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Casually Devoted. Part Nine, Part One. "Past The Point Of Practicallity." Erik Campbell X FEM! Reader.

So! Over four months to get this beast ready, and I hope you all find it to be worth the wait cuz my lord, the work both @29bohemianmoons and I have put in on it is truly insane! This was a massive labour of love and we are getting so close to the end of this fic! So keep in mind this is the first part of two for chapter nine, and part two is WELL underway, I can tell you that. It won't be four months till the next update, that I promise. Big hugs and kisses, any feedback, comments, asks, reblogs, whatever are all massively appreciated, thank you in advance for reading! Okay lets not wait any longer, you've all had to wait more than long enough! Let's get into it and also, I apologize for the hurt I am about to cause in advance.

Masterlist found here.

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 23K. Erik Campbell X FEM! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Context Is So Needed At This Point. Read The Earlier Chapters To Get It. Bobby Calling Erik On His Shit. Angst. Internal Pain. Complicated Emotions. Realizations Of Feelings. Head. Blow Job. Throat Fucking. Biting. Cunnilingus. Multiple Orgasms. Vaginal Sex. Cream Pie. Softness. Sweetness. Praise. Fluff. Toy Use. Anal Fingering. Anal Sex. Squirting. Overstimulation. Dirty Talk. Degradation. Crying Reader. Both You And Erik Going THROUGH It. Brunch. Thanksgiving. CNC. Safe Wording. Fighting. Emotional Outbursts. Extreme Anger. Emotional Fallout. Push At Last Comes To Shove.

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“Oh my fucking God, you love her!”

It takes a few seconds for those seven words to sink in for Erik. His panicky and confused response is automatic when they finally do. “What?”

Bobby responds quickly, a smile on his face as he asserts, “This friend of yours, you are like obviously in love with her.”

“Am I?” He questions mostly to himself.

Bobby responds quickly, “Yes? You have such strong opinions on music. I’ve watched you leave the room when a commercial has a song you hate! That's a huge deal for you considering how fucking lazy you can be–”

Erik cuts in to say, “Rude,” even if it's true. Erik himself admits to his own laziness more than anyone.

Unbothered, Bobby continues. “-You really mean to tell me that you listen to a playlist, full of songs you don’t like, just because this girl made it for you?”

He is so right. That isn’t something Erik would usually ever do, but despite his elitist sensibilities, he can’t turn his nose up at your greatest achievement in trolling the hell outta him.

Bobby goes even further when he says, “Erik, it’s so clear. I mean, you just went on for like ten fucking minutes about this girl, and I’ve never seen you talk about anyone like that ever-”

Bobby’s voice fades out for Erik as he considers his previous words. He has been painfully aware of the feelings that had morphed and grown through a majority of the last few months. He would say he loved you the same way he loved lots of his friends but being in love with you? That's just too far completely beyond the pale. He couldn't let himself think something dangerous like that! But now that Bobby has ripped it out from under the rug and onto the table, he can’t stop himself from thinking about it.

Even as he tries to stammer out his defence, a weak, “No, of course I care about her, but I’m…I’m not-” He knows he's full of shit.

His mind quickens as the memories flood in, the feeling akin to being pushed down a steep hill with roller skates on. He pours over all your interactions both old and new. Deep conversations and physical intimacy shuffle in slow motion, while moments of lightness and levity whiz by in a flash. One thing remains constant throughout his experience reliving these snapshots in time; how much each and every one of them made him feel happy; how you make him feel happy. It all starts to make so much sense; how desperate he is to be near you and spend time with you–do anything he can for you, really. Erik reaches the bottom of the hill, forward momentum stopped when he crashes face-first into the realization, uttering it out loud in quiet disbelief, “Oh my fucking God I’m in love with her.”

Erik puts his head in his hands with a groan. His brother laughs, “What? Did you seriously not know?”

The reply comes out muffled by Erik’s hands, “Noooo, seriously I didn’t-” his palms scrub at his face and then pull away, as he continues, “-I knew I cared and shit, but I honestly didn’t realize I was in love with her until you said it and was forced to think about it like that-”

Bobby asks a question that breaks Erik’s train of thought, “How’d you meet anyway?”

Erik has very little shame but telling his brother you met because of his sexting snafu is a tad much, he knows if he tells him the real version Bobby will freak out again, flail around and gag too, probably. He edits the original tale quickly, “I texted the wrong number, was trying to get someone else, but I got her instead. We started talking and the conversation never really stopped…We mostly just texted and called for the first few months and then ran into each other in a bar by accident and started hanging out in person after that.”

“Huh.” Bobby mused, “What are the chances?”

Erik exhales out, “Right? I think about that sometimes, how crazy it is that we were so close to never meeting.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Bobby is examining his brother for a moment before he states seriously, “You really like her.”

The admission leaves Erik much easier this time, “I really fucking do.” He is struck with an odd urge, he asks, “Do you…want to see a picture of…her?”

Bobby perks up at that, “Of course! Show me.”

Erik takes his phone out and pulls up his gallery he scrolls to a safe for work picture of you that you sent a while back; the picture is a mirror selfie you sent, dressed for work, prim and professional in your business attire. Bobby makes this quiet sound in the back of his throat before saying, “Woah, pretty dressed up.”

“Yeah she does this data entry kinda thing at this office in town.” Erik tells him.

“She seems really put together.” Bobby praises, before joking, “And she willingly spends her time hanging out with you?”

Erik scoffs, rolling his eyes as he fires back, “She is very put together, and trust me, I know I majorly lucked out.”

While they are having this conversation, and he is baring his fucking soul, clearing his conscious at the same time only makes sense. It seems like as good a time as any, so he says next, “By the way. The night I took the console? I didn’t go to Malcolm’s. I took it to her place and slept over there.”

Bobby’s jaw drops before saying far too loudly, “Are you kidding me?! I thought Malcolm was so mad at me!”

“I fucking told you he isn’t mad at you, he was never mad at you! That part wasn’t a lie!” Erik insists and then Bobby huffs, leaning back in his chair. “You Judas, unbelievable.”

Then Erik guiltily admits, “Also sorry for making you swear on Paco before, that was a little far.” Bobby seems mildly pleased at him apologizing. After a beat he asks, “Why did you feel the need to lie?”

Erik looks over at him, and he sighs, “Because…” A deep breath and he starts to explain, “The same reason I never bring her over here because you all would give me shit.”

A quirk of Bobby’s brow makes Erik elaborate, “If I brought her by here you would all make a big deal and joke around about us dating even though we are just friends. Same thing about me saying I was going to see a close female friend all the fucking time, no way would any of you let it be or take me at my word.”

“Okay to be fair you aren’t just friends, and you are right, we all would but so what?” Bobby asks and Erik says, “I didn’t wanna deal with it, or any of the unnecessary pressure it could put on what her and I have, it’s good. Really good. I don’t want to do anything to risk it.”

“Well isn’t it different now?” Bobby asks and Erik turns it back around, “Isn’t what different?”

Bobby lobs the question with an air of "Isn't it obvious?" when he asks,“You know you are in love with her, so you’re totally gonna ask her out, right?”

Ha! If fucking only. If only it were so simple. He wishes he could go over to your place, ask you out, and you’d say yes, and then you’d be together and that would be that. Erik wouldn’t feel all these complex feelings, this longing or this ache in his chest when he lingers too much on the state of your arrangement as it stands now. He wants more, he wants you, but he can’t. He knows that, he has been over reason that he can’t too many times, so he needs to let it go.

“No, I am not.” Erik says simply. Bobby questions, “Why not?”

“Because she doesn’t want more than what we are right now.” He informs and Bobby says, “Oh.”

Another beat, and then Bobby asks, “Are you sure?”

A flare of anger and frustration kicks up inside of Erik, not at Bobby but over the whole sorry and inescapable situation.

He responds impassionedly, “Yes. I’m super sure. Do you know why? Because the other week, when I went to that concert, I brought her. We had a fucking great time, and then I invited her back here for the first time when no one was home. We had this conversation on the trampoline outside, and she told me for the fiftieth fucking time that she doesn’t want a serious relationship. And not just with me, Bobby, with anyone.”

“Oh fuck. I had no idea…I’m so sorry.” Bobby imparts genuinely. Erik takes a deep breath and then lets it out, his anger dissipating significantly. He apologizes, “No I’m sorry, of course you had no clue, you didn’t even know anything about this till today. I didn’t mean to bite your head off like that man.”

“It’s fine, you’ve said worse over less serious shit.” Bobby assures lightly, Erik half smiles knowing he is right. Then Bobby asks, “She really said that though?”

Erik responds, “Yeah. She said she isn’t cut out for serious relationships, she is good with where she is at, best suited for the arrangement we’ve got right now.”

Bobby asks carefully, “And how do you feel about that?”

Erik replies with a sarcastic edge, “Well, my sudden apparent therapist Bobby, it doesn’t really matter how I feel.”

“Of course it does!” Bobby insists fervently.

So Erik admits, “...I don't like it. I wish we could be more, but that isn’t what she wants, and it isn’t like she didn’t make that abundantly clear from the jump. I like her and being around her so much that I'm willing to deal. I just…I can't stop seeing her.” He's had his eyes on the table, until now, he looks to see Bobby's own gaze fixed on him.

He looks sad but not pitying at least when he says, “If that's what you really want.”

It isn’t what he really wants. He wants so much more than what you currently are. The options afforded to him are: being your fuck buddy or not being anything to you, and he’d much rather suffer through being the former than the torture that would surely come from being the ladder. He just has to cope with the negatives and try to focus on the positives.

Erik sighs and says, “Okay, so thank you for listening to me, it honestly feels good to be able to talk to someone about this all with after so long-” Bobby smiles and nods, “No problem, happy to help. I am just glad to know what the fuck is going on with you.”

The look on Erik’s face turns serious as he continues, “-but I need you to promise to not tell anyone else about this, especially not anyone who lives in this house.”

Bobby immediately starts to panic, “What?! No! You can’t make me promise that! I won’t be able to keep it, and I hate not keeping promises you know that, this is so unfair-”

“What? Why won’t you be able to keep it?” Erik asks baffled and Bobby babbles out, “It’s Julia! She has this like scary superpower I swear to God she can SMELL it on me when I know a secret. She will take one look at me and know that I know something, and then won’t stop till she drags it outta me man-”

Erik smacks his hand on the table, and it stops Bobby’s ramble in its tracks. He fills the now empty space when he says, “Bobby please! Just don’t say anything! It isn’t that hard. Julia already suspects something is up, just keep your mouth shut on it. She isn’t that scary, okay? Nothing bad will happen by not giving into her wild gossipy demands.”

“Why does Julia suspect something is up?” Bobby asks and so Erik informs, “She might have seen me one day on my way out to go see my friend for dinner, and she started questioning me, asking if I was going out on a date.”

“Why the fuck would she do that?” Bobby seems even more confused and Erik admits, “Well I was pretty dressed up, we went to…" He clears his throat before finishing lamely, "Uh, Angelo's?”

Bobby’s jaw drops, “That super nice Italian place downtown? You went out to dinner with her there, and it wasn’t a date?”

“No it wasn’t a fucking date! I just got a lot of money from a tattoo client and wanted to do something with it and, you know, I actually don’t have to explain all this to you!” There is no way Erik can begin to explain the stupid hypothetical date exercise you engaged in that night without sounding totally crazy. He already feels crazy enough as it is.

“Just, please Bobby, promise me?” Erik asks quietly and Bobby gives in, “I promise I will do my best.”

“Thank you.” Erik says it sincerely and Bobby says, “But you need to promise me that you will talk to me and stop lying.”

That is the very least Erik can do so he says, “I promise.”

“Good. You know I am really glad this is what was up with you instead of something worse.” Bobby says with a half laugh and Erik joins in, yeah it could be much worse he supposes. He’s just madly in love with his friend with benefits and can’t do a thing about it, totally fine, right?

Erik’s phone vibrates on the table-top, he flips it over and sees a text came in from you. He clicks on it and reads the newest message, “Oh my God, I was complaining in my friends group chat, and they are insisting on taking me out tonight to cheer me up!”

Oh good, Erik is glad your friends are finally stepping up, especially since his attempt at making brownies turned into such an utter mess. He glances up at Bobby and says, “We don’t have to remake the brownies, she’s going out with her friends tonight.”

“Well to be honest I kinda want brownies now. Help me make em, and then we can play some video games tonight. You owe me.” Bobby says with a smile and Erik figures he definitely does owe him.

It’s a good night. The brownies came out fucking amazing and now Erik knows how to make them himself. Pizza was ordered too, and the time spent playing with Bobby was well-needed, super fun honestly and extremely overdue. Erik hadn’t realized how much he’d missed some casual one-on-one time with his brother. You texted him a few updates throughout the night, and by the time you are back home your mood seems considerably lifted, and he is glad you feel better. Later, when he slips into bed, this afternoon's new-found revelation lingers on his mind until sleep claims him.

