Archive of Our Own

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The first snowflakes begin to fall when you’re ten miles from your destination.Tiny particles of slushy ice fall in wet clumps along your windshield before the wiper blades clear the glass, only to pepper the surface again seconds later. The pavement of the interstate is still clear, the temperature a little too warm for the snow to stick just yet. You concentrate on the pair of tail lights glowing like coals ahead, keeping back a safe distance just in case the roads start getting slippery.
See you soon.
These are the words that Dave Miller had inscribed on the back of the photographs you’d taken taken at the now derelict Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria during your camping trip last fall. The same words the older man had uttered in closing at the end of your phone conversation the night before, lowly murmured, full of promise.When you’d first answered the phone you’d only been half paying attention, busy addressing family Christmas cards until that voice, his voice, had purred to you, offered a greeting and saying your name, making your stomach flutter wildly and a familiar warmth spread through you.You hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to be the first one to reach out and make contact since you'd parted ways at the Silver Lake campground, your hopes at a reunion dwindling as time had passed, more and more convinced it had been a one time fling, but then he’d finally come through, calling you a week before Christmas, inviting you out to eat at the diner he’d mentioned to you previously, the one off the interstate that had such good breakfast sandwiches.Now it is late evening, and you won’t be seeking out such early morning fare for a meal. You don’t really have much of an appetite at the moment; you’re too nervous, too anxious to see the park ranger again. You’re so distracted by the memories of that voice in your ear, inevitably recalling the heated moments between the two of you—in his cabin, yours, the restaurant, his car, the public restroom—that you nearly miss your exit, grateful once again that the roads aren’t slick as you hastily pump the brakes and flip your turn signal.The illuminated sign for the diner greets you shortly after you’ve left the highway, an oval sign with a white background and red lettering serving as a reassuring beacon. You’re going the right way. You’re nearly at your destination.The parking lot is not terribly crowded. Perhaps the lateness of the hour or the inclement weather has kept some folks away. You realize you have no idea what Dave’s car looks like; you’d just agreed to meet in the parking lot.You pull into a vacant space one row away from the entrance and shift the gears into park, wondering if you should stay inside the vehicle where it’s toasty warm or venture outdoors into the storm to search for your date, or perhaps even just head inside the building and wait for him there. Your eyes flick to the digital display on the dashboard. You’re a little early. Maybe you should just stay put.A pair of headlights flashes in your rearview mirror and you frown, trying to discern details about this new arrival. Something darkly shaded. A sedan. Older, the engine a little more throaty. Then silence. A tall figure emerges from the vehicle. It’s him.You tell yourself you’re not going to rush. You’re going to take your time tucking your keys into your purse after departing from and locking your own car, waiting for him to approach you. You’re closer to the diner, after all; it just makes good sense. You nearly drop your keys. Your fingers are slippery from touching the car door to shut it. That’s all. You feel your heart rate elevating. The wet snow sinks into your hair and stains your cheeks. Your breath clouds the air in front of your face. You have to see him. Your booted feet are already betraying you, crushing your resolve, bringing you in the opposite direction of the establishment, deeper into the parking lot, to the dark slip of a man walking towards you. You can make out his features now: the clean shaven cheeks, the tousled hair, and yes, that little teasing curve at the side of his mouth. That sight in particular grabs at something in your chest and wrenches sharply on it. So much for the pretense of being unhurried, playing it cool, making him work for it. You can’t wait any longer. Your steps quicken until you reach your target, then you jerk to an abrupt halt.“Hello,” Dave greets you.“Hi.” You briefly study the dark wool coat enshrouding him. Too large for his narrow frame and not long enough for his height. Yet still you want to be crushed against it; the want suffocates you until you suddenly decide to throw yourself against him.A little surprised sound escapes him before he reacts, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace and you nuzzle aside the collar of his coat and burrow your face against his neck. He doesn’t smell like the campground tonight; no ashen embers from a campfire, no hint of autumn leaves, just that fragrance he wears overlaying that masculine tang that is distinctly his own. You sigh his name and he chuckles softly, his gloved hands stroking your back while you clutch handfuls of the woolen frabric draped over his chest.“Miss me, did you?”“You know I did.” You draw back to view his face, enraptured by those pale eyes that glitter like malachite this evening. There’s a hint of color in his cheeks from the brisk winter air that’s flattering. “Did you miss me?”