thinking about fwb!Hawks again…
You’re both still flushed from the heat of what’s just happened. Clothes tugged on haphazardly, chests still heaving with the effort it takes to calm your racing hearts. Hair messy, his wings unfolded just slightly, bristling like he can’t bring himself to close them all the way, not yet.
It’s the only sign he’s even mildly affected by you. He looks dangerous calm, dangerously unaffected while you struggle to make sure the oversized shirt you’re tugging on isn’t inside out. He lounges against the arm of your couch, watching you with molten eyes, tracking your every stutter.
His wings rustle faintly. “Alright, dove. Before this turns into some kind of… thing, we need to set some rules.”
“Rules?” you echo, voice soft and scratchy. You yawn and run a hand over your hair.
“Mm,” Keigo agrees. His smirk flicks over your mouth before coming back to meet your eyes, deliberately casual. “Rules. As in, something you agree to do or not do—“
“I know what a rule is,” you huff. You bring your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you lean back against the armchair.
“No offense, but you don’t strike me as the type to have done this before,” he goes on, and for a moment, you bristle. No offense? Has anything unoffensive ever followed a no offense?
Your lips purse, but you stay quiet. Keigo continues, after a maddeningly long moment, “it’s so nothing gets too complicated, dove. Okay? Not a punishment.”
“Okay,” you say, even though you aren’t entirely sure you believe him, especially when he says, “Rule One: no one can know. Not your friends, not your boss, not your neighbor who likes to yell at the landlord. You and me dove, we’re ghosts.”
That makes you pause—but two can play at that game.
“Fine,” you finally say, steeling your jaw. “Rule Two: no kissing.”
His eyebrows raise almost imperceptibly, just like they did the first time he saw you naked. “Oh, so we’re playing it like that, are we?”
“Like what?” you ask, batting your eyes innocently. Your feet give you away, toes battling it out for space on the armchair. “You said we needed rules.”
“Touché,” he acquiesces. His wings rustle against his back before finally laying flat. He fixes you with that molten gaze, the side of his lip slowly curling as he says, “Rule Three: no sleepovers.”
His gaze flicks down the hall to the room you’d spent most of the morning, naked and desperate and moaning his name. “I’m not exactly the cuddling type.”
You nod, though your stomach twists. “I never asked you to stay.” Then, with a sense of finality, you sigh. “Anything else, oh wise one?”
Hawks smirks at that, just one corner of his mouth pricking slightly higher than the other, something just shy of conceited. “Yeah,” he says, leaning forward on his arms, “just one.” He waits until he feels as if he has your entire attention, and his voice drops lower, not playful anymore. “No falling in love.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “As if I would.”
His head tilts, eyes narrowing just slightly, like he wants to call you out, like he isn’t sure if you mean it.
He doesn’t. After a moment, he grins again, all easy charm and flirtation. “Perfect,” he says, “then we’re on the same page.”