You are a bit busy at work lately, finding yourself utterly exhausted when you get home every day. You maintain contact with Erik, the usual daily texting conversations, but he doesn’t come over for a few days while you are being run ragged. Talking to him is your anchor when work is being a pain, checking your phone and seeing a text from him lifts your spirits immensely. A smile paints your features as you tap out your response every single time.

Erik doesn’t mind the space that much, the few days to mull over these unearthed feelings is needed honestly. He knows he isn’t going to be able to do anything about it, just needs to cope if he wants to continue to see you. Really, how much harder can this be? He can handle this with grace and ease for the sake of your company, he is sure of it.

It’s Friday, at last Erik is coming over to see you. He feels good, he’s spent days talking himself up and mentally preparing for this, assuring himself it wouldn’t be a big deal. He comes into your building, gets in the elevator, rides up to your floor, steps out and makes his way to your front door. Erik unlocks it with the key you gave him and comes inside, calling out, “Hey, I’m here!”

“I’m in the bedroom!” You call back.

He closes the door, the usual routine of taking off his coat and shoes happens, before heading off to your bedroom. The door is ajar, the lighting is low, he comes inside and as soon as he lays eyes on you, he knows this will not be easy. He is in trouble. You are sat on the edge of your bed facing the door, you clearly recently had a shower he can smell how fresh and clean you are. You are dressed in a tantalizing black silk slip nighty he hasn’t ever seen you in. Your legs are on display, the overly large robe you let him borrow on your first sleepover is hanging loosely on your shoulders. There is a bottle of lotion sitting on the bed beside you as you are rubbing the creamy substance on one of your arms. You look unfairly good, the scene is intimate with just your bedside lamps on, and he can’t believe his luck, that he gets to be privy to this side of you.

You greet him with that warm and fond smile that you usually do, “Heya Erik.”

“Hi.” He replies simply, still stood in your doorway. With a gesture of your hand you encourage him to come over which he does. He sits down beside you on the bed as you say, “So glad you could come over tonight, this week has been hell! I’ve been seriously missing you.”

“You have?” He asks before he can think better of it.

You laugh, light and soft before informing him, “Uh yeah? Course I have. I’ve really loved getting to seeing you all the time, the weeks we can’t meet up as often fucking suck.”

God help him he feels the same way, he is melting inside from your verbalizing it so easily. Erik feels safe enough as he responds in kind, “I couldn’t agree more. I missed you too.”

You hum, pleased by him returning the sentiment, picking up your lotion again to start in on your legs. However, before you can, he takes the bottle from you. He prompts, “Tell me about that work thing that was pissing you off.”

You do. He listens to you as best he can, as he rubs the pleasantly scented lotion into your legs, starting low near your ankles and slowly working his way up. You are going on about annoying coworkers and deadlines, glad to vent to Erik in person and enjoying his strong capable fingers providing such unwavering attention. Erik’s mind is locked in on every word you are saying to hopefully try and stop that never-ending track that wants to overtake the forefront of his mind, three simple words on loop, “You love her. You love her. You love her.”

He pushes those words to the back of his mind. Erik pulls one of your legs up higher, you move to give him better access, leg across his lap as he massages the lotion into your thigh. Your venting ceases, sighing out instead, “That feels good.”

He hums in acknowledgment before commenting, “This is good quality stuff.”

“It was very worth splurging on. Winter will be here before you know it and you won’t catch me with dry skin.” You explain in a playful tone.

He smiles and asks, “Anything less than supple simply won’t do?”

“Exactly, it simply won’t.” You nod, and finally, he is done. You, however, don’t move your legs off his lap. Your hand reaches out, fingers on the back of his neck, stroking idly as you question, “Any idea what you want to do for take out tonight?”

“Not a clue, you got a craving?” He asks, and you hum, “Not particularly.”

A small beat before you say, “I’ve got a feeling that inspiration might strike if we work up an appetite.” Your legs slide off his lap, you adjust so you are on your knees and lean over to close the already small gap. Fingers run over his jaw, tilting his face towards you, and then you are kissing him.

Erik loves how easily and confidently you initiate, just taking what you want. He is over the moon that months later you still want him, are still actively choosing and pursuing him. You are incredible at making him feel desired, needed. It feels so good to be needed by you even if it is mostly physically. He melts into the affection immediately, moving on instinct and kissing you back. You hum and press yourself closer to him and his brain is short-circuiting.

Kissing you was always good, but now that he knows he is head over heels for you, it feels different, more intense. Erik feels like it has taken on more profound meaning, but he knows that isn’t true, it’s just him ascribing more to it than he should to it. Your hand on the back of his neck is sliding up into his hair and your other trails down to his shoulder, you pull yourself closer, sit yourself in his lap and straddle him as you kiss him deeper. His hands rest on the tops of your thighs as he is kissing you back, your tongue parts his lips and the soft sigh of his name that you let out is going right to his head.

It is honestly difficult to hold onto his composure around you, especially when you are tugging on his hair, with your hips squirming down so you grind against him, chest to chest.

You are making his head spin while your lips move against his, fingernails scratch over his scalp and then fingers curl in the fabric covering his shoulder. You writhe in his lap and finally, your mouth moves, kisses over his cheek, lips drag over his facial hair, and you nip under his jaw before kissing his neck. His breathing is already wrecked, and you are starting to kiss lower, and getting off his lap and your hands are moving dragging down as your body descends. Your knees hit the carpet, you are between his legs, hands on his sides and he looks down to see your eyes cast upwards at him, mischievous and playful as you bite your bottom lip.

Your hands slip lower still, come to the front of his pants, and you speak up, “I want to taste you.”

His breath catches, your fingers open his belt, then working on the button and zipper of his jeans. You express your desires further when you say, “Want to make you feel so good.”

You are going to fucking kill him. It’s as if his grave is already dug, casket above the hole, eulogy in the process of being given. He swallows thickly, moving his hips up, and you haul his pants and underwear down to his ankles, freeing his achingly hard cock.

“God yes.” You breathe, hand coming to circle the base of his shaft. Your thumb passes over the slit, spreading already building precum and then stroking him light and teasing with loose fingers. Leaning in, tongue out, you flick it over his head and linger over the metal, then you start to mouth at his tip. It already feels heavenly. You are starting to blow him in earnest, practiced ease from the already near countless times you’ve pleasured him with your mouth, eager and rife with the intimate knowledge of just how he likes it.

Why does he feel so nervous? Erik feels tense, and unsure of himself. Looking down as your eyes remain fixed on his face, taking in his reactions as your tongue swirls around and around the head of his dick. Usually, he feels at least a little more composed when you are sucking his cock but right now? He feels out of control. He is squirming quickly and obscenely into it, unable to remain still. You are currently sliding his dick deeper in your mouth, taking him halfway inside and moaning indulgently against his shaft in a way that makes his hips tense. You pull back and sink down once more, work him in and out with a steady rhythm and Erik exhales your name quietly. The look on his face is nearly pained from the amount of pleasure he feels.

Pulling off, your hand replaces your mouth, stroking him as you comment, “You alright?”

“Ye-yeah, why?” Erik asks in a shaky voice, and you respond casually with a half laugh and a shrug, “You’re all tense and shit. Real quiet too. You’re acting like I’ve never blown you before.”

Shit, is he? Fuck, he needs to focus. He attempts to play it off, “Feels really fucking good, that’s all.” He pushes his luck as he explains further by way of a lie when he says, “I haven’t cum in a few days.”

You perk up, asking, “Ooh, all sensitive, hm?” You slip his head back into your mouth and suck deeply. The sharp and sudden spike in pleasure makes him curse loudly, “Fuck!”

You pop back off and say next, “Been saving it up for me?” Your hand falls away and with your mouth open you sink back down, deep throating him with so little effort it is truly impressive. He gasps out a simple, “Yeahhh-”

A pleased hum that vibrates around his shaft as you continue to work and wreck him.

Erik is truly hit with it all, like an arrow square in the chest, the emotion he feels for you, mixes with the ecstasy you are threatening to drown him in. You on your knees, giving him your all to make him feel this fucking good. He has no idea what he did to deserve this. You just get so deeply into it, look so happy and God, hot. He is completely swept up in every movement and pass of your tongue. He has been on the receiving end of some truly spectacular head in his sexual career but no one does it like you do, you are far and away the best when it comes down to it because of the sheer enthusiasm and love you have for it. Enjoyment pours from your every move. There is absolutely zero doubt in his mind that this is where you want to be most.

Stepping it up significantly you fuck your mouth with his throbbing dick, in and out of your throat over and over, in a fantastically maddening rhythm. He can’t stop himself from moaning weakly and bucking up into your mouth. Within another minute he knows that he is going to cum in record time if he doesn’t stop you, and soon.

His hand comes to your head, he pushes, he doesn’t stop until he pops free from your mouth. Erik’s words come out in a rush, “If you want me to fuck you tonight, you’ve gotta stop.”

Your head rests on his inner thigh, and you pout playfully, “Awe, boo, I was just getting into it.”

He is aching as he looks at your wet and inviting mouth. He wishes he could let you keep going, but there is no way he will be able to hold himself back with how aggressively you throw yourself into it. His tongue nervously wets his bottom lip, and he asks, “Let me return the favour? Make it up to you?”

You seem pleased by that offer, with your hands on his knees you push yourself up, capturing his mouth in another kiss. You keep kissing him as you get onto the bed, sitting next to him. He returns your affection with equal fervour, and soon enough he untangles his pants from his ankles and strips his shirt too. Erik leaves his clothing heaped on your floor and finds himself in the same position you just left, on his knees and between your spread legs. You are propped up on your elbows, your fingers tug up the silky material so it raises over your hips. Erik’s brows raise slightly, but he should stop being so surprised by how often you forego underwear. One hand rests on your hip and the other on your inner thigh, spreading your legs wider as he leans in and gets started.

Erik takes his time, goes very slowly. A soft kiss pressed to your clit, a slow lick and your head falls back with a quiet utterance of pleasure that he finds so encouraging. He makes sure you are well warmed up before he finds his rhythm and quickly settles into it. Broad and flat licks, soft swirls, careful and well-placed sucks. He keeps the stimulation consistent and focused on your clit, enjoying the moans and fragmented praise you are releasing, “Fuck, Erik yes-” A quiet moan slips out before you say next, “-God, just like that-”

He has no intention of doing anything else. Erik adores every reaction he can get from you, the way your thighs tense, the hurried breathing over his head and throbbing of your clit against his lips and tongue. Erik’s winds around the sensitive tissue over and over until you are keening weakly, eyes unfocused and gripping the comforter below you. Hips squirm, causing you to grind yourself against his mouth with a groan. He sucks your straining clit into his mouth, massaging it between his slick lips and your whole body shivers with a strangled cry of his name at how intense it feels.

It takes around five minutes until you aren’t able to take it any longer, you are pushing his head away weakly and panting, “Erik, please, enough-” A deep inhale before forcing out, “-I need you inside me already.”

You shrug the robe off and let the straps from the slip fall, exposing your chest, letting the silky fabric remain bunched around your waist. Your legs remain spread, pulling them up, knees bent and soaked cunt on display. The view is far too good, your request impossible to pass up. He gets off his knees, and before he can get on the bed you stop him, asking, “Like this?”

He picks up what you mean right away, with him standing and you with your ass this close to the edge of the bed. Erik knows you’ve had a truly terrible fucking week, he wants to make it better, he wants to start your weekend off right and do whatever you want because he lov-

Erik pushes that thought aside and says, “Yeah, however you want me, you can have me.”

“Dangerous promise you are making there.” You try to say it lightly, but you can’t keep the heat out of your tone. You are staring up at him with such unrestrained lust and want. He moves close enough until his cock can rub over your soaked slit, and you hum in response. He grinds against you slowly just a few times before the need is too much. His hands grip your ankles loosely, and he presses his hips downwards, slowly starting to slide inside.

He bottoms out causing you to gasp, “Oh my God-”

Oh my God is fucking right. He was really hoping that the break he had would have helped him calm down a bit, but he is a fucking idiot. You feel indescribably good, hot velvety and soaked, wrapped around him from tip to base, completely alive and in the moment with him. Why did he think that would be the case? Eating you out is one of his favourite things, absurdly hot too, it doesn’t matter he wasn’t getting any direct stimulation. He leans forward, tries to play off staying still inside of you by kissing you as he attempts to regain his composure. You kiss him back, needy and definitely not helping him. Nipping at his bottom lip you breathe out his name again, and he starts to move. Pulling out before sinking back in, a sharp inhale follows, and when the move is repeated you both can’t stop the moan that spills forth.

