he whispered, peppering my lips with kisses.

I didn’t want to entertain him with such a thought, but I knew I couldn’t resist. We all knew it was innate human nature to touch ourselves, to either feed into our own curiosity, stimulate our needs, or just give into a fantasy that was just that: imaginative. Well, my last imagination seemed to be coming true.

“You,” I admitted with a moan. The answer was immediately replied with a finger slipping inside me with eagerness, a surprised gasp leaving my lips. Just one thick index of his alone was sending myself clenching and throbbing around him. My fingers clutched at his skin, eyes wide open to watch him merely observe me. I was hoping he could see the beg in my eyes, hear the encouragement I dare not want to say aloud to him. Gods, if this is what his one finger felt like…

I did not lie to him of course. My most recent, frustrated release of pleasure in the shower a mere week ago was of thoughts to him. Thoughts of his protective nature, the deepness of his voice, the ferocity of his passion. Thoughts of how big his fucking cock must be if it was any close to his ego. And now I really wanted an answer to that.

My hand reached between his legs now, palming at his clear erection. The action alone made him tense and moan in return, delighting me. Yeah, I could stand to get used to those noises he made. The action alone made his finger thrust gently back and forth, the sensation tickling the insides of my wet walls. My lips countered against his in hopes of muting my moans, biting at his bottom lip or jawline.

“And you?” I asked with a shivered whisper, groping his erection with more intensity, “Please tell me you stroked yourself to the thought of me.”

His godly, deep, unearthly moan against my cheek along with a second finger penetrating me was enough to close my eyes shut in disbelief, wanting to collapse in his arms. All rational thoughts seemed to leave my inquisitive brain. I wanted nothing more than for him to ravage me.

“Many times…yes,” he panted heavily, his thrusts increasing with speed. Just over the sound of jazz music, carrying our moans together into the symphony, were the sounds of my wetness pooling between his fingers and my undergarments.

“Oh fuck,” I whimpered with bliss, feeling the coil tightening further in my core, “Bed. Now.”

He did not hesitate or ignore my command. His fingers slipped out of me to pick me up, carrying me with the same ease (less aggression) than hours prior. The weight from the wall was gone, soon replaced by the comfort of my mattress and warm blankets. Yet he remained standing, fingers prying at my shorts and undergarments to yank down to my ankles, and soon disappearing on the floor. My eyes met his own, which soon moved to the view he had on my moistened sex.

Immediately, he was on his knees with his lips pressed to my midriff. I never once asked, nor demanded with the sight of my eyes to please me with his mouth. He did so out of his own volition and desire. His lips and stubble sensitively brushed against my entrance before his sloppy, soft, kisses enraptured my clit. My fingers moved to immediately cling to his hair, legs writhing against him.

He didn’t seem to take too kindly to the writhing though, one arm wrapping around each of my thighs to pry apart, exposing my cunt to him for his desire. No amount of power to close my thighs would be enough to overcome his strong arms. And that only made me clench against his lips.

His kisses on and around my clit were feather like, gentle, soft, just brushing against the sensitive skin. It was his tongue that was the most toe-curling, the wet warmth gently flicking at my insides. I couldn’t prevent my moans this time. Each touch, kiss, or suck from his lips was enough to let out of a whine or delectable moan, begging for more.

“Damien, if you keep this up…” I warned breathlessly, my eyes closed as I only focused on his touch, and the wet noises to accompany them.

He moaned at my warning, only sending a jolt of vibration before pulling away softly to catch his own breath, “You’ll what?”

“I’ll fucking cum,” I shamefully admitted, feeling heat rise to my cheeks at the response.

A soft chuckle left his lips, causing his facial hair to brush perfectly against my inner thighs.

“That’s what I fucking want, Jacqueline,” he demanded, returning to his work with greater fervor.

Fuck. Fuck him. Just his kisses alone I believed were maybe enough to make me climax. It didn’t help that his words, the weight of his body, the feeling of his muscles, or his fucking fingers warming me up were enough to bring me here. But I wanted more. I wanted a hint of control that maybe I knew I didn’t have. I was in no room to make a request, squirming beneath him, feeling his smirk against my growing orgasm.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Stroke yourself. Touch yourself for me,” I whined, knowing he could very easily deny my wishes. Yet, if he was as touch starved as me, as desperate and needy as I was…then maybe he couldn’t resist such a plea either.

His right arm wrapped around my thigh left, my body heaving and panting in anticipation, as he was doing what I wanted. I could hear the unbuckling of his belt, a sound so delightful I almost thought that alone could spur me over the edge. But then I heard his hand stroking himself, skin touching skin, a moistness between his grip from just touching my own wetness alone.