“What do you think?” His leather clad hands shift to find their way inside the parka you’d left unfastened for the journey in the car, settling on your hips and jerking your body tightly against his. He teases a shallow thrust against you and his arousal is distinctly noticeable.“Well, it’s nice to see your…appetite hasn’t slackened any,” you observe wryly.He hums in amusement, the sound evolving into a pleased sort of growl as his eyes track down to properly take in your appearance. You’re wearing a v neck sweater and a skirt in spite of the cold weather, a curve hugging suede one that stops mid calf, your legs beneath it clad in nylons. You know he’s going to be exploring under it at some point this evening; the only question that remains is when.“Shall we go inside?” You note the dark hunger in his eyes expanding and you shiver over the knowledge that it’s not just a meal at the diner he’s interested in. You are definitely on the menu.“Okay,” you agree.You reluctantly release your hold on him, pleased when he immediately reaches for your hand and leads you back towards the restaurant.“How was the drive in? Roads not too bad I trust?”“No, it was fine. Thank you.” Dave holds the door open and you step inside the diner, a warm blanket of air immediately surrounding you. Your companion doesn’t wait for guidance and chooses a booth that’s the furthest away from the other customers. You slide out of your coat and he mirrors your movements, setting his down folded on the seat before sitting and shoving it across the cushion towards the wall decorated with vintage advertisements, old vinyl album covers, and other retro stylings.A tired looking middle aged woman appears with a pair of laminated menus. You’re still distracted by the appearance of the forest ranger seated across from you, barely sparing a glance for the offering you’ve just accepted while you watch him clutch the tip of each glove’s middle finger between his teeth to aid in tugging them free and tossing them beside the napkin holder. Then he shoves at the sleeves of the teal colored Henley he’s wearing, resting his forearms on the table while he briefly peruses the menu, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours.“What?”“Nothing.” You blush. “I just can’t believe I’m actually here. I didn’t think I’d see you again.”“I told you that you would.”“I know, but…” You abandon the thought, pointing to the laminated paper he’s clutching. “What do you recommend?”“Cheeseburger and fries,” he answers immediately. “And a milkshake. I know it’s winter, but it’s a must.”“Alright. That sounds good.” You set your menu on top of his at the edge of the table to signal that you’re ready to place your order. There’s a soft rock song playing in the background that you vaguely recognize from your youth, though you can’t quite recall the artist’s name. Some one hit wonder from the 80’s. The waitress returns after serving another table and you follow Dave’s recommendations, duplicating his own requests. Your eyes wander around the diner’s interior, noting that the majority of the patrons seem to be on the older side, just like the furnishings and decor that’s straight out of the 1950’s, with its chrome trim and a checkerboard patterned floor not unlike the one at Freddy’s.“So how was the rest of your semester?”Your gaze returns to meet his. “Not too bad.” You fuss with the cork board coaster bearing a local IPA brand’s logo. The complimentary water tastes like chlorine, clearly right from the tap. “How was closing up the park?”“Uneventful.”Your fingers still. You can’t think of a single thing to say. You’re finally with the man that you haven’t been able to stop thinking about, and your brain has suddenly turned to mush.“Going home for the holidays?”Good old Dave, keeping the embers of conversation from dying out completely. “Yes, I’m going to see my parents. I’ll be staying with them for a few days.” You glance outside the window. The snow is really starting to stick to the ground, a solid layer now lining the parking lot. Your car is completely coated already. “What about you? Any plans?”“Haven’t decided yet,” he murmurs, following your gaze outdoors.“Well, it’s only a week away. Might want to give it some consideration,” you tease.Dave suddenly leans forward, his voice low. “Maybe you’d like to go powder your nose. We’ve got some time to kill before the food gets here.”You stare at him blankly. It takes a moment for you to realize what he’s implying. “You can’t be serious. There are…there are people around,” you hiss in a scandalized tone.“Indeed there are. Still ashamed to be seen with me?” He takes a large swallow of water, apparently not minding the taste. Probably used to it. Probably even enjoys it, you think bitterly. Weirdo.“No. No,” you repeat firmly. “I’m not ashamed. What is it with you and public restrooms, anyway?”“Well, you never know when you’ll run into an attractive young woman in one,” he replies.“How often does that happen?”“On one specific occasion that comes to mind rather vividly.” He smirks, a calculated maneuver that leaves you writhing a bit against the padded bench. You’d forgotten the power of that secret smile of his. Suddenly you’re feeling a little too warm. Maybe a sweater wasn’t the best choice of attire after all.“Right. When you just happen to enter the women’s room.” You take another sip of ice water, hoping it might at least cool you down a little.“Or you follow someone there.” He’s upgraded the smirk to a full on grin now, revealing those sharp teeth of his.You blink, dumbfounded. “You…followed me?”“Of course. That is my job, after all. Looking out for the needs of the park guests. All of their needs,” he adds, winking at you.“Unbelievable.” You shake your head.