Erik looks down at you, eyes half lidded and captivating. The pleasure you are feeling is affecting every breath you take, giving it this quality that he plays in his head when he's alone with a hand wrapped around himself and his mind fixed solely on you. His hands move without his permission as he loses himself, start to wander and touch you softly yet greedily as he breathes out, "Goddamn you're gorgeous."

You laugh, musical in sound, paired with a breathless, "Thank you-ah!" and it makes him snap back to reality and ask himself what is he doing? He is fucking you slower than he should, he now keeps his hands locked on your ankles because if he didn’t, he knows he’d do something fucking embarrassing he couldn’t take back, like reverently trace over your face. He needs to keep himself in check. What is wrong with him?

With his feet on the floor he has a lot of control, adjusts the angle with ease, so the next thrust hits just where you need it most. He knows he nails it perfectly because you tense, walls clench while you utter a quiet, “Oh fuck-”

The rhythm is purposeful, he is doing his best to strike a balance between what will make you feel as good as possible and trying not to cum too quickly. He thinks he is doing okay, until you ask, “Why are you going so slow?”

Fuck. His brain is lagging too much, he can’t conjure a lie, so he is painfully honest when he says with a half laugh, “I can’t go faster, I-I’ll cum way too fucking quick.”

You smile, playful, heart wrenchingly beautiful. Your hand comes up, you lick the pads of your fingers and then drag them down your body until you come to rest between your thighs. Your fingers start to strum along your clit, and you say, “S’okay, you got me really close before. I won’t need much, so give it to me. Hard.”

He does as you ask, picks up the pace and your body responds quickly. Stroking your own clit while he strikes your G-spot repeatedly with perfect precision, your moans pitch up, coming more frequently. Erik is racing towards his end, but just as you said, so are you.

“Yes-” You moan, “-yes, ah! Erik, s' fucking perfffect, you're so good-”

You are calling him good, perfect, he loves the way you weakly gasp it out and his heart pounds harder. He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from delivering some far too sweet praise of his own. Wordless groans and a simple, “You feel so fucking good-” is all he trusts himself to say.

You return the sentiment, hurried and on the edge of oblivion.

You are so close, all the usual tells are there. In less than half a minute, and you are going to cum spectacularly, and he is sure to join you. Even if he wasn’t so keyed in to your physical reactions, you still clue him in when you choke out, “Erik! I-I’m cumming-”

“Fuck, me too.” His movements are messier, matching how sloppy your hand is on your own clit. Your orgasm starts just a hair before his does, and it feels unbelievable. Body tense and shivering below him, walls rhythmically squeezing his shaft as he cums heavily into you, his grip squeezing your ankles as he groans your name along with his release. Your shared movements slow and eventually stop.

The feeling lingers, stretches out, and the relaxation that sinks into his bones and yours is fantastic. He lets go of your ankles and allows the bliss to drag him down to you. Your arms wrap around him, and he kisses you, which you return happy and lazy. He tries to soak this up, extend every kiss possible, very aware this might be the last ones he gets tonight. When he eventually stops kissing you he remains pressed close, his fingers brush some of the sweaty hair from your forehead, and you sigh, “God, I came so hard, I seriously needed that.”

He hums in response, a simple nod and he agrees with both sentiments at once, “Yeah, I did too.”

His mind is pleasantly empty, quiet, he is comfortable. Until you say, “You were so fucking sweet tonight.”

And his worries come crashing back in. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You are seeing right through him. He is fucking everything up and failing, again. He tries to sound casual when he asks, “Was I?”

You confirm, “Mmm, you were, the way you were touching and looking at me and the things you said and going so slow too.” Your arms unloop, fingers trail down his sides, and you ask, “Seriously what’s got you so soft tonight?”

Fucking shit.

He lies, “Nothing's up, I wasn’t doing it on purpose or anything, just felt right tonight. Was it a problem?”

“Oh it was nice, not complaining at all! Was just saying, it surprised me.” You shrug, and he searches your eyes, but you seem truthful and honest as always.

He says quietly, “Okay.” Erik begins the process of untangling from you and getting cleaned up and decent. You adjust your slip back in place, throw the robe back over top and ask casually, “So I could totally fuck up some shawarma, there is a great place nearby that does delivery, you down?”

Sounds perfect to him.

Food is ordered in, it is hot, well seasoned and just as good as you promised it would be; the bite of the pickled turnips and the creamy garlic sauce is delicious, the fries crispy outside and fluffy in. You both hang on the couch and watch a movie while Erik tries to calm his heart rate and confirms over and over in his head that this can’t happen again. His feelings don’t matter, he can’t be this outwardly soft to you during sex again, it’s going to lead to trouble. This is like the fucking honey incident all over again. Happening once can be written off easily, but if he slips up again, then he is fucked. He has to lean into the previous dynamic, kink and roughness, not all sugary warmth and gentle kind praise.

Erik holds firm to his promise to himself. Whenever you meet up, he jokes and makes sure you have fun. The sex you have is nasty as ever, playful and kinky, you seem none the wiser, but it isn’t helping him. His feelings aren’t lessening. They are getting worse all the time it seems. He locks a pair of handcuffs around your wrists, and you get all delightfully needy, looking at him with sweetness and like you trust him with all your heart to make you feel good, and it makes him ache. He is left wishing you wanted him more seriously instead of just in your bed. Giving gentle kisses, clinging to him post sex and so affectionate, and he dies a little more inside every time. Erik cannot fucking stop himself, though. Erik is irretrievably addicted, cannot keep away. He is second guessing and heavily questioning everything. He can’t let himself truly and completely relax for fear of making a fatal mistake. Whenever he goes home after a visit with you his mind is a tangled mess that takes forever to sort out.

It’s been around three weeks since Erik has realized the depth of his intense feelings, and he is over at your place. He has his feet on the coffee table, and he’s dragged his console over again. You are sat beside him, leaning casually into his side, and he is feeling pretty good today when you strike up the conversation, “Just so you know, I’ll be going out of town for a few days.”

He still has his eyes on the TV when he asks, “Oh yeah? What for?”

“Thanksgiving, I’m going to my uncles place. This will actually probably be our last chance to hang out before I go.” You inform. Erik is going to miss you but you very rarely ever get to meet up with your family since none live in town, so he is happy for you. He replies enthusiastically, “Awesome! Glad you are gonna get to see some family on the holiday.”

“Yeah it’ll be nice! I will be pretty busy at work the next few days before I go. Are you doing anything for Thanksgiving?” You inquire.

Erik explains, “Mmm, the usual. We have some family that live in town, we usually host and they come over. My cousin Steph is in college, but she should be coming home, it’s always good to see her.”

“Nice. Excited to hear all about it when we can meet back up. I know I’ll have plenty to share.” You tell him and his questioning look from the TV back towards you, prompts you to explain, “Brody is coming to town for a visit with some family for the holiday too. We are meeting up for brunch the day before I go to my uncles.”

Oh! Fan-fucking-tastic, you are going to brunch with Brody. Awesome. He is so glad that you are going out to eat with his favourite person ever, your old fuck buddy Brody. The guy he is so normal about, the one he has been fighting tooth and nail to stop obsessing about, the one who makes him feel woefully inadequate. Just when Erik hadn’t asked “What would Brody do?” to himself in a while, here is this to dredge up all these old insecure feelings. This is going to help with everything he has already been struggling with, surely he thinks bitterly. And the best part is you are gonna tell him all about it, phenomenal.

His tone is a bit flatter than it probably should be when he says, “Oh cool that should be a good time.”

"It will, it’s been for-ever since I’ve gotten to hang with Brody in person. We have so much to catch up on, I gotta know what is going on with the wedding planning and his residency.” You tell him. He hums with a nod, and you take this as encouragement to keep going. You continue, “I swear when he called me the other day to let me know he was coming I fucking squealed in excitement. He’s just the best."

Those last four words caused Erik’s frustration to turn from a small spark to an all out blaze. He has to literally bite his tongue, chewing it in annoyance, Brody’s is just the best, hm? Erik can’t keep listening to you prattle on about doctor dumbass, or he might just say something he will regret. He has been able to keep a lid on his Brody hate, so far, you are unaware of how much he loathes him, and he’d prefer to keep it that way. Erik is sure you wouldn’t respond well to him shit talking Brody dearest in any serious capacity. He can feel his blood running hot, and he needs to shut you up and work some of this anger out in a more productive way. He thinks he knows just how to do both at the same time.

Erik pauses the game and tosses the controller aside, he turns his body and descends upon you. His hands slide behind your neck, and he uses that point of contact to pull you to him, his mouth crashing into yours, stopping your sentence short. You release a muffled sound of surprise against his lips before it turns into a moan as you kiss him back. Minutes later, when he breaks the kiss briefly to slip his hands up your shirt you ask rushed, “Where’s this coming from?”

He explains this easily, “This is the last time we are going to see each other for a while, right?” Before he is right back to kissing you fervently.

You think that he makes a fantastic point, you probably won't see him until after the holiday. You don’t remain on the couch for very long.

He pulls back suddenly, halting your make out session. His hand snags yours, and he pulls you up with him, leading you to your bedroom. You follow along, positively giddy. You had been hoping you’d get a good session in today to tide you over the holiday to come. Once in your room and close enough to your bed, he pushes you over so you fall onto your stomach, bent over the edge. He is on you quickly, his chest to your back, mouth hot on your neck and one hand between your legs from behind, cupping your cunt through your pants. You react immediately, grinding down into his hand with a weak moan. You only get a few rocks of your hips in until his hand lifts and comes back down, hard on your ass. His teeth sink into your earlobe sharply before he asks hot in your ear, “Where’s that plug we used last time?”

Lately in an effort to indulge your kinkier desires and keep the sex nastier and to keep his feelings at bay he’s been ramping up the anal play to your complete excitement. You’ve been going along with it, finding it fun and hot, but an unexpected side effect for Erik is how surprisingly intimate it is. You make yourself so vulnerable, are so responsive, and he feels closer to you after every time. It's a real double edged sword.

You grin and say, “In the nightstand.”

He gets off you enough to allow you to crawl up the bed as he bites out, “Well what are you waiting for? Go get it.”

You do as he commands, open the nightstand and grab the plug and a bottle of lube. Erik then grabs onto your ankles and drags you back down the bed, you let out a surprised laugh, delighted. Your pants and underwear are stripped off by him, you leave the toy and bottle beside you on the bed and begin to take your shirt and bra off. While trying to unclasp and shrug off the ladder item of clothing you feel his hand on you again, between your legs, fingers swiping up your folds. The action makes your movements slow and stutter with a moan.

It all escalates rapidly after that. The pacing feels right, you feel swept up in the heat of the moment with him rather than rushed. He pops open the lube with one hand and tips it, the clear thick liquid drips down over your ass, he catches some of the excess. He rubs broad circles over your clit with the slick pads of his fingers, you tense in response from the pleasure and his thumb presses against your asshole; providing consistent pressure as he toys with your clit.

So far, it has been a series of incoherent moans, at last you find your voice again to beg one single word, “More-”

He gladly provides, even with the edge of mocking clear in his tone you when he says, "Yeah you need more?"

He doesn’t give you much time to acclimate, he presses his fingers against the rim of your asshole and then into you at a steady pace. You inhale sharply at the intrusion, at the slight burn, the intense sensation the invasion brings. Very soon you’ve got two well lubed fingers from his opposite hand buried in your ass while he is still abusing your clit. He works his fingers in and out, twists and scissors them, works on getting you open enough. You don’t even last five minutes, feeling far too good before you gasp out, “C’mon Campbell, please?”

He takes your cue but taunts you while he does, “So fucking impatient-” His fingers slide out as he says next, "-not to mention demanding." The plug is lubed, and he starts to slip it inside as he finishes his thought with a sneer, "And I'm just meant to do whatever you want?"

You moan anew once it is fully seated. He presses on it and you shudder. With it in place, he moves on. He is eager to satisfy some of his own desires and start working out this lingering anger and frustration he is still feeling nagging under his skin. He gets rid of his clothes, and shortly he slides into your slick cunt. He relishes the pleasure with a moan of, "Fuck-ing drenched again, barely have to do anything to get you soaked." Erik truly can turn you into a faucet with such little effort it is impressive.

He fills you beautifully as always, scratches that itch and helps ease the empty ache. He starts moving right away. You rock backwards, meet him in the middle with an impassioned moan. Another harsh slap is delivered to your ass as Erik comments, “You get anything in your ass, and you lose your shit.”

“Feels so good, cah-can’t help it-” You pant. He presses on your plug again, and you tense whispering, “-oh God-”

“Fucking filthy, you're lucky it's just as hot as it is pathetic.” He grits out as he increases his tempo. Erik lets you have it for a short time before he asks, “It’s still not enough is it?”

You love how it is all feeling, the pleasure is spiking yet, you still crave more. So you shake your head and tell him, “Mmf, nooo-”

“Awe poor greedy slut, so needy. Let me help you out." He leans in closer, his hand reaches around to the front of your throat. He grips tightly, his thumb presses on the plug again, and he states simply, “I know what you need.”