And that was enough to send me: thoughts of his own pleasure building up from pleasing me.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck…Damien,” I writhed against him, feeling the coil inside me explode, wetness spurting out of me against his lips. My cunt clenched at nothing, almost begging it had released clamped around his cock instead, pulsating and shaking beneath his lips.

He moaned in absolute ecstasy to my orgasm, his tongue and lips slowing down to place soft kisses around my now overly sensitized sex. I could hardly think. All I wanted was him. All I could picture with my eyes closed was him, his heaving chest with his hot, panting breaths, or the redness in his face. When I opened my eyes, I could see the gleam in his eyes looking up at me, making sure I was alright. I could see the moistness of his lips, accompanied with an outrageously proud smirk.

Shit, I was absolutely smitten.

His kisses moved up my stomach, encouraging me to calm down with deep breaths. My hands moved to his skin, caressing his sides with more gentleness than I provided before, tender touches of thankfulness for providing me such pleasure. Finally his lips met mine, allowing me to taste myself against his tongue. That, accompanied by the sensation of his cock brushing against my thigh was enough to begin that tingle to grow again, wanting more and more of him.

My fingers caressed his jaw, kissing him tenderly before pulling away to catch each other’s breath. He had risen from his knees, standing between my splayed legs naked as he stepped away from his pants and undergarments. His semi-erect shaft rested comfortably on top of my stomach, the sight of it alone eliciting a surprised gasp. Fuck. He was big. And he wasn’t even fully fucking hard.

“Shrimp of a dick…right?” he teased, mimicking the words I had (mistakenly) spoken as a jest to his ego. It wouldn’t be the first time I had been proven wrong when attached to him.

I couldn’t help but laugh at his words, a hearty, exhausted chuckle leaving my lips but I hoped he could see the lust in my eyes at the sight, “Still not as large as your ego, Rok.”

He looked like he wanted to reply something snarky, teasingly of course. But his eyes merely watched my body still relax from what he gave me. His hands gently caressed my thighs, as if ignoring his own throbbing cock against me to merely admire me. That’s what he was doing, fucking admiring me.

“You’re fucking hot, I hope you know that,” he admitted.

“I know,” I lied. No. I didn’t really know that, nor think that. Not…not really until now. Not until I was able to see the truth, or rather his truth of me, from his eyes. I thought my scars and insecurities about them were ugly enough to overcome any sense of security in my body, let alone any confidence. Damien would beg to differ, though. In fact, I was beginning to think my body was a thing he would not hesitate to beg for.

My hand reached down to grasp the underside of his cock, gently tugging at it despite it hardly fitting in my palm. I could sense his own fortitude collapse, his muscles half contracting and half collapsing at my gentle touch. The hand at his underside stroked near the stem, hardening him to full erectness before I moved my other hand to his tip. My fingers gingerly brushed his sensitive head, feeling his own moisture begin to build there.

“Don’t tell me I’m the only one to touch your cock, Damien…” I teased, watching his confident demeanor crumble at my soft touch.

“Okay, I walked into that one,” he laughed playfully before groaning softly. He was very sensitive around the tip, as equally as I was with my clit. And it brought such delight and a sense of power to watch him heave with pleasure in his eyes. It also just felt fucking wonderful to feel him harden and grow further at my touch.

I believed I had the same effect on him that he did on me, that if I kept touching him like this it wouldn’t be long before he reached his peak of pleasure as well. But, I didn’t have the patience at the moment, and I wanted to give him what he truly desired and that was more than just a hand wrapped around him.

Our eyes met as I moved his shaft to align with my entrance, feeling his tip brush against my swollen clit playfully. His fingers still stroked and caressed the inside of my thighs, almost as if debating to indulge in me this way. He looked afraid of ruining me…as if it would ruin him as well.

“Do not tease me, Damien,” I whispered with a soft plea, one hand moving to his abdomen to brace myself.

“That is not my intention, Doctor,” he whispered in return, leaning further to place a passionate kiss against my lips. I could feel the pressure building, his hand overtaking mine to guide his cock towards the best angle to penetrate.

He pushed in slowly, angling his hips forward into mine. The pressure felt wonderful, my walls immediately grasping his warmth despite the constant stretching. He was big but it felt so fucking good.

“S-shit,” I whispered, wincing slightly which caused him to pause.

“Are you alright-”

“Yes,” I nodded, closing my eyes before feeling his soft kisses of comfort.

“My darling Jack, that’s just the tip,” he teased with a whisper against my lips, pushing himself deeper. My legs moved to wrap around his hips, locking to keep him from slipping out. Though with how my body instantly reacted, clenching tightly against him, I didn’t think it was possible.