“Did you imagine it to be an error on my part? Serendipity or…”. His teeth catch his bottom lip and his eyes flash.Fuck, you love that mouth of his. You miss the taste of it. You should have kissed him in the parking lot. “Yeah, the latter, I guess.” You frown, another thought occurring to you. “What if I hadn’t gotten up to use the bathroom? Were you just going to hover outside my cabin door all night?”Dave chuckles. “The outcome would have been the same regardless of when or where the first intimate encounter occurred, I expect.”“You think you’re that irresistible?”His lips part in another wide grin. They’re a bit chapped, you’re noticing now. Why does that make them even more appealing? “I know you think so. So, how about it? Want to give this a go? I’ll follow your lead. The restrooms are back and to the right.”You glance in the direction he’s indicated, then your eyes dart around the room. Everyone seems engrossed in their meals and conversations. Too preoccupied to notice a fellow customer rise to her feet, smoothing down the sides of her skirt before briskly crossing the room. The bathroom door scarcely shuts behind you before it creaks back open and Dave enters, swiftly turning to lock it, then crowds you against the sink.“This was quite thoughtful of you, wearing this,” he murmurs, already working on the side zipper to loosen the fabric covering your lower half, then gathering it until it’s bunched around your hips. Your arms twine behind his neck as he grasps your waist and lifts you up to sit on the edge of the sink. “I must insist that you keep the noise to a minimum. I like this place and I’d rather not be banned from returning or having the authorities called for public indecency.”You nod and he smiles again, gently this time, then his lips touch yours.You let out a muffled moan, trying to stifle the pleasurable feeling of his mouth pressing against yours again. They are rough, chapped as you’d thought, but you’re not even surprised he’s neglected them, merely busying yourself with licking, sucking, biting them. Your fingers sink into his hair and his fingers dig into your pantyhose, impatiently tearing a gap in the fragile material in the junction between one leg panel and the crotch.“Hey—” You begin to protest, the next words you’d planned forever lost because now his fingers are touching the skin of your inner thigh, cold against warm. Maybe still chilled from the weather despite those leather gloves with the thin fleece lining he’d been wearing, or that stupid glass of water he’d just gulped down or—oh. Now he’s shoving at the legband of your panties, those probing digits becoming warm from your body heat, digging into your wet, warm pink flesh as you manage to wedge your fingers between the tight press of your bodies, unfastening his belt and jerking down his pants’ zipper. A groan vibrates against your throat when he feels your hands pulling his cock free, extracted through the fly at the front of his boxer briefs. He’s fully sheathed inside of you in between one heartbeat and the next, slamming deep to the hilt and cursing harshly against the side of your neck.“Fuck, you feel so good.”“Dave,” you whisper, gripping his body with your knees, your heels, the fingers buried in his hair tugging frantically. So many nights had passed with you reminiscing about your previous dalliances, fantasizing about an encounter like this. His name on your lips every time you’d climaxed, sweaty and breathless, sheets twisted in knots, waking up a few hours later only to crave him all over again.“Such a stubborn girl. Refusing to call me first,” he reprimands beside your ear. His hips snap forward sharply as a further rebuke and your buttocks slides backward, threatening to dump you into the basin but he grabs your hips and keeps you balanced on the rim of the sink.“I didn’t want to bother you,” you murmur, letting your lips slide along his jaw.“I gave you my number. The intention was clear, was it not?” His thrusts are measured, steady, deceptively unhurried.You huff against his mouth. “No. Tell me.”“Tell you?” He nips your bottom lip, then kisses a path to your ear lobe. “Is that want you want? To hear that I missed you? That I wanted to see you?”“Only if you mean it.”“Does this not feel like I mean it?” He tightens his grip and begins fucking into your faster, harder.“Dave…” You whimper, the sound too loud, just like the slaps of his body against yours. Anyone even remotely close to the bathroom door would realize what’s happening inside. You’re bound to be caught during a public indiscretion like this, one of these nights. It’s only a question of time. And you can’t help but wonder if that’s part of the thrill for him. Maybe he likes the idea of doing something so scandalous, so forbidden, right underneath the unsuspecting public’s noses. Maybe he even wants to be caught, in spite of his earlier cautions and warnings.“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you rasp, the muscles in your canal clenching around his cock, relishing the sound of pleasure that forces from him despite his efforts to mute it.“You want this, honey?” He pants beside your ear. “You want me to fill up this tight pussy of yours?”“Fuck, yes.”“Say it. Tell me how much you want it.”“I want you,” you gasp.“Fuck…what you do to me…”Another moan escapes your lips and he quickly covers yours with his own. You become hyper aware of the smallest details around you: the snow still melting in his hair; the salted bead of perspiration trailing down his left temple; the slight hum from the lightbulbs above the sink; the scent of aftershave heavy against his throat, he’s scraped that skin smooth recently, just for you—everything narrowing and converging until that tight feeling winding inside of you snaps and bursts free. Another moan from your partner, definitely too loud, his mouth slipping a bit away from yours, and then you feel the warm spill of his release flooding your body.