Set up takes a brief moment and soon? You are absolutely losing your mind. Erik got your wand, you are positioned on the edge of the bed, on your knees. The wand has been tucked under your comforter and your bare cunt is seated directly on it while Erik is sliding your plug out. It pops out with no problem, and he sets it aside, he lubes up his shaft until it is practically dripping. That piercing you love so much kisses your asshole as he presses the fat head of his cock close. You are more than ready, it is no issue for him to work his way in. It takes a moment for you to give way, the stretch stings in a way that sets you even further on fire. Agony and ecstasy meet once he sinks deep inside of you to the root. You cry out, so filled and stretched to your limit. He reaches around, lube slick fingers fumble, and he presses the buttons allowing the wand to spring to life.

The pleasure is immense and all consuming when it tears through you. It is all you can do to hold on as the powerful motor hums. You don’t think it could get much better, until he pulls out halfway and then thrusts forward again, and you see stars.

Actual words? Forget about it. You have none on the climb to your first climax. Erik has plenty, however, more than makes up for your lack of coherent speech. He utters some wonderfully depraved things that help you reach new heights of sensation. When within the first minute of being inside your ass he degrades you, "You took me wayyy too easily, how often do you fuck yourself back here, hm? Shocked it's this tight for me."

And you have no real response other than a weak sob that communicates nothing outside how well he is already wrecking you.

It doesn’t take much for the first orgasm to hit, and rock you to your core with how incredible it feels. The pleasure is all white-hot flashes and steals your breath. You are still shaking when you lift your hips to pull your oversensitive cunt off the still running wand, and when you do that it changes the angle just enough. Not everyone knows that the G-spot can be stimulated when having anal sex, but you aren’t one of those people. Still, when it happens so suddenly, it is surprising. You have to fight to continue to hold yourself up on trembling arms, you finally find some words, “Oh fuh-fuck! Right there-”

“Yeah?” You can hear the smile in his voice, “You can take it harder then, right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before going for it. He fucks into you harder, the sound of skin on skin getting much louder.

You are whimpering and shaking your head, trying weakly to communicate you can't withstand how intense it feels. "Can't hah-handle it ah-" But he clearly doesn't care when he states, "Don't be such a whiny brat, you can take it."

You last another two minutes, taking him fucking into you roughly as the second orgasm starts to steadily build before your arms give out. When that happens you are back on the wand, and it catapults you over the edge again with a loud moan, this time you make a complete mess. You squirt all over the wand, your bed and or course, Erik.

He laughs, shocked and just a little mean in that way that makes you weak, “Even from anal? What a fucking slut.”

Erik doesn’t last much longer. All of you does him in, unbelievably hot, squirming and clenching you makes his own end spectacular. Your name rolls off his tongue, the only warning of his climax. The first pump of cum is spilled inside, but after that, he pulls out, jerks himself off and marks you when he cums over your ass. You are shivering in blissful overstimulation, you barely have enough energy to reach down and click off the wand before flopping forward, sweaty and cum coated, completely satisfied.

He joins you on the bed, lying down beside you on the come down. It takes a while for you both to catch your breath, and once you do the praise pours out. You are curled into his side, you groan out, “Oh my fucking God Eriiiiik-”

Post orgasmic bliss sets in, he feels much better, anger having fallen away. A light laugh bubbles out as he hooks an arm around you, knowing just what is coming. He still asks, “Was it good?”

“Incredible! Fantastic, some of the best sex I’ve ever had-” You pour it on further when you say, “-I am seriously afraid to get up, there is no way my legs work at all right now.”

He comments, “Good thing we have nowhere else to be.” He hugs you closer and your arms wrap around him in kind. Erik is glad he was able to play it off because he was nearly losing it the whole time he was inside you, it felt spectacular and this was going to be on his mind for days. He agrees with your assessment, this was some of the best sex he's ever had too.

The remainder of the afternoon is spent lingering together. Once you can walk again a shower is shared, then time spent having a late lunch and talking before he has to leave. A hug is had at the door, wishing each other a good holiday and that you will meet up again after it.

You sleep insanely well that night and wake up pleasantly sore, smiling at the reminder of the previous day's activities. The remainder of your week leading up to seeing Brody is a whirlwind at work.

The chill is positively biting today, not like you’d ever admit it if asked. You have your hands shoved in your jacket pockets and the zipper pulled all the way up, chin tucked down into your collar to help fend off against the sharp wind. Fall is very obviously nearly over, the first real frost is sure to set in soon. You pick up the pace in hopes of reaching your destination quicker.

At last, you have made it to the Pop-Over Pantry, your hand slips from your pocket and grips the door handle, you open it and hustle yourself inside. Once you are in, you are greeted by the warmth of the establishment and the frankly delicious smell of bacon and pancakes.

God, you are starving.

The hostess greets you, and you ask for a table for two, explaining you have a friend coming shortly. She leads you to a cozy small booth next to the windows, you set your purse down and unzip your coat, taking it off and throwing it onto the seat. Before you even have the chance to sit down, you hear a very familiar and cheerfully casual call come from behind you, “There she is!”

Your smile overtakes your face, turning around immediately to see Brody himself crossing the floor towards you. He has his sunglasses still on as well as a bright smile, his coat is open just like his arms. You practically launch yourself at him with an affectionate chirp of his name, “Brody!”

Brody's arms wrap around you as he greets you fondly, "Heya kid."

You both share a brief but firm hug, before breaking apart. Praising him you say, “Hi! You’re early!”

He takes his sunglasses off he replies, “I remember your feelings on that shit very well. To quote you, if you aren’t early, you’re late and like I’d ever be late to see you.”

“Such a sap.” You sigh, before gesturing with your thumb over your shoulder, “Come on, let’s sit down.”

You slide into the booth and Brody takes his seat across from you. Menus are opened, and you think it isn’t totally necessary because you already know what you are going to get, still double-checking never hurts.

The waitress comes by and asks, “Can I get you something to drink?” And Brody and you share a look over the tops of your menu’s and when your eyes meet you know you are on the same page.

He speaks first, “Yes, mimosas. Bottomless.”

You immediately add on, “Regular pulp, please and thank you.”

The waitress departs with a promise to be back swiftly with your drinks, and you close your menu. Brody, of course, notices, “Already know what you are getting?”

You hum with a nod, and before you can tell him what you are going to get, he says, “Wait, let me guess-” You humour him, a sweep of your hand encouraging him to go on. He throws out, “-blueberry cheesecake stuffed brioche French toast?”

“Yes! You crushed it.” You admit, and he closes his own menu, “What like it’s hard? It’s what you get like every time we come here.”

“Well why wouldn’t I? It’s my favourite and the POP is the only place that does this dish, I can get eggs and toast at any other breakfast joint.” You defend and Brody closes his own menu as he tells you, “Well, I’m getting the crab cake eggs Benedict, if you were curious.”

You tease him when you say, “I wasn’t,-” then adding more seriously, “-but good choice, that’s like the best savoury dish they serve.” You then clap once before asking, “So! Brody, how the fuck are you?”

“Ugh, I am great except for how tired I am.” He sighs before elaborating further, “Surgical residency is exhausting enough as it is, planning a wedding on top of that? I don’t know how I’m managing to pull it off.”

“You’ve always been good at juggling, I remember the frat house talent show.” You joke, and he laughs at the embarrassing memory, “God, why did you let me do it with eggs instead of like fucking bean bags or something?”

“Brody come on, you know why because it was fucking hilarious.” You taunt before asking, “But your residency is going good?”

The response comes quickly, his tone sure, “So good. We are all really settled into it and confident. Me and the other surgical residents have a quiet competition going for procedures and yours truly holds the current record for appendectomies. No one’s scalpel is faster than mine.”

You give a polite golf clap and say, “Your competitive nature never ceases to amaze, glad you can channel it into something since hockey has been on the back burner.”

“I cannot wait to wrap up my residency. To get to a point in my career where I can join a casual league, instead of the occasional pickup game? Then I would really have it all.” Brody admits this wistfully, a dreamy look in his eyes as if looking into his hopeful future.

Brody turns your earlier question back around on you, “How’s work on your end?”

“I’m pretty good overall, work has been a drag lately, don’t want to bore you with all that, but it should settle soon.” You tell him. He responds, “I sincerely hope it calms down, quickly. I know fall is always kind of nuts for you.”

“Yeah, but winter will be here before we know it, and instead I can get all stressed about the holiday season.” You joke.

The waitress comes by and drops off your mimosa. You both order your food, and she runs off again. You pick up your glass and hold it up, “To your continued success in your crazy batshit hectic life.”

Brody returns, “And to your incoming and well-deserved peace and happiness.”

“I’ll drink to that.” You sigh. Glasses clink, and you drink, the freshly squeezed orange juice mixed with the prosecco is delicious and refreshing. You set your glass back down, and he asks, “So what’s new?”

“What, are we already off you?” The question is lobbed with an easy joking air.

Brody scoffs, “I work, I go to the gym, I try to spend as much time as I can with my beautiful finance’ and I am planning a rapidly approaching wedding. I practically live in the hospital, I swear this is the first time in weeks that I’m not wearing scrubs! There, you’re caught up.”

You laugh, hands up as you say, “Okay, okay! I get it.”

What can you share with Brody that you haven’t yet? It's a stupid question. You know there is one major thing in your life that you have never clued him in on. It is genuinely crazy that you haven’t yet. Now that you think about it, Brody is probably the perfect person to talk to about Erik. He doesn’t even live in this town, no cross communication with your friend group, and he was your fuck buddy once.

Yes, you don’t know why you didn’t think of it sooner honestly, so you say, “Actually. I’ve been seeing someone.”

Brody sets down his glass so hard that are genuinely worried he might break it at the stem. He pays it no mind whatsoever, eyes wide as he exclaims, “Holy shit, what?! You’re seeing someone?!”

His reaction is immensely satisfying. His gaze is still fixed on you, and you pick up your own glass, taking a leisure sip. You stretch the moment out painfully, then pulling the glass away and nodding to confirm that yes, you are.

Brody is back to talking, sentences spilling out rapidly, “Oh my fucking God! This is huge! It’s been so long for you, I need to know everything!” He takes a deep breath before asking several questions, “How long has this been going on? Who is this guy? What does he do? What’s his fucking name?”

You laugh, unable to stop it, before informing him, “I’ll tell you as soon as you stop talking!”

Brody’s mouth promptly clamps shut, his hands making a motion that is the universal sign for, “Go on!”

You inhale and say on the exhalation, “So his name is Erik.”

Your long-time friend makes a totally undignified sound of excitement in the back of his throat, smile broadening. You let out a small laugh before you continue to tell him, “He’s a tattoo artist, but does piercings too. We’re the same age, and this has been going on around nine months-”

A nearly offended gasp fills the space between you, “Around nine months?! And I am just hearing about this now?! Shame!”

“I know, I know, sorry! But we haven’t had a meeting in forever, forget about an extended phone convo! This isn’t something I would just text and to be fair, it wasn’t like I was purposefully keeping it from you, we’ve both had a lot going on.” You defend yourself and Brody concedes with a grumble, “Fair, fair. Fine, I’m over it, I’m not mad.”

“Thank you.” You sigh and then proceed to tell him about some of your escapades and adventures; setting to informing Brody about nearly everything.

You tell him about the sleepovers, the hang-outs you’ve had, from playing video games, to eating all kinds of good food together. Furthermore, you tell him about the time you attended the Miriam concert and the trampoline after. Not only that, but you tell him about how well you get along, how easy it is to talk to each other, constantly in contact and the fact that joking comes as easily as breathing. And you tell him about the tattoo Erik gave you and that you helped him celebrate his birthday and baked him a cake.

Lastly, because this is you we are talking about, you enthusiastically gush, “And the fucking sex? Oh my God Brody!”

The waitress pauses slightly in the middle of putting your plates down. Her movements slow, becoming a tad more unsure, but still delivering them all the same. You don’t pay any attention to her in that very classic you way, no shame to be had. Brody laughs lightly, he has long ago gotten used to your antics and finds it endearing, one of his favourite things about you.

“It’s good, I assume?” He inquires. You say, “Incredible, life changing even!”

The waitress steps back, not bothering to ask if you need anything else, desperate to get away. Brody is endlessly amused by this scenario.

You let out this groan, eyes rolling back and up towards the ceiling to drive the point home and the exaggerated action pulls another laugh from your friend. You exclaim, “Don’t be offended, but it is the best sex I have ever fucking had, hands down.”

Brody chuckles as he scoops up his silverware, “Why the fuck would I be offended? You do know that I’ve had better sex since our college hook-ups too, right?”

You have your silverware in your hands and start to cut into your French toast, “Logically yes I suppose so, but I’ve never given it much thought. Seriously though, the things he can do. We did anal for the first time earlier this week and I swear I saw God.”