It wasn’t long until his gentle, little thrusts were enough to loosen me, finally feeling his hips rut against my own. And from there I could feel his tip pressing deep inside me, gently prodding at a sensitive area with each soft thrust.

His hand pressed against my stomach gently, caressing with a softness to encourage me, “That’s it. You’re doing so good, Jack.”

Fuck, he was talking me through it. It wasn’t necessary by any means but it was fucking welcome regardless. Anything to hear that strained pleasure in his dry and deep voice.

“Oh yes,” I moaned lightly, light feathery gasps leaving my open lips with each movement of his.

His body added more weight on top of me, applying more pressure as he ground his hips. His abdomen brushed against my clit, stimulating with a tickle to the deep, growing heat inside me. His grunts increased with each thrust, accompanied by a few groans or gasps of surprise of his own. My fingers clung to his backside, nails digging into his shoulder blades not caring if it caused a sting of pain. I knew he was used to it. And I wanted him to know just how good he made me feel.

“Fuck Jack…” he groaned against my ear, his one hand moving up to tangle in my short black hair for any sense of grip and control, “you feel so good around my fucking cock.”

“Yeah? You like that Damien?” I encouraged with a smirk, biting my lip tightly before wanting more. I wanted more of him, not just his gentle nature. “You like how I fucking clench around you?”

“Yes Jacqueline, oh fuck yes,” he groaned, moving up slightly to kiss me deeply, his tongue dominating mine as equally as his thrusts.

It wasn’t until he angled his hips with an upward thrust that I felt it. His tip pistoned perfectly against my spot of pleasure, each gentle press sending waves of heat and tingles through to my core. I could feel my orgasm beginning to pressurize, surprising myself at how eager my body was for him.

“Harder,” I begged him, sensing his surprise at my words.

He thrusted with more exertion, my moans increasing at the heighted, borderline numbing pleasure. My legs shook around him, trembling but not enough as I’d like. I still wanted more. I knew he was holding back still and I didn’t want him to hold back. He never should have to hold back himself or hesitate around me. I wanted everything from him: the good, the bad, the ugly, and the fucking erotic monster that he was.

“Harder,” I demanded again. He didn’t hesitate like he had the first time, slamming his entire body into mine with a harsh strike. I could feel the outside of my thighs sting with each thrust, hear the slap of our bodies collide over the sound of a blaring saxophone, edging us closer and closer. Words tried to escape my lips, words of encouragement and full of yes’s. Yet each hard assault inside me was rattling my brain, rendering any intelligent thought useless.

For once in my life, I liked not having to think about anything.

His fingers in my hair tangled harder, pinning me down between him and the bed as he exerted all his pent up passion, rage, and energy into me. His own groans increased in quantity and pitch of desperation. Just opening my slit heavy eyes I could see how red his face was, the strain of his neck muscles doing everything to hold himself back. I knew exactly what he wanted, and I would give it to him.

“Cum inside me,” I whispered with a whine against his ear, my lips and teeth digging into the side of his neck, whimpering with each thrust.

“Jack, I..I c-cant-” he stumbled over his own words. I could feel a bit of warmth spread inside me, as if my words had almost given him permission. Yet, he resisted, just a bit of pre-cum leaking out of his excitement.

“You can, and I want you to. I’m sterile if that’s what you’re so fucking worried about,” I clarified for him, “now fucking do it.”

He was in no position himself to deny what I wanted. Again, I knew he wanted it too. And the moment my clarification resonated in his addled, lust filled brain, I felt his release. His groans were loud, shocked grunts against my skin as his warmth filled me. In feeling and hearing his pleasure, that was enough for the coil inside my own core to spring again, sending a powerful wave of an orgasm as I still felt his tip pressed harshly against that spot.

He rolled his hips to ease both of our orgasms, our lips meeting once more as a last, gentle touch despite our hands and thrusts being the complete opposites. God, I fucking loved the feeling of him on top of me, pounding into me without remorse or hesitation. It felt so fucking good. He was so fucking good.

The moment had ended on a high, Damien slowly lowering himself on to me to rest and catch his breath. My fingers tangled in his hair gently, caressing them before sliding my other hand up his spine. From there I could feel the scratches I had left upon him, almost feeling a bit bad at how much I fucking clawed into him. His fingers gently combed through my short hair, the other hand running up and down my thigh still wrapped softly near his ass.

With the pleasure fading, the clouds caused by such ecstasy evaporating, I could finally put together the thoughts that were in my mind before I had kissed him. I had to tell him, after all, that had been his true reason for arriving here tonight. It should have just been a conversation of apology, of trying to figure out this passionate dynamic between us. Maybe sex had been the best way to broach the subject and figure out where this constant tug of war with hate and admiration stemmed from.

Passion, that’s all it was.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered the apology sincerely, feeling the guilt overwhelm any fading pleasure.