“Fuck,” he curses again, but it’s gentler this time. You slick back his tousled hair and kiss his mouth and laugh softly against it, clutching his trembling arms. “Happy now?”“Very.” You are. An extreme feeling of contentment, that period of satisfaction in the lingering afterglow suffusing all your extremities, making you temporarily forget where you are. The gentle kisses that follow are as good as the rougher, more passionate ones you’d previously exchanged. Maybe even better. You enjoy seeing him like this. Soft. Relaxed. Sated. He cups your face between his hands and you stare into his eyes and the moment is perfect.Then it passes onto the next, his hands dropping, your body lifted and set beside the sink. “The food is probably ready. Let’s go eat.”There are a few moments of readjusting clothing, hastily wiping your now exposed inner thighs clean with damp paper towels. The nylons will certainly be going in the trash after this. You’re not even sure what’s keeping them from splitting further, truth be told. You check your appearance in the mirror—your cheeks are a bit flushed, and you think a new hickey is about to make itself known but overall, not as mussed as you might have expected—and then Dave exits the restroom. You emerge a few moments later, looking for signs that would indicate your indiscretion has been noticed, but there are none. You try to act casual as you cross the dining room and rejoin him at the table, noticing that your meal has, in fact, arrived. Suddenly you find that you’re ravenous, hurriedly cleaving the cheeseburger into two pieces with a butter knife and then taking a bite.Dave doesn’t bother pouring the ketchup into a tidy dollop beside his fries like you have; instead, it looks like a crime scene, with long red streaks painted in messy stripes. His first bite into his sandwich seizes a sizeable portion of it. You still don’t know how someone with such a healthy appetite manages to keep so slim.He chews and swallows, watching you sample each element from your meal. “Good?”You nod after you’ve finished tasting your chocolate milkshake. “Delicious.”A little smirk swiftly appears and disappears before he pops a French fry in his mouth.You decide it’s your turn to get the conversation flowing again. “So with the park closed for the winter, what are you doing for work?”Dave dusts salt from his fingers and reaches over to rummage in his coat pocket to retrieve his wallet. A business card is extracted and placed on the table between you.“You work here?” You bring the card closer to your face. Red. Weathered. Three of the four corners are dogeared and a sharp crease divides the upper and lower halves. The text printed with the name of a local motel is so worn it’s nearly illegible.“Yes.”“Time for a new one of these.” You slide the card back across the table.He shrugs, returning the card to the billfold that looks to be in only slightly better condition than that battered relic. “It serves its purpose.”“Another management job?”“Mmm-hmm.”“Okay, Norman Bates.”He lays a hand against his chest in mock surprise. “I’m offended. I’ll have you know I’ve never murdered anyone in that establishment.”“Right. But other ones are a different story, right?” You nudge his shin with your foot.Dave hums but doesn’t reply, taking another sip of his drink. He really has such an odd sense of humor sometimes.“Do you get a lot of business?”“Depends on the season. In the fall there a couple of weekends where it fills up. Leaf peepers, you know.” He takes another long pull from his milkshake. “Then things slow down. But because it’s right off the highway, there’s always someone that needs a room for a night or two, so it’s never completely empty.”You nod your head, reaching for the wallet still resting on the table. His driver’s license is visible through the clear plastic holder inside. The image seems a little out of focus, but it’s unmistakably the dark haired man’s face. The expiration date is for the following year. “No middle name, huh?” You glance at the demographic details. Height. Weight. Eye color. Address. No restrictions. A messy scrawl that’s his signature.“I have one. I just didn’t give it.”Your head lifts. “Why not? Do you not like it or something?”“I like it fine.”“Don’t you legally have to give it?”“If you want to know what it is, just ask.”“Okay, fine. What is it?”“William.”You cock your head to one side thoughtfully. “David William Miller, huh?”He nods, stuffing a few more fries in his mouth, then grabs a new napkin—the other is already heavily stained with the vestiges of his sloppily applied ketchup—while you debate about rummaging further through the leather accessory, unsure if he’d really let you. Maybe there would be pictures inside. Clues to his past.“Are you going to steal my credit cards?” His tone sounds amused, but you’re not entirely convinced he won’t resent you prying further. His eyes are unmistakably locked onto the object you’re holding, and his hands have grown still, frozen mid wipe to watch your next move.