“Snaps for you! Seems you finally found the ideal guy. I was worried for a while that you had given up on serious dating.” Brody praises as he is spearing some potatoes on his fork.

Annnnd there it is. Now you could let it lie, but you and Erik aren’t dating. Brody is one of your oldest and closest friends, if you can’t be honest with him, than who can you be honest with? You know Brody would never judge you for the nature of your relationship with Erik, he’d be a major fucking hypocrite if he did.

So you tell him, “Actually we aren’t dating.” At last, you take your first bite of your breakfast and God it is stupendous, hits the spot perfectly; the bread is soft, the filling sweet but with depth, the whipped cream melting pleasantly over your tongue.

Brody stops mid-chew, clearly confused, “Fucking pardon?”

You help him out, telling him, “Erik and I are friends with benefits, like you and I used to be.”

He laughs, hard, and then you are the one who is confused.

You question, “What? Do you not believe that we are fuck buddies?”

He finally gets a lid on it, then takes a deep breath before he releases it and informs you, “No, no I don’t.”

“We are! I can assure you, we fuck each other's brains out at every opportunity-” You try to argue, and he holds a hand up before replying, “That I do believe, I am sure you are fucking like newly-wed bunnies. What I take issue with what you said earlier, there is no way that you and this Erik are fuck buddies like how you and I were.”

“What?” You are still confused and so it is Brody’s turn to help you out, “Okay, so the way you were talking about him? The things you described doing? I was completely convinced you were dating. I mean the basis of your relationship with this guy is sex and friendship, and it took you several long minutes before you even brought up the sex with him.”

Your jaw drops, how the fuck did he see through you? Does he know of your deeper and complicated feelings for Erik? No way, you did fine covering it up you are sure, but you need to make sure Brody doesn’t get the wrong idea.

You exclaim, “Brody! We are just friends! Like I said, nothing more-”

“Please, you cannot fucking lie to me! We've known each other too long." He continues as you listen, “You want to know how I know that your relationship with him is different?"

He holds up one hand and starts outlining the reasons while counting off on his fingers, "You and I never slept in the same bed, not even for a nap, not once! We didn’t do sleepovers, you didn’t bake me a fucking birthday cake while we had our thing going on either. We didn’t cuddle, we didn’t do anything that could be mistaken for a date."

Brody squints at you with a point as he asks, "How many times did we literally high five post nut and say, ‘Good game’, hm?”

A thick and heavy beat before you admit, “Many times.”

“Many times.” Brody repeats with a nod. As if to truly drive the point home he asks, “I suggest a thought exercise to help you out here. Describe what it felt like when we'd kiss, way back when.”

You pour briefly over your hookups years ago while you sip your mimosa thoughtfully. After pulling the glass back you say, “When we made out it was like a good game of tennis, competitive, but fun and playful. Leaves you a little out of breath.”

Brody claps his hands together, grinning as he says, “Accurate! I completely agree, you nailed the vibe. So, now describe what it's like when you and Erik kiss.”

Quickly, you are thrown mentally back to the countless times you and Erik have kissed over the past few months. You absentmindedly cut into your French toast as you lose yourself in the blissful memories for a brief time. When you resurface after your mouthful has been swallowed, the description pours from you effortlessly, “Every kiss is different but still intimately familiar. It always stirs my hunger, yet satiates some very real part of me at the same time. The natural give and take we have is like the best deep conversation I've ever had but completely wordless, as intuitive as it is physical. It's phenomenally addictive. Once he and I get started, I never want to stop.”

Brody is staring at you with his mouth agape. You feel self-conscious, a rarity for you, and you ask, “What?”

He launches into explaining, “That is undoubtedly the most romantic thing I've ever heard you say by far! And you are seriously trying to tell me you and Erik are JUST fuck buddies like you and I used to be?”

“...Yeah.” You utter quietly.

He says next, “Compare those two descriptions you gave, and it couldn't be clearer! I’ve never seen you talk about anyone like this! The look in your eyes, the body language, you care about him!”

“I care about you too!” You argue a touch too loudly. Brody softens slightly when he says, “I know you do. I care about you too.”

You know that Brody does. He doesn’t need to say it, he doesn’t need to verbalize that you care about Erik in a very different way than you do him. You soften in kind and sigh, setting your fork down, French toast half-eaten. He holds his hand out and you take it.

It’s quiet for yet another moment.

He breaks the silence when he asks a simple question, “What did you get him for his birthday?”

You bite your bottom lip and then tell him, “I got him a nice bottle of whiskey. A new sketchbook and-” Your sentence trails off.

Brody looks expectantly at you and presses, “-And?”

“-A key to my apartment.” You say quietly and Brody’s eyebrows raise as high as they can.

You look away as you try to play it off, “It’s just to…Make our arrangement easier.”

“And that’s what you told him?” Brody asks and you nod.

Nothing is said for another long beat. Your breakfast is going to get cold. You don't care. Brody’s hand squeezes yours, and he inquires, “That’s what you tell yourself too, yeah?”

You let out a weak laugh before telling him, “Yeah.”

At last Brody asks a fatal question, the one that makes it so you can’t ignore something you’ve quietly known to be true but have been refusing to acknowledge at every turn, “So how long have you been in love with him?”

Fuck. As soon as Brody says it so plainly while you are hand in hand, it seems unbelievably obvious. You already had the thought that you had been falling for him a while ago. You had still been struggling with your feelings quietly but had been ignoring it, compartmentalizing pretty beautifully the past while for the most part. Brody is holding your eyes open, making you look at the truth, and you can’t turn away from it again.

It’s a funny question, one that doesn’t have an easy answer, when do you go from falling in love to past tense, fell in love? When does the arc in midair stop? Does the forward momentum only cease upon the realization that you aren’t just developing those feelings, but instead they have crystallized? You have no clue.

What you do know for absolute certain is that you are in love with Erik. And you are intimately aware of the fact that you can’t have him. That fact was painful enough as it was before you realized this awful new truth.

Fuck.

You hang your head and groan, “A while, I suppose.”

Your hand slips from Brody’s and your fork finds it’s way back into your hand, and you are shoving more French toast into your mouth, attempting to comfort yourself.

Brody asks, “Soooo I assume you weren’t totally aware of these feelings until this conversation?”

“I was! Kind of? I knew I had more serious feelings, but I didn’t realize I was full head over heels for the guy!” You explain around your mouthful, and he hums with a nod.

“Well now that you are aware, what are you gonna do?” Brody inquires his own silverware in hand again, and you fire back immediately, “Nothing!”

“Nothing? You are in love him, and you aren’t going to do anything about it?” He is totally thrown for a loop.

You confirm, “Yeah, I am not going to do a damn thing about it. You know that commitment hasn’t ever really worked out well for me. Getting into a relationship with him would be stupid, and selfish. And impossible!” You take another bite of your French toast before continuing on, “I really don’t think he wants me like that.”

“Why do you think that?” Brody asks as he gestures with a forkful of potatoes, leading you to inform him, “He wants things that I can’t give him. So lets say he does want me to be his fucking girlfriend or something, even though he obviously, totally doesn’t! If we were to get all involved, I’d be taking up his time and preventing him from meeting whoever is actually right for him.”

Brody takes that annoying doubtful tone that makes you want to roll your eyes, “And you aren’t doing that right now?”

You bite back, “No! I mean, he hasn’t been seeing anyone since we’ve been doing our thing, but he could if he wanted to.” The very idea of Erik dating anyone turns your stomach. You don't know what you would do if you reached out to try and hang out, and he told you he can't because he has a date.

Brody delivers another blow when he asks, “You ever thought that maybe he hasn’t been seeing anyone else because he doesn’t want to?”

You hadn’t thought that, which is odd because you are in that very same boat. You haven’t seen anyone else because you haven’t wanted to, you felt totally satisfied. Erik expressed the same satisfaction with how everything is right now but is this going to be enough for him much longer? You aren’t sure. The worry that he is going to want to find that person he can be serious with is growing longer and longer legs all the time. You are focusing much more attention on destroying the rest of your breakfast.

“Not really, I just thought that I dunno, we’re having fun. I figured it’s easier to call me up then go out into the dating pool. It’s a mess out there. A good time with me is guaranteed.” You try to play it off as you shrug.

Brody doesn’t let you, he keeps pushing, “Do you truly think that these feelings are all one-sided? That on your end it's all love and on his side that it’s all platonic?”

You’ve finished your breakfast and grumble out, “Yes and I think that because it’s true.”

Brody hums, thoroughly unconvinced and tells you, “I’m not so sure.”

You pick up your glass and drain the remainder of your mimosa, once you set it back down you fire back, “That’s fine, I can be sure enough for the both of us. Really, Brody, all this concern is sweet but-”

Brody has finished his own drink and waves the waitress back over, holding up his empty glass, he cuts you off when he says, “But nothing. I fucking love you and want nothing but the best for you and if you want this guy, then you should get to have him.”

The waitress is back over, bringing you new drinks and taking away the old glasses rapidly. She clearly does not want to overhear any more than she did earlier. You can’t help it, the internal tension breaks, and you laugh over his fervent tone, clearly genuine. It’s very sweet. You speak, “You rooting so intensely for my happiness at every turn is truly appreciated, but it’s complicated Brody…” You chew on your bottom lip for a second before pivoting, “Do you want to see what he looks like?”

“Finally! Yes, of course! I’ve gotta see the man of the hour!” He is way too excited as you pick up your phone and hit the side button, so the screen flicks on. You turn the device towards him. Brody says, “Oh wow! He is so your type it is insane! You look good together, this is a seriously great picture-wait.” He takes your phone out of your hand and gets a closer look, and then he gasps when he realizes, “You made a picture with him your fucking phone background?!”

It is true. You set your background as the first picture you and Erik ever took together, way back at your beloved bar, The Alibi, you leaning back into him while he has his arm around you. Picking up your glass and busy yourself taking a hearty drink as he is still going off, “And you managed to delude yourself that you weren’t in love with him how?”

You are all of a sudden smacked with the perfect way to help break the tension and hopefully shift this whole conversation. You offer up, “It’s not a lie, if you believe it?”

It works, Brody is totally caught off guard, he laughs, “Oh my God, fuck you!”

Brunch is good overall, you push your feelings aside for now and the conversation moves on to other things. An excellent time is had, you drink a little too much, you pick up the tab and insist because Brody still has an ass load of med school debt, and he lets you, thanking you gratefully. You both leave together, the chill has lessened, the sun is shining brighter.

You are about to start bidding him goodbye when his hands grip your shoulders tightly, he stares you down as he says, “It’s okay that you want more, you know that right? You have to know that you are worthy of more. Please, really think on if you are happy as you are or if you are willing to take that risk and go after him.”

“Brody-” You start, and he can tell from your tone alone you are trying to brush him off. He insists, “Please! Please, no more deflecting, I hate it. Will you at least do it for me? It won’t hurt to just consider it, I swear.”

A hard swallow, and you nod, “Yeah I can consider it.”

His next question is asked in a firm tone, “Promise me?”

You agree with him and say much more confidently than you feel, “I promise.”

He smiles and pulls you in for a hug which you tightly return. Your eyes are stinging just a little as your fingers grip the back of his jacket.

You and Brody bid each other goodbye part ways, and you go home, and once you get there? You promptly proceed to freak out. Alone with your thoughts and away from the prying eyes on the public you allow yourself to wallow in your feelings. You toss your keys in the direction of the hall table and throw your purse with more force than needed away from you making the contents of it go scattering across the floor. With your jacket and heeled boots still on you lean your back against the wall and slide down until you come to sit on the floor. Head in your hands you finally let yourself cry, wondering what the fuck you are supposed to do about the fact that you are head over heels for your friend with benefits.

How could you let this happen? This whole thing, your entire arrangement was about casually hooking up, having fun and getting off, and now? You have to contend with the fact your head and heart is utterly devoted to Erik. What a fucking mess you’ve made of everything, all because you couldn’t know your place.

The mental self flagellation lasts for far too long.

Eventually, you peel yourself up off the floor, strip off your coat and take off your boots. You kneel on the hardwood and scoop everything back into your purse and then hang it up. You go to the bathroom and clean yourself up, wiping at your face trying to sop up all the spilled tears. Tossing the crumbled up tissues in the trash, then you grip the sink, staring yourself down in the mirror. You speak, trying desperately to get yourself to believe it as the sound reverberates off the tiles, “Get it together. You’ll be fine, no! You are fine. Everything is fucking fine.”

You take a few deep breaths and leave the bathroom. Reluctantly you have to go back out, run a few last-minute errands, and then when you come home you pack your bag to go to your uncles tomorrow. It is easier to handle your rough emotional state while you are so busy, pouring your energy into making sure everything is just so. Sleep is difficult to reach, but you do get some good rest once you do crash.