“For what?” he asked, confused as he moved from the crevice of my neck to glance down at me. His fingers still stroked my hair, his breathing calming down as he looked into my eyes. For someone who just fucked my brains out, he was being a tad sweet.

“For all of it. Most of all, hitting you. Nobody should put your hands on you, least of all me. I…it wasn’t right. And I’m sorry,” I answered.

“To be fair, you told me to let you go and I didn’t…” he hummed.

“Still not a good excuse to hit you.”

“I’m sorry for not telling you about you being in danger. I…” he paused, taking a moment to think, “I knew how busy you were, how you spent more time in the lab than anywhere else. I knew how excited you were to return to the field. I didn’t want to tell you that they blamed you for Wueh, knowing you already blame yourself for it. I didn’t want that guilt to weigh you down, most of all, weigh your work down.”

I nodded softly, knowing he was being genuine and that he had done all of that to protect me.

“I’m fucking stupid for-”

“You’re not stupid, Jacqueline,” he laughed.

“Yes well, for a scientist, it wasn’t so smart of me to leave a secured military base alone in a place full of anathemas and people who have me on their fucking hit list…” I muttered, “All because of hating myself and Alala and…”

“Do not hate yourself, Jack. Don’t. You’re a fucking remarkable human being,” Damien insisted, looking down at me with very serious gray eyes.

“So are you…” I whispered, caressing his cheek, “What I said to Alala, please know I did not mean it. I said it out of spite, believing that if given any sort of choice you’d always pick her over me. And most of all, I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“I can’t figure you out,” I admitted, “and I’ve spent so long trying to question everything about you and your work, your past and your future. It’s not for me to figure you out, to solve a mystery in a language I can’t understand. All I can do is enjoy it, enjoy the sound of you, the feel of you.”

“And how do I feel?” he teased with a growing smirk.

I rolled my eyes at that, placing one long kiss on his lips before slowly squirming beneath him, “Do try and keep the slight beard. It suits you.”

“It’s against Milithreat regulations,” he hummed, but his smile remained.

“I’m sure it’s also against the rules to fuck the person you’re supposed to be in charge of protecting,” I teased back, kissing his cheek one last time, “Let me go freshen up.”

I knew what he was thinking now. We just fucked. It was just fucking, that’s all it was, with a few kissing in between. But what did that mean now? Was he even allowed to stay the night? I didn’t have the words to tell him to stay, but I hoped he’d be quick to pick up on my actions. I found his shirt laden with the rest of our clothes on the floor, covering myself with its warmth and the smell of him.

If he wanted to go sleep in his own bed, he’d have to pry his own shirt off me.

I took a moment in my bathroom alone to take a deep breath, closing the door behind me before getting a damp cloth to clean between my legs. Fuck, he made a fucking mess inside me. I’m sure the bedsheets looked worse, which meant I’d be doing laundry tomorrow. If any of the janitorial staff saw that, I knew rumors could spread.

I just fucked Damien Rok. Or rather, I let him fuck me. And it was a great fuck, mind blowing even though I wouldn’t admit that to him. Everything about that went against my morals, or at least the ones I had set up upon arriving on Colony Negative. That was the thing about this place, I knew now I could not leave this colony and be the same person I had arrived. Damien himself had already changed like myself.

This place was about change. I just had to figure out why the anathemas changed the way they did and why they did that. If I could figure that out, I could go home. Damien could go home too. And maybe, just maybe, we could grab a cup of coffee together at that cafe between us.

When I exited the room, I moved to turn off the volume of the slowing jazz music. I was grateful I had left it on, knowing anyone roaming the halls or even my own neighbor could’ve heard our moaning mess. Next time, I just might let him pick the music.

Next time. Fuck, I couldn’t believe I was even thinking that.

Damien was quiet when I looked over, and I realized he was already asleep. I wasn’t gone for that long, only a few minutes. I felt a bit proud I could put him to sleep so easily, but I also remembered he had a fairly exhausting day: dealing with Alala, dealing with me, having to drag my fucking ass back and whatever aftermath came over. He deserved all the rest he could get. I figured I could finish my apology to him tomorrow before he left.

The lights darkened and I crawled in beside him, feeling his body heat radiate even from a slight distance. I could feel my own eagerness to sleep, an odd aura of peace and safety stemming from the man beside me. That’s what I felt most when around him: safe. Even if his words had sometimes proved otherwise, his actions always kept that feeling steady.

Safe. The first time in a long time I had felt so protected.

Yeah, it was just trauma bonding. It was just me being touch starved after years of loneliness, and him just getting his stress and lust out of his system. That’s all this was. That’s all this could be.

But would it really pain me to think it could be something greater?