“No.” You reluctantly shut the billfold and hand it back to him. He tucks it back into his coat pocket, then resumes eating, the tense moment passing. Better to let him tell you whatever secrets he’s hiding when he’s ready, you suppose, though you think it’s going to take a bit of work to get him to volunteer much of anything.Dave’s almost finished eating, the paper lined basket nearly empty save for a few last bits of fried potatoes drowning in ketchup. You’re barely a third of the way through yours, despite your newly blossomed hunger.He sees the direction of your gaze and smirks. “That disappeared rather quickly. Guess I was hungrier than I thought.” One hand casually disappears beneath the table, and you feel it reach your knee moments later. You force yourself to continue eating, refusing to check to see if anyone has noticed, to let him know just how quickly he’s reignited your body again.“So, should I expect a visit to that motel later?” You try to keep your tone light, but inside you’re a lot more anxious. For one thing, you don’t relish the thought of driving back home late at night with the roads in what appear to be deteriorating conditions. For another…well, you hadn’t really discussed any plans beyond the meal at the diner. You’d just kind of assumed. Hoped. Now that classes are finished, it’s the perfect chance to spend a weekend together before the bustle of the holiday season begins and another semester follows.“I was thinking more along the lines of taking you home with me.”You nearly choke on the mouthful of cheeseburger you’ve just consumed. “Really? You’re actually going to show me where you live?”“How is everything folks?”Dave’s eyes never leave your features. “We’re doing just fine.”“Yeah, it’s great, thanks.” You take a gulp of water to help soothe your throat so the coughing fit can subside. You’re vaguely aware of the waitress moving on to another table in your peripheral vision.The sound of air being inhaled through the straw announces the older man has arrived at the end of his shake. He pushes it away with a mournful sounding sigh. “Why do you sound so surprised?”“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know, I just thought…”“Yes?”You shake your head. “I didn’t know what you were planning.”“You could have asked, you know.”“Do you live far from here?”“Not at all. It’s right downtown, actually.”“Apartment?”“Yes. A loft.”“Neat.”“You can follow me. We’ll take it slow.”“That would be a first.”Dave actually laughs, a rich sound that draws the attention of some of the other patrons. You duck your head and blush.“Whenever you’re ready to leave, let me know.” His hand settles on your knee again.Outside, the snow continues to fall.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The roads are now slick.You barely touch the gas pedal, your car crawling behind Dave’s sedan. It would have been easier just to ride in his car, but you know you can’t leave yours in the diner parking lot. So here you are, with the windshield wipers thumping loudly and the window defrosters cranked on high, saying a silent prayer to any listening entity that you reach your destination safely.You do.You park in the shelter of a public garage, its use mandated by the city during storms like this, the customary on-street parking prohibited. Dave watches you emerge from your car, one eyebrow quirking at your apparent lack of preparation for an overnight stay when you exit empty handed.“Didn’t bring anything with you? No change of clothes, something to sleep in?”“I didn’t know I was going to be staying,” you remind him.“You should keep supplies in the car just in case anyway, especially at this time of year.”“Yeah, I’m learning that. We don’t get this much snow where I’m from.” You tug up the zipper of your jacket and shove your hands in your pockets. “So, how far away is this place of yours?”“Right over there.” He points and your eyes follow that direction to find a tall brick building a short distance away. “Cold?”“A little.”“Come here.” He weaves a hand through your arm and pulls your hand gently out of your pocket, squeezing it with his gloved one. “Silly girl,” he chides softly. “So ill prepared.”“I have mittens, I just don’t like wearing them to drive. I feel like I don’t have a good grip on the steering wheel when I do.”Dave hums but doesn’t reply, instead tugging you gently forward towards the stairwell. The sudden absence of his hand as he releases yours before descending the stairs makes your own descent hurried, eager to be in physical contact with the older man again.A slushy mess greets you when you both emerge on the ground floor, your hand secured once more. The plows haven’t yet cleared the streets, apparently in no rush since it’s a Friday evening. There aren’t a lot of tire tracks to step into at this time of night, forcing you to slog through the snow in boots that, although tall, are more for fashion than practicality unlike Dave’s Timbalands, the chill and wet already seeping inside to soak your nylon clad feet. The flakes are wet, heavy, sinking rapidly into your hair and clothing. It should be utter misery, trudging through this messy winter storm, and yet...it’s not. Instead you find yourself grinning, allowing the older man to guide you through the rapidly piling snow. You can’t quite match his long legged strides, especially in these conditions, forcing you more often than not to be pulled forward, colliding into your guide, who takes the opportunity to steal a kiss each time. Finally you finish the trek past a pair of buildings to reach the one he resides in.“We can use this entrance.” He gestures to a glass front door and you duck inside the entryway, waiting for him to unlock the door. You now find yourself facing a carpeted set of stairs leading upward.“Alright then?” Dave stamps his feet and you mirror his movements, dislodging bits of ice and snow onto the floor mat.“Yeah, I’m good.” Your eyes lift to find him studying your features. “How about you, Dave?”“Fairly decent.”