The next day, the trip there is a long few hours, by fucking bus no less. You take the time to think about your situation, really ruminate on it, and you end up feeling more confused and unsure.

When you arrive at the bus station you call a cab to take you to your uncles house and arrive tired, with your bag slung on your shoulder. You ring the bell and the door quickly swings open, the lively sound of excited greetings pour out right away, and it makes you smile as you cross the threshold with your own, “Hello, so happy to be here.”

The next few hours are a good distraction. Your bag is dropped in the guest room you usually stay in, and then you are back with everyone else. Dinner is had, conversation, catching up with family and some drinks. Eventually, your cousins are settled down in the living room with a movie, and you are in the kitchen. You usually contribute to the meal by baking, and you always make the desserts the night before because the kitchen will be much too occupied making the actual holiday meal tomorrow. You have a glass of wine close by, a playlist not made by Erik playing in your earbuds as you are rolling out dough. Getting into the rhythm is good at quieting your mind, relaxing too. You throw yourself into peeling apples and chopping pecans, and making the spice mix for the pumpkin filling. So consumed by your work and the music you get surprised when your uncle enters the room. Soon as you see him the music is cut off, earbuds yanked out and you say brightly, “Hey! Finally, you’re home!”

He replies, “Hello! Finally is right, sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. This time of year is a killer, had to wrap up everything for the next few days off.”

“No sweat, I had to do the same thing, trust me I get it. But are you free now?” You ask. He sighs heavily, “Yes thankfully.”

He walks to the fridge and opens the door, he reaches in and pulls out a bottle of beer. Your uncle seems to take something off the side of the fridge before walking back over to you, “Check it out.”

You glance over to see the bottle opener in his grip, its handle is ceramic and sports an intricately carved tiger, and you laugh, “Oh my God!”

He starts the call, “Goooooo-” And you join in on it quickly, finishing along with him, “-tiiiigers!”

You laugh before proclaiming, “I love it! It never ends!”

“Never! I got you one to match too. It’s magnetic, can go right on the fridge.” He informs, and you grin, “Amazing, thank you so much.”

“You're welcome. How goes pie prep?” He asks. You reply, “Good! The classics are all underway, apple, pumpkin and pecan are on the go.”

He watches for a moment before asking, “Do you want some help?”

Your reply could only be, “Definitely.”

Baking with your uncle is always a good time, the pair of you work together pretty seamlessly and keep up conversation the entire time. Talk of work, what show’s you’ve been watching lately, and generally catching up on life. You also pipe up and tell him, "I got brunch with Brody yesterday."

Your uncle pauses in stirring the pot he is in front of at the stove, he looks over his shoulder as he asks with a smile, "Oh amazing, how's Brody doing?"

"He's great, busy though." You inform him as you continue to roll out dough, "He's deep in his residency and wedding planning."

"Ah, of course, that is coming up. It's going well?" He inquires, and you tell him, "Very, save the dates were sent out a while back, actual invites are being shipped out soon."

"And how is Kat?" He asks, and you reply, "Oh she's spectacular, he told me that her dress alterations are nearly done!"

"What an exciting time for the both of them. Send along their registry information when it's open, I should get them something." He sighs. You tell him, "I will! He asked about you and checked in too, insists we all have to do dinner sometime again."

Your uncle tells you that he would love that. The conversation continues on easily.

Once you’ve hit the point where the apple pie is in the freezer, the pumpkin pie is setting and the pecan is baking away in the oven you’ve stepped out onto the deck. It is getting late, the chill feels nice after working in the hot kitchen. You’ve got flour on your cheek and have brought your drink out with you, standing in your socks and staring up at the sky. The conversation has hit a comfortable lull and your uncle speaks up, “Everything alright?”

You hum curiously, glancing over at him. He is already looking at you, and you ask, “What do you mean?”

He explains, “Seems like something is bothering you, weighing you down.”

God, are you that obvious? Between him and Brody you wonder if it's written in permanent marker on your damn forehead. He speaks again, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you know I am always here for you no matter what.”

“I know. Just…I dunno what to say really.” You shrug, take a sip of your wine and then sigh out, “I’ve got a kind of difficult decision to make and as I think on it and try to come to a conclusion on just what to do, it’s like I get less clarity, not more. It’s frustrating.”

“That does sound very frustrating. Is it career related?” He asks, and you say, “No, no. More of a personal life problem.”

“Ah.” He nods like this explains everything. You question him, “What?”

“You and I are the same in that way, when it comes to practical decisions, about your job, where to live, what to study? It’s easy. But more emotional choices? So much harder, no road map or obvious answers there to be had. Feels more risky.” He lays it all out so simply and he nails it.

“Yes! Exactly. I am terrified of making the wrong choice or screwing this up, it’s paralyzing. It is easy to make choices that just affect me, but there is someone else tied up in this who is vital to me which makes this much more complicated and messy.” You confess.

He nods along and says, “That certainly adds another wrinkle to it all. I know you and the last thing you ever want to do is hurt those close to you, and it sounds like you are worried the wrong move might do just that.”

You ramble out, “Yes, either hurt or push this person away. I don’t want either of those things. We are at a great place and the idea of jeopardizing it is awful.”

“No wonder this is weighing you down.” He comments. You hum and nod.

The quiet is back.

After a minute he asks, “May I ask a question?”

You nod your consent, and he inquires, “Do you need to decide on this quickly?”

Taking a moment to ponder what he said you come away realizing that no, you suppose that you really don’t have a time limit on this. You’d been rushing but why? For what reason? You’ve only fully woken up to the fact you are completely in love with Erik less than forty-eight hours ago, why do you need to decide what you are doing regarding your arrangement and future right fucking now?

So you tell him, “No, I don’t.”

He gives you a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder as he explains, “Than don’t. Take your time to think on it. When you feel yourself get panicked, give yourself space, and let yourself calm down. Rushing isn’t going to make this easier but don’t procrastinate on it either. You do have to deal with it, but you are here for a few days anyway and this sounds like the kind of thing you’d want to do in person anyway, right?”

“It is, for sure. Not something I’d just text or talk about on the phone.” You explain, and he says, “Well then it’s settled, you’ve got days before you can even hope to work this out with whomever it is. So, try to enjoy the holiday and worry about this after.”

You feel better, lighter, and he is completely right. You say quietly, “Okay I will stop freaking myself out over this.”

“Good, I am glad to hear that. I know whatever this is must be a lot to have you so twisted up, but do you know what else I know? That you have a good head on your shoulders, and great decision-making skills, you can handle this.”

“Yeah?” You ask, and he replies, “No doubt. Now come on-” He holds his arms out, and you take him up on the offer, engaging in a tight and comforting hug.

When you pull back you sincerely say, “Thank you so much.”

“Of course, anytime! That’s what I’m here for.” He gestures back towards the glass sliding doors leading to the kitchen, “We should get back inside and make sure your cousin is leaving that pecan pie alone.”

The cousin in question did, in fact, get to one of the pies early one year and ate a quarter of it himself before he was caught, you don't need a repeat of that. “Ugh you are right, he is so bad for that.” You agree, making your way to the door.

The next day is a flurry of activity, from the time you wake up. The work more than pays off, the whole meal comes out fantastically. Everyone praises the pies you make heavily, as always. You text a picture of the spread to Erik who responds with a picture of his loaded up plate. The pair of you gush over how good it looks and assure the other that it tastes even better. You already miss him, you wish you could be eating together. The thought is laughable though, sharing a holiday together? Please, as if. A complete pipe dream. After dinner, you don’t have to clean up, that is left to the people who didn’t help cook. You laze on the couch, casually texting Erik about how stuff is going with him. He is doing well, apparently in a similar position languishing in his post dinner food coma in the company of his cousins.

The weekend is good, you message Erik on and off, but mostly you try to be present with your family and keep yourself busy and occupied during the day. At night, you let yourself lie awake in bed and ponder the situation at hand with Erik. You wonder just what you should do, and try to keep calm and not spiral out when you do. It goes surprisingly well because you tell yourself that you are just thinking right now, not actually doing.

You feel better after the end of the weekend, you have thought enough and strengthened your resolve, confident on what to do. And it is precisely what you told Brody you’d do: Nothing. You aren’t going to do anything. Your current dynamic and relationship with Erik means far too much for you to mess it up. The feelings will eventually die on their own, they have to, right? So you simply have to wait it out and focus on the good. A brilliant plan really.

Seems a little less brilliant when you and Erik meet up again for dinner to catch up. He arrives to your place, knocks as he unlocks the door to alert you of his arrival, and you get off the couch and meet him in the hall. You throw your arms around him as you greet him enthusiastically, “Oh my God Erik, hi!”

“Hey freak, what’s up?” He replies as he squeezes you tightly.

It’s been about a week and a half since you’ve last seen each other and how much you missed him hits you hard. The pair of you texted a good amount but still, it isn’t the same. Shortly you lead him to the bar where the dinner you made is already waiting. The meal is good, the company better, you talk on and on, playing catch up. Much later, the conversation reaches a point where you say, “You know I had this dream about you while I was away…”

That has Erik pulling his drink away from his face. A helpless smile on his face, endlessly pleased with the idea that you dreamt of him and dying to hear all the details. He asks curiously, “Oh? Tell me more.”

You shrug one shoulder, leaning your elbow on the bar, your fingers toy with your hair as you confess, “Wellll it was pretty intense, we didn’t know each other like we do now, we were practically strangers. You snuck into my apartment and caught me unaware, crept right into my bed and just used me. It was insanely hot.”

That does sound extremely hot. Erik immediately asks, “Do you want to do something like that?”

You brighten immediately and say, “Yes! Oh my God, yes, please. Are you sure that you want to?”

He quirks a brow and says, “Uh yeah, of course, why not? Isn’t that what we do here? Indulge each other’s kinkiest and nastiest desires?”

You explain your thinking quickly, “That is what we do, but this is kinda of a big step-up and not everyone is into the whole consensual non-consent thing.”

“Fair, but yeah, I am into the thought. If you want it, then I want to make it happen.” He says it so confidently, honest and genuine. You seriously lucked out with him, you think you could bring almost anything to the table, and he would be on board. To be fair, it’s the same with him, he could ask for nearly anything, and you’d bend over backwards for him.

You push the affection down and say, “Amazing, so let’s talk logistics then-”

The pair of you do just that. The conversation stretches, you plan the major and minor details and decide to do this a few days from now, Friday, leading into your weekend. You get so caught up talking and planning, and before you know it you have to part ways, you need to get some rest for work tomorrow, so the decision is made to hold off on having sex until then. You are obscenely excited, and very much looking forward to it. You are sure it will be worth the wait.

The first frost is just setting in as the night everything falls apart draws near. You are none the wiser of the foreboding chill when you climb into bed at just the right time. You have the lights off and are curled up, cozily and calmly waiting for Erik to let himself in and enact your little role play.

He's so quiet that you don’t even hear him come into your apartment, but when you hear the door to your bedroom creak open, you bite back a smile as you keep your eyes shut, keeping up the ruse that you are asleep. You keep perfectly still and listen to every step as he sneaks his way to your bed. His body moves swiftly yet carefully to the right of you, his form casting a shadow over the moonlight shining through your window–not that you noticed with your eyes shut, but you could feel his body heat slowly inching closer as he leaned in, reaching out a hand to gently touch your blanket covered foot. He starts to caress your ankle carefully with his thumb, as if waiting for you to stir. When you don't, he drags his hand further up your leg. The tingly warm sensation of his hands is accompanied by a light gasp from him before he whispers almost inaudible, “Ho-holy shittt…”

His hand continues on its leisurely path, up your thigh and over the curve of your hip, and then you hear his knees hit the carpet. You can feel him lean even closer, his weight pressing into the mattress as he dares to further invades your personal space. He's methodical, slowly inching closer, and it's deliciously maddening for you to hold still for this long. Your heart is racing now, the anticipation building for what you have planned to start.

He is close enough now that his nose brushes against yours. His breath fans your face as he breathes out, “I can’t believe this is real. I’m finally here.”

You shift in your spot, pretending to stir awake, his words serving as your cue to continue the scene. You play it up just right, feigning confusion at the presence of a nighttime visitor. You let out a soft and sleepy, “What?”

“Awe sorry my sweet girl, I didn’t mean to wake you so soon.” He coos softly, the backs of his fingers trace over your cheek. You start to squirm away, playing up the fear and confusion as you raise your voice slightly, “W-Who the fuck are you? Wha-what the hell are you doing in my room?”

Erik doesn’t let you get far, griping your wrist in one of his hands almost instantly. He reassures you in a soothingly sweet voice, “Shh. Shhh. Hey, it’s okay, you know me!”

His other hand reaches over and turns on the bedside lamp. He lets your eyes adjust to the sudden change as he clarifies, “It’s me, Erik.”