“Fairly decent, huh?” You reach up to brush some of the wet droplets that cling to his cheeks and he captures your hand, pushing you back against the wall nearby.“Can’t help yourself, can you?” He smirks, thumbing away some of your own remnants from the winter weather. “Can’t even wait to get upstairs to touch me.”“Pot, kettle, black,” you retort, your fingers curling around the lapel of his wool coat.Dave chuckles softly, then his features grow more solemn as he bends to kiss you. Not like the quick, stolen ones outside; this lingers, deepens, melts away that cold clinging to your frame.You still don’t understand how this man makes every kiss feel like it’s the first you’ve shared, your stomach somersaulting when his tongue slips between your lips. A faint hint of lingering ketchup, maybe tucked into one corner of his mouth that’s gone unnoticed. A taste of sweetness from that milkshake. You mark each flavor, until there is only his.You’re breathless, lightheaded when he finally gifts you a break, drawing back slightly, forehead pressed against yours. The hands you’ve tucked inside his jacket to rest against his chest begin reluctantly evacuating, pausing when you bump some hard object in the inner satin lined pocket.“Whoa, what have you got in there?”“That was supposed to be a surprise, but I suppose now is as good a time as ever. Go on, take it out.”You look a question at him as his face lifts, your fingers fumbling and closing around a square box. White, tied with a red ribbon.“Is this a Christmas present?” You whisper in disbelief.The park ranger sighs. “It was intended to be. I should make you wait to open it. But I suppose I really can’t.”You grin, starting to unite the ribbon, then pause, your smile fading. “I didn’t get you anything. I didn’t think you’d…”“That’s not the point of giving a gift. Open it.”“I would have, though.” The thought had actually crossed your mind more than once, but imagining Dave’s response had mainly seemed to feature him being puzzled or mockingly bemused, leaving you feeling embarassed and foolish.
Don’t mistake this for something it’s not.
This admonition echoes in your mind more often than you’d like, steering you away from those affectionate feelings you feel creeping in. He’d cautioned you against it more than once, clearly still traumatized by some past event in his own life.But the older man’s words don’t always match his actions. Case in point, the gift box in your hand. There’s no way you’ll be able to wait until December 25th to open it. You resume untying the ribbon and lift the lid.A silver bangle bracelet rests inside, the center adorned with a polished disc depicted an etching of several evergreen trees.“So you don’t forget about the campground, when you’re off doing whatever profession it is you’re studying for.”“Chemistry,” you supply, staring at the jewelry he’s gifted you.“Chemistry,” he repeats. “Interesting. Do you like it?”“Are you kidding? It’s so pretty. Thoughtful,” you add, lifting the bracelet while he holds the box so you can properly fit it onto your wrist, shoving back the sleeves of your jacket and sweater so you can view it properly. It’s warm from his body heat and catches the lights set into the stairwell. “You really think I’d forget about you?”“Doesn’t hurt to be sure.” His lips curve in a half smile.“You are so God damn charming when you want to be, you know that?” You seat your hand against the nape of his neck and pull him down for another kiss. It’s even spicier than its predecessor and you find that it’s much too warm to be dawdling here in the entryway. “You gonna show me your place now?”“Follow me.”You count the flights as you ascend the staircase, finally reaching the fifth, the topmost level. Dave unlocks the door and pushes it open, gesturing for you to enter first.The entire space that greets you once he flips a nearby lightswitch is an open concept, with no walls to section off rooms, save for what must be a bathroom tucked against one corner. You spy a kitchen, a living room, and his bed, set against the natural brick wall that perhaps faces the street, a spread of windows with frosted panes interrupting the exposed masonry.“The noise from the street doesn’t bother you?”He shakes his head. “I can sleep through pretty much anything.” He watches as you wipe your feet on the mat and then begin to pace the wood floors of the loft living space. It still has the feel of something newly acquired, with little in the way of decor and minimal furnishings, but maybe that’s just how he likes it. You tilt your head back to study the wooden beams above featuring several drop wrought iron lighting fixtures, then regard your host.“So what do you think?”“How long have you been here?”“Three months.” He folds his arms across his chest, tapping an index finger against his lips.You nod, completing your circuit of the sparsely furnished living quarters.“You don’t like it.”“I do!” You protest. “It just seems kind of empty.”“Are you critiquing my abilities as a home decorator? It takes time to settle in.”“I bet it’ll look the same three months from now.”“Cynical.” He clucks his tongue, stepping closer to you. “What do you imagine for this space instead?”“I don’t know. Maybe some plants, to start with. Get a little color going.”“I’m hopelessly inept at maintaining house plants, even if I had the time or inclination to acquire them.”“That’s what a lot of people say, but you just need to find one that’s low maintenance.”“I wasn’t aware you were so passionate about them. What else do you suggest?”You glance behind you, humming thoughtfully. “I don’t know, the Feng Shui is off. Maybe try moving furniture around. You should pull the rug forward, so the couch is barely resting on it. That book shelf would be better over—”You’re interrupted by Dave’s hands tucking up underneath your jacket and settling on your waist. “You expect me to rearrange everything to please you?”“Not everything, but…You said you were open to suggestions.”“You, who are only staying the weekend, then leaving to go back to your college to study your Chemistry,” he murmurs, looking sullen as he toys with the zipper of your parka.“No, I like your place,” you hastily reassure him. “Honestly. It’s a cool layout. It suits you. It just needs a woman’s touch.” Your lips graze the side of his neck once you’ve nudged aside his coat collar.“A woman’s touch is exactly what I need, you’re not wrong there.” He grabs one of your hands, dragging it to the front of his pants.“Dave!” You protest, giggling, the sounds dissolving when his mouth finds yours again.“You still haven’t seen the best part.” He nips at your earlobe.“I beg to differ. I think I’ve seen the best part already. Multiple times.”“Of the apartment,” he corrects slyly.“Is it the bathroom? I know how fond you are of them.”Dave snickers. “Amusing, but no. We have one more set of stairs to go up. Follow me.”The last set of steps reached through a door you’d previously ignored proves to be a much shorter flight. The steel door it dead ends at opens onto the roof of the old mill building. Your head tips back to admire the violet shaded sky that continues to send more snow your way. You walk to the edge of the building, then peer down at the city street below. Still no sign of the plows or any pedestrians. Everyone appears to be huddled up indoors, waiting out the storm.“Some view, huh?”“Yeah. It’s a nice quiet little downtown.” Across the street you can make out what looks like a pharmacy, a luggage store, and a pizza place, all shuttered for the evening. “You come up here a lot?”“Only a few times.” Dave moves to stand beside you, resting his forearms on the snow covered masonry wall. “The library is within walking distance. It’s right on the river, too. Makes for some nice reading nooks.”You consider the space behind you. A lot of it is cluttered with ductwork and service cabinets and HVAC units, but there’s easily enough room for a pair of folding chairs. “I’d bring a six pack of beer up here in the summer at night.”“We can do that.”“Yeah?” You turn to face him. “You think you won’t be tired of me by then?”“You’re right. I’m sure we’ll both have moved on by then.”In the past you might have fallen for this deadpan declaration, but you know his sense of humor too well by now. You punch his arm playfully, then resume your gaze at the slumbering city.“It looks different from up here, doesn’t it?”“What does?”“All of it. A different perspective can change everything.” He turns away from the wall, now resting his elbows against its lip.“Another Dave life lesson, is it?”“No. But this is.”Suddenly he grabs a handful of the snow off the ledge and stuffs it down the neckline of your sweater. You shriek, grabbing your own handful to retaliate, deciding to work your way in the other direction, shoving underneath the hem of his shirt to stroke the cold substance across his abdomen. He yelps and lunges but you dart away, ducking behind one of the rooftop maintenance structures. Your opponent hides behind another and you trade a few more snowballs back and forth. The score is not in your favor thus far. His aim is near perfect.“Alright, I surrender.” You emerge, holding your hands up briefly. As you draw closer to him you make a final dip to collect snow for one last sneak assault but Dave catches your jacket sleeve easily, halting your progress. There’s a brief struggle before you finally collapse, pleading mercy and he follows, landing beside you. You watch the snow sink into his hair and dot his lashes. His breath exhales in a cloud of triumph, victorious beside you. You laugh and stroke his cheek.The smile on his lips fades, his features growing more solemn. There is a quiet beauty in this moment between you. A palpable shift from playful and joyous to serene and deep. You feel the change echo over your own face, resetting the portrait. You want him, and it is a different kind of want from earlier. Not hasty. Not solely lust driven. You want him to sink inside, slow and steady. Meld. Merge. You want to know him, the real him, the other him, but you never know when the right time to ask is.“I can practically hear the gears turning,” he murmurs. The snow laden roof is cold under your buttocks, but his lips cover your face in warm air.“No, I just…” You hesitate, not wanting to ruin the moment. “I was thinking we should go back inside,” you finish weakly.He grunts but accepts your response, standing and offering you a hand. You clutch it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. The slight cocky smirk returns before he leads you back towards the rooftop access door.The contrast of temperature indoors is noticeable immediately. You peel your coat off and realize how damp it’s become from your snowball tussle outdoors. You’re about to bend down to unzip your boots but Dave, already divested of his wool coat, has anticipated this need, crouching down on one knee to aid in their removal. His fingers linger on each calf as he pulls the footwear free, roughened fingertips catching on the ruined pair of nylons you’re still wearing, creating little uneven rasps of sound when his calloused skin encounters the flimsy material.You pull your sweater overhead and he stands upright, now stroking over the lingerie still shielding your breasts. You shiver and welcome his mouth back on yours, but the kiss does not last long.