You are sitting halfway up, and you continue to follow the script when you ask, “Huh? You're…you're the guy who did my tattoo last week?”

“Yeah! That’s me, you got it!” He smiles fondly, and sits on the edge of the bed, visibly giddy you remembered him.

You mutter, "W-Wha? H-how did you-" but he cuts you off as he starts to explain himself, “I just… I couldn't stop thinking about you ever since that afternoon. You sat so well, I was so impressed, but then we cracked jokes and got to know each other. I thought we really hit it off, but to be honest, I already knew you were the one when you sat in my chair that day…”

Erik trails off, his eyes rove over your body, taking in the obscenely tight and sheer slip you wore to bed for this. Erik pivots to a very different train of thought as he admits,“I will admit though, seeing you in those short shorts, in the middle of winter, made me think you must have really wanted to impress me. Well, it definitely got my attention. So much so that I… got a little…obsessed.”

“With me?” You ask in disbelief, and he confirms, “Oh completely, totally obsessed with you. We are meant to be, so it's okay that you didn't call again because I found you!”

You watch something shift in his eyes, a slight and subtle change, his tongue darts out, whets his bottom lip almost nervously, and he says, “And now that I have…I-I'm sorry I just can’t hold back anymore-”

His hands close over your shoulders, pulling you to him as his mouth crashes into yours. His lips are hungry; claiming yours deeply and forcefully as he quietly moans into it. You tense against him, trying so hard not to give in immediately, and yet still managing to play reluctant participant for a while longer, as he chants against you, “Please, please, please.” Between desperate kisses. It's almost too much to bear.

He breaks the kiss to drag his mouth down your jaw, he nips at the skin and kisses your neck as he

starts to gush, “God, you smell so fucking good and your skin is just-”

He punctuates his praises by sliding his hands over your exposed thighs, your slip riding up from his greedy touch and exposing more flesh. “-so damn soft and warm, and-”

You shiver, interrupting his musings, “Why are you here, Erik?”

His eyes raise from his ministrations to lock with yours, as he breathes out, “I couldn’t stay away any longer. I tried to be good and wait for you to call, but when you didn't, i-it became too painful to ignore how badly I wanted to see you again so, I came to you. See how well we fit together? Jus' like puzzle pieces.”

You keep up the act, making your voice especially small and scared as you ask, "Call? W-What? You gave me the tattoo and that was it. I don't know w-what your talking about?"

He ignores your questions, opting to show you what he means instead as he starts to touch you again, his hands wander, and he cups your breasts, his thumbs brush over your nipples through the thin fabric, and you whimper, "What are you doing? P-Please…just–" But he shushes you, assuring you yet again, "Nothing you won't like, I promise. I'm devoted to you, anything you want and it's yours. I'll make you feel so good, you'll see."

His touch gets bolder, greedier still, palming your chest, and you try to shy away as you say, "I-I don't-Erik we barely know each other-"

He doesn't let you squirm away, he keeps you close and cuts in to try and convince you, "I know all I need to, just…just let me take care of you, baby."

You let out a questioning hum as one of his hands starts to run down over your stomach, heading down below the edge of the blanket. You hold your legs closed, but it doesn't do anything to stop him, he forces his hand between your thighs and his touch brushes over your barely clothed cunt. He proceeds to elaborate, "I know that when I am around you, everything else just fades away. Like all I see is you and me."

His fingers swirl with confidence, and you have to seriously work to bite back the moan that wants to crawl out of your throat. "And I know that I'm not strong enough to stay away from you, and that I start to think about you in ways that I definitely shouldn't-"

His other hand is getting involved now, pulling the blanket back enough to be able to trace over the curved back of the tiger tattoo he gave you. "-like the fact that you sounded so pretty, moaning and sighing in my chair that day, and how I could pull similar sounds from you, but in pleasure, if you let me. I wanted to be the only person to see you in those short shorts, to mark your skin, to have you all to myself. Then, I really started to think about how I could just steal you and hide you away, so I'm the only one who gets to see this incredible, gorgeous body-"

You are silent, practically melting inside as you listen to him agonize over you. This scenario is heavenly, you are drinking it all up, enjoying it immensely. Listening to Erik say all these wonderfully possessive, obsessive things is filling a deep desire in you that in any other context would be troubling. But here, you can feign distaste while getting to secretly preen over the words you've been dying to hear from him ever since you caught feelings for him. You cherish the freedom you have now to enjoy his words without overthinking the fact that you wish the sentiments he utters were true and not just a farce to further the plot of a role play. You can save all that for when he's gone, though. So, for now, it's all about the present, and what a fucking gift it is.

Despite how perfect the scene is going thus far, Erik is really far from it behind the scenes. At first when you discussed it, he thought this would be an easy ask to fulfill. In fact, he was pretty excited about the chance to break out of the routine to try something different. There was one thing about consensual non-consent that he didn't prepare for, which was–in hindsight–a major oversight considering it's in the bloody name. The scene you are both participating in plays on the one thing that he fears most; the feeling of being an intruder, someone unwanted; someone undesired.

Sure, he could have focused more on the other aspects, like having the chance to voice some of the things he'd agonized over in reality that he would never be able to say to you in any other context. He did want you for himself, but he didn't realize how hard it would be to see you deny his feelings right in front of his eyes over and over again.

The idea that this could have been a great outlet for his already waning psyche was misguided and frankly just fucking stupid; he can see that now. Bearing his fucking soul like a devotee worshipping at your altar while you shrink away in disgust and stare on in horror–even if you were playing a part all along–felt like a nightmare not even his own warped mind could have ever conjured up. It's like a knife in his gut, twisting around and around over and over stirring up sickness and pain with an edge of terrible dread.

Even if his heart is breaking in two with every wince and weak plea he receives from you to stop, he redoubles his efforts for your sake, vowing to see this through to the end. His hand is in your underwear now, his fingers are touching your bare skin as if it were the most precious and fragile thing in the world. His caresses are gentle but insistent as his fingers travel down to part your folds and finally delve inside you. Your breath catches as you feel them slide in and out of you, your whines turning into moans.

He groans, realizing he should have been taking pleasure in the sounds he's drawing from you right now, but even that feels fake to his frayed mind. Your head is turned to the side, so you miss the furrowing of his brows as he attempts to rid himself of his spiralling thoughts. He begins to curl his digits against the spot inside you as he lets out one of the most candid thoughts he's ever had that had been plaguing him for months, "I want to be the only one who makes you feel this way."

You choke out a weak and scared sounding, "Erik please st-stop-"

He hates this. This all feels wrong, and he can't ignore the wall of indifference that's threatening to come crumbling down. Only when the overwhelming fog of despair clears does it finally dawn on him what emotion he's been battling all along: Rejection.

You are lost in the haze of pleasure, body taut, your clit throbbing against his palm as your wet walls hug his fingers as he presses them to that perfect spot that makes your legs jerk over and over again. You feel like you are floating, being carried away by everything he is doing, until he says the one word that snaps you out of your reverie.

"Zanzibar." He breathes the safe word out on an exhale, and then much too quickly he unwraps himself from around you. His fingers slip out, and his touch completely leaves every part of your body.

It takes a moment for what just happened to register. Erik just safe worded, this is the first time that either of you has ever done that in your arrangement. The strong simmer of your arousal flushes out of your body, instead immediately replaced with concern for his well-being. Your eyes open, and you see him sitting away from you on the edge of the bed, he's snatched up some tissues and is wiping clean the fingers that were just inside of you. Your heart is still beating hard, and you are a bit breathless when you ask, "Erik, are you okay?"

He isn't looking at you, eyes unfocused but fixated on some part of the rug a few feet away, he shakes his head and tells you, "No, I'm not okay."

You throw the blankets off and crawl towards him as you try to say in a soothing tone, "Okay, let's talk about it-" You are close enough that your hand is reaching out to touch him comfortingly on his shoulder, but before you can make contact he gets up. He cuts you off when he says harshly, "Oh you want to talk about it?"

You are confused, hand stuck in midair as you respond, "Yes? If you open up, it'll help. You need to talk about it, be honest about what you are feeling."

That one word sticks in Erik's brain, feeling, and God he is getting so fucking sick of that; of feeling. He feels far too much lately, and nothing good, just longing, hurt and denial over and over on loop. He overthinks when he is with you and when he is away from you and is having to hide how he really feels about you at every single turn.

What he really feels is sick, of all of it, of this stupid song and dance he is locked in with you. So to hear you now, concerned about what he is feeling is about to drive him up the wall. He is balling up the tissue and then throwing it away in the can when he bites out his next question with far too much venom, "Oh of course, you're concerned about my feelings, is that right?"

Your volume raises slightly as you insist, "Yes, Christ! Of course I am! Erik, come on, this has never happened before, it's a big deal. Let me help you!"

Erik turns towards you, arms crossed over his chest as he asks, "It isn't a big deal. At all actually. And what makes you think that I want your help exactly?"

That one question totally takes you aback. His entire body language the way he is looking at you, forget about the tone he has taken thus far, it feels entirely foreign. Erik has gotten frustrated, and angry around you sure, but it has never been directed AT you, until right now. You deflate a little when you respond, "If I was the one who safe worded I'd want your help…I figured it'd be the same for you."

"You can't just assume that everyone wants to sit and agonize about every single fleeting emotion until it's been talked to death. Sometimes talking and talking in circles isn't going to fix anything." He states with a harsh edge.

You say quietly, "But not talking about it at all doesn't seem healthy." You are so confused right now. Your hands scrub over your face for a moment before you explain, "Erik just, I'm experiencing serious whiplash right now and trying to figure out what the fuck just happened here-"

"Oh my God, it isn't a big deal! I just safe worded, it isn't like somebody died." He waves his hand dismissively and starts to walk out of the room. You refuse to let him get away, you get up and follow him, snatching up your robe off the hook on the door on your way. You slip your arms through and quickly tie the belt around your waist as you trail behind him with a question, "Erik, wait! Where are you going?"

He pauses, thinking about it and soon realizes he can't stay here, there is no way he can take you hounding him on this endlessly, you clearly aren't going to let it go easily. So he makes a snap decision. Erik informs you of his choice with three little words, "I'm going home."

That stops you in your tracks for a moment. It is early, after the role play there were plans for dinner and a sleepover. You'd already prepped the food earlier, it's in the fridge right now, further still you had made plans to start watching a new a TV show together. So him wanting to leave suddenly like this? You are shocked, this is the last thing that you'd expect from Erik. One of your supremely flaky friends? Sure, but him? Never. The way he is acting has you seriously concerned. You launch back into action swiftly as he now has his bag he parked in the living room earlier in his hand and is headed for the door.

You rush forward and push past him, throwing your arms out to either side of yourself, effectively blocking the hallway as you say, "No way! You are not going anywhere until you tell me what's making you ready run out of here!"

He sighs heavily and says your name followed by, "-please move out of the way-"

"No! I won't, not until we deal with this!" You insist. He asks again more firmly, "Just fucking move!"

Your voice raises again, matching the anger swelling inside your ribcage, the stomp of your foot helping punctuate your point, "No! Spill!"

He drops his bag onto the carpet to his left as he grumbles in complete frustration, "Oh my God you are so stubborn!"

You spit a reply out, "Well I guess we're matching yet again."

Erik is staring down at you, and you back up at him for a moment and as you are looking into his eyes and see the intense lingering emotion you soften. What you say next really sets him off, you reach one hand out to touch him on the arm as you plead, "Erik, please, I promise you can talk to me."

He jerks away from your touch for the second time tonight when you try to comfort him, asking harshly in a condescending tone, "You think it's really that simple?"

Have you entered the goddamned Twilight Zone? Why wouldn't it be? Your response comes rushing out, "What the fuck? Of course it is, you can talk to me."

At last, he starts to speak his mind with a shake of his head, "No I really fucking can't! There are so many things that I can't talk to you about."

You are stunned into silence, still staring up at him, and he doesn't stop. He keeps talking, "I have plenty that I want to talk to you about, but I fucking can't. There are things I want to do, but I fucking can't, I'm hiding things constantly and I can't be honest, and it all sucks shit!"

Now that he's started, he can't get a lid on it, "I was giving it my all in there while you gave me nothing, and it's just gotten to be too much. I've given so much, sacrificed for this-" He gestures between you both, leading you to cut in before he can continue his train of thought, baffled, "Sacrificed? For this?"

"Yes, I have compromised so much, I've given so much of my sanity to make this arrangement work and now I'm just-" He takes a shaky breath and your heart is in your throat, terrified of what he might reveal as you reluctantly press him, "Just?"

"I feel like this is all going wrong, and I am just failing over and over. All I can think about is how suffocating this whole arrangement feels now." He confesses.

You never thought he would say that; had never sincerely considered he was suffering in silence all this time. Your jaw drops, more than a little dumbfounded. His rant is cut short as you interrupt him, disbelief and annoyance colouring your tone. "This? You feel suffocated by this? The low stakes no commitment friends with benefits thing?"

He sadly was telling the truth, albeit a half-truth; the state of your arrangement has been extremely difficult for him lately. The mental gymnastics he goes through just to keep all his complicated, ruinous emotions in check, and the pressure he is under to be the perfect fuck buddy for you, is choking the life out of him. He feels as if he's being buried alive; his body lying in a shallow grave, damp soil filling his mouth and invading his senses with oppressive all consuming heaviness as the dirt continues to be piled on top of him. He breaks out of his silent torture to lash out at you instead, "Yes! And you know what else? You don't get to tell me how I'm supposed to feel!"

You let out an exasperated laugh before you hurl out your defense and own line of questioning all in one breath, "Oh I'd never fucking dream of telling you how you feel because apparently I've got zero idea what goes on in that department! I am honestly just so baffled as to how you could possibly be suffocated by something that is supposed to be fun. It has been fun, right?"

Erik has denied many things in his lifetime, but he cannot deny that this has been fun; in fact it's the best time he's ever had, and that's the problem. Is the sugar high of your casual relationship enough to outweigh the lonely and isolating crash of reality that you'll never be more than that? The answer to that question is becoming easier to swallow as this conversation continues to spin out.

He shrugs, "Yeah sure it's been fun, but we both knew this wouldn't last forever, right? Eventually we'd want more than to just fuck around–At least I want more than that–God! I just want something real for once!"

Oh.

That's right. It isn't real. As much as you built up in your head that maybe there could be more in store for you both there was never any real, tangible sign you were turning into something more than an ephemeral distraction by design. You may have came into this looking for fun, but you'll be leaving with little more than god-awful disappointment. Quite the consolation prize.

All the obsessive, dark romance novel worthy things he said to you tonight in your bedroom did nothing to warn you of the heartbreaking predicament that was in store for you. Everything you've done together truly was just a distraction for Erik, and that is woefully underwhelming compared to the way you've been secretly mooning over every warm touch and sweet word he spared you. You feel mortified for having read into so many of those moments, of which meant nothing to him.

It hurts to have it all confirmed so clearly; to have all your efforts dismissed in a single sentence. None of the sickly sweet words he said nor the thoughtful things he did would be enough to remedy that. Following that logic, all the times you laughed together and slept together don't classify as "real". Nor did the times you cooked for him or invited him into your bed. How could they ever have been real without a fucking 'exclusively for couples' sticker slapped on the side of it to make it official!?

It's comical really how his words cut you down so hard when you've done nothing but give him all you had–as foolish as you were to do so in the first place. All the vulnerable little parts of you that you've shown him over the past few months just fell by the wayside, and now he's threatening to change the channel on you as quickly as he does the mediocre music on the radio. Even the way you feel about him right now–if you were to truly vocalize it–would never cut it for him either.

It wouldn't serve any real purpose other than to crush you further to be rejected on top of being talked at anyhow. Not like you wanted to anyway with how awful he's being right now. As he has been going off on you, your jaw has been tightening, teeth clenching so hard together you are surprised they aren't cracking yet. You can feel the tension slowly ratcheting up in your body, stomach queasy and palms clammy as you brace yourself for whatever new horribleness he is about to unleash on you.

"I want to have a serious relationship." He exhales shakily and you want to scoff, barely holding it back as you bitterly think, "Of fucking course you do, I know that! I've been painfully fucking aware of it for way too long."

He continues on, circling back to what he said before, "I'm suffocating because I can't even be honest with my own fucking family. I'm getting so sick of having to lie about where I am going and who I'm seeing."

That hurts, hearing that really fucking hurts. You knew there was a deeper reason you haven't met anyone important in his life. You'd been valiantly trying to ignore it, not dig or examine too closely, not wanting to face the truth of the matter. He wasn't saving you from embarrassment, he was protecting himself from it. He hides you because he's ashamed of you, he's not serious about you. There is no place for you in his family. Nor is there any place for you in his REAL life. Even so, you certainly didn't ask to be his dirty little secret.

"I never asked you to keep me or this arrangement from anyone, Erik. And yet, you felt the need to anyway. That was your choice, one you made from the get-go." You lay it out plainly, "You complain about sacrificing, like you're the only one who has feelings; As if I haven't had to lift a finger to make this work! I've sacrificed plenty of my own time and effort salvaging your shitty nights; keeping our arrangement fun and exciting. Hell, I even gave up peanut butter without a second thought, to keep your family safe! Does all that really pale in comparison to your struggles, truly?"

Erik knows you are right–despite the ire boiling in his veins over being called out right now–he really does. It was his choice, his suggestion to hide you from the important people in his life months ago, and you went along with it for his sake because he asked. Erik feels the early signs of guilt creeping in but his pride prevents him from back peddling, so he doubles down, ignoring your question to bitterly retort, "I didn't realize it was such a chore."

You immediately fire back, "It isn't! It's never been an issue for me, but I'm bothered that you are throwing all YOU'VE done in my face, like I haven't held up my end of this arrangement. It's supposed to be a give-and-take, and I've done plenty of giving. I don't complain about it because there's nothing to complain about! I wanted to do all that, and was more than happy to do it, too…"

Realizing he's not going to be able to keep up this argument without inflicting even more irreparable damage, he pivots to a last-minute contingency, of which he never would have entertained if he were in a more stable frame of mind, "You know, you're right, it was my shitty idea, I admit it. But I have a better idea this time; One that will solve all our problems right here, right now." He offers vaguely, and you look at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. He lets his emotions get the better of him when he impulsively blurts out, "Let's just say fuck it and go our separate ways."

Oh, fucking Christ. This is your worst nightmare come to fruition. The ground threatens to swallow you up as you stare in shock, the bitter words replaying in your head like a broken record. He wants to call this all off and never see each other again, just like that. He's so over it all after all you've done…You were accepting of his situation; being a family-oriented guy who would eventually want to settle down with someone in a 'normal' relationship, but you were complacent, entertaining the delusion that maybe you'd be enough for him. And in the end, when he's doing the exact thing you expected–moving on to find the 'real thing'–you act like it's a surprise…How stupidly naive of you.

That night on the trampoline was your final warning but you willingly filed it away for later and opted to get swept up in seeing his fucking room for the first time. Seeing a part of him you never had before softened the blow that he dealt when he listed off all the things he wanted that you couldn't give him. He wants someone he can be proud to be seen with, which is so very clearly not you. No, you've been taking up too much of his time.

And now, after he's been struggling to deal with the secrecy of it all, he decides the best thing to do is call it quits, like you were just a layover that held up his flight to happily ever after. He can't find the perfect person for himself if he is wasting all his time with you. His dream girl you are not; You are–no–were, just his fuck buddy, his freak. You aren't going to beg him to stay, he's explained himself and made his feelings more than clear, you got what you were asking for. You forced him to talk, and now you know for a fact that he doesn't want anything to do with you any longer.

Your arms fall to hang loosely back at your sides, and you move out of the way, breaking the eye contact as you say, "Fine, let's call it."

He is stunned, anger dulls just a hair from the complete shock that you are seemingly giving in so quickly as he asks, "Seriously?"

You exhale and shrug your shoulders, "Seriously, let's stop this. We said we'd do this as long as it was fun and made sense and clearly, it isn't fun any longer and doesn't make sense anymore."

You begin pulling away to brush past him and he doesn't let you. His hand grips your shoulder, and he stops you as he asks, "You have to be fucking kidding me! After all we've done, you really are giving up on this so easily?"

Trying to hide how much your chest is aching from his touch, the last he'll probably ever give you, with a sigh you respond, "Yep, now you won't have to worry about hiding me away, you can go back to your family and stop lying to them."

He is so angry, at himself, at letting the situation spin so far out of control, but he's only thinking about the anger you spurred on by giving up so easily when he spits out, "It must have been so easy for you to leave your family behind, but I refuse to do that when it gets hard."

You inhale sharply, matching the sudden acute stab of hurt in your chest. You hate what he is insinuating, that you'd ever ask for or want him to choose you over his family, you would never. Does he really think you would? Erik has pushed you too far, and you wrench out of his grip as you start to fill him in when you say coldly, "It's only ever easy to leave when you know you aren't wanted-"

And right now, you don't feel wanted by him at all. The feelings are far too familiar, the edges of them too sharp and they cut through you to your core so easily. You finish your previous thought with a clearly spoken, "-and you don't know my family."

Erik's eyes narrow, arms crossing tightly over his chest when he fires back with, "And who's fault is that?"

Too far, and way too much. As if your situations are even remotely the same. He is being so obtuse right now it is insane. You are seeing red. You cannot stop yourself, and now it's your turn to go off, you are furious when you unload, "Oh my fucking God, Erik! What is wrong with you right now? I feel like I am losing my mind!" Your fists clench at your sides as you continue, "You feel like a completely different person tonight! You are being so mean, why are you being so fucking mean?"

You take a deep breath and press forward, "You tell me you want to call it off, and when I agree with you, you instantly belittle me about it? What do you want from me? I genuinely don't wanna hear or decipher your angry ramblings anymore. Save me the suspense, please; tell me what it is you want me to do! Should I kneel? Beg on my knees for you to continue grace me with your presence? Would that make you happy, Campbell?"

The heat of his body so close to yours used to calm you, but the brewing tensions between you has made his presence far too sweltering for your liking. His proximity irritates you more and more as the seconds tick by. He was the one person you thought you'd never need space from, and yet here you are, stalking down the hall a few steps away from him. You whip around to face him again as you elaborate, "Because guess what? That is not me, and it never will be me! Besides, why would I fight for you to stay when I am so clearly holding you back?"

Erik is stunned. He hasn't seen you this angry, well ever; period. He has no idea what else he thought his outburst would achieve, but seeing you so viscerally enraged at him just feels…awful. Maybe a part of him wanted to see something other than that cool and collected facade you maintain. However, receiving exactly what he asked for feels sobering as you continue to zealously lay into him.

You cross your arms over your chest as you size him up, "You know I vowed to myself a long time ago that I would steer clear of relationships, but I know you want one. I vividly remember everything you said at your house after the concert. But even before that, I had been stewing for months, terrified at the thought that I could be standing in the way of your happiness all this time…"

You look into his eyes for a moment, which was a mistake because your voice starts to trail off as you watch his angry expression deflate to mild confusion.

The thought flits through your mind, "Well, I'll make it clear for him soon enough."

You pipe up again with renewed resolve, "So when you blew up at me, it made me realize those worries were spot on. No! I won't do it. I won't prevent you from meeting the right person any longer! I didn't do it to Brody and I certainly will not do it to you."

His jaw tightens at the mention of Brody at a time like this, but it's overshadowed by the fact that you are well and truly giving up, because of him. What the hell is Erik supposed to say to that? For once, he had no idea how to salvage the way this night turned out. The spine tingling fear creeps up his throat, warning him to hold his tongue if only to prevent himself from making things even worse, so he says nothing.

His happiness has always been you, and despite his piss poor job at showing you it, you're the best thing in his life to date. He was right when he said he was failing to make this work, but it's because he can't even make it clear to you how important you are to him. He has no clue how to close the distance that has now grown between you.

Fuck, forget a shallow grave, he's practically dug himself into the Marianas trench by now if your words are anything to go by,"–And that is part of the problem, I've been thinking about what you want almost exclusively. But what about what I want? Do you even know what I want right now?"

He genuinely doesn't know what you want, but he does want to know. He finally speaks and asks, "What do you want?"

What you say to him next is crushing, "I want you to get the fuck out of my apartment."

No… God, no! He's screwed up so bad, but he has to do something; he can't leave yet. He starts to say, "Wait, please, I-" You don't care what he wants, you don't want to hear what he has to say so you loudly cut him off , "Get out Erik. You wanted to go home so badly, well here's your out!"

The words come tumbling out much faster, afraid you will talk over him, "Just, hear me out, we can talk some more, I don't want it to end like this-" He insists and your volume increases yet again, "I don't want to talk anymore, I want you to leave! Fucking leave! Get out, now!"

You can feel the tears welling in your eyes, all of the anger, sadness, and pain that has accumulated inside you replaces the rapidly dwindling adrenaline. God, the last thing you want to do is cry in front of him. There is no formal goodbye; no sweet kiss nor lingering hug. You don't even want to fucking look at him. You turn on your heel and stomp to the bathroom since it's closer than your bedroom. You storm inside and slam the door, sealing yourself inside.

Your hand clutches the door knob tightly as you listen. It takes a minute before you hear him move to pick up his bag. Then the shuffling of clothes comes after as he puts on his shoes and coat until finally he leaves. He slams your front door harder than necessary much like you just did.

You wait a while longer before you walk back out. His stuff is gone and so is he.

With a heavy sigh, you head to your couch, flopping down on it unceremoniously before finally letting the tears fall from your eyes.

---

Part one end.

---

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