“What did you really mean to say up on the roof?”This whispered near your ear. Your fingers stutter over their current task of unfastening his belt. You feel a surge of panic trying to think of something, but the truth spills unbidden from your lips instead. “When are you going to tell me about your past?”A sigh. Heavy. His hands encircle your bare waist. “Are you so unsatisfied with what you have in the present?”“No, of course not, I—”Suddenly you’re pressed back against the wall. Dave doesn’t look upset, exactly, but his gaze is unrelenting and you can’t look away.“You’re perfect the way you are. You’re perfect for me,” you add, the truth of the words being realized as you utter them.Now a pleased little huff of sounds escapes his mouth before he presses it back on yours. You fumble off more of each other’s clothing, finally stumbling towards the bed. You’ve only got panties and the nude colored hosiery remaining and he’s clad in briefs the same color as that void of desire pooling in the center of his eyes. He jerks the nylons and underwear off of you before pushing you onto the mattress and climbing over your body. The man has somehow managed to shed the last article of clothing in the process of your transfer to the bed, his arms lifting and pushing your legs back, his cock smoothly entering your pussy in one slick, full slide that knocks the breath from your lungs yet again.His pace is languid, his hips thrusting with no apparent hurry or rhythm, just random presses that sink his body deeply into yours while his tongue explores your mouth and he sucks kisses into your neck. Once you begin rocking your body up to meet his the movements become more deliberate, purposeful, his face now hovering above yours to closely supervise your reactions.“You’ve gone quiet,” you observe.Dave snorts. “Does this sound quiet to you?” A vicious jab of his cock makes a moist sound as your bodies meet and your cheeks flush.“You know what I mean.”“Miss the dirty talk, do you?”“I miss everything. I miss you.” You hang for long moments on the last word. “You’ve bewitched me, somehow. I don’t know how.”“Really? Not the faintest idea?” He teases with another firm roll of his pelvis, then grabs the hand you have resting on the pillow beside your face, tracing the underside of the bangle he’s gifted you. “It looks good on you.”“I love it.” Another firm kiss of his hips leaves you gasping. “I meant what I said, you know. You are perfect for me.”The older man doesn’t reply, his face once again tucked beside your neck. You stroke through his hair, your body beginning to reach that threshold of supreme pleasure. “I’m not going to hurt you, Dave. You don’t have to be afraid—”“—Who says I’m afraid?”You immediately feel the tension tightening the set of his jaw, his thrusts growing more violent, making your core ache. “I don’t want anyone else,” you try to reassure him gently, hoping to calm him. Your thumb trails along to find the wedge of his bottom lip, then you lift your head to capture it. He chases your mouth when you collapse back against the pillow, one hand digging more tightly into the hip he’s bracing, the other allowing you to lace yours through it, squeezing and pressing your digits together. “Dave…”“I don’t want anyone else, either,” he rasps. “You’re mine.” His breathing is growing unsteady. You rake your fingers through his hair and trace his shoulders. You whimper and writhe beneath him and he mirrors every sound, every movement. Your bodies are in sync. About to shatter. His eyes are now linked with your own.You feel him shudder through his blissful relief as you twitch and spasm through your second climax of the evening. When he withdraws and sinks down beside you, you immediately curl up to his side. His fingers draw lazy circles along your spine while you recover from your mutual high. You plant the odd kiss here and there against his pectoral muscles, stroking over his ribs and heaving a sigh of contentment every now and again.The warmth of your lovemaking begins to fade and you’re grateful when he suggests a hot shower before you properly settle underneath the covers. The pajamas you borrow from him don’t fit correctly, too long at the ankle and too tight across the chest, but you don’t care because they’re his clothes. They smell like him. His laundry detergent. You try to conjure an image of him performing that menial task, scowling as he measures the liquid in the cap before pouring it inside the dispenser. Grumbling when the buzzer goes off to announce it’s complete before shoving the sodden masses of clothing into the dryer. Scowling when he later tries to match up his socks and inevitably finds one missing. You try and fail to stifle a giggle in the darkness.“What’s so funny?”You shake your head, your face brushing his shirt front. “I was just thinking about you doing laundry.”A pause. “And this is amusing why?”You giggle again. “I can just picture you getting so pissed off and frustrated doing it.”“I actually don’t mind it. It’s not like it’s difficult. Why are you thinking about me doing laundry, at…” There’s a pause and you feel his head lift from the pillow, apparently craning to see the alarm clock on the nightstand, “…1:30AM, exactly?”“I was just noticing the smell of your detergent and it got me thinking and…” Your voice trails off, still wrapped in fond thoughts of your lover being domestic. You snuggle back into his arms, burrowing your face against his chest for a moment. “You make me happy,” you say softly.A long pause. You begin to worry that maybe you shouldn’t have said it. Maybe you’re pushing him too much tonight.“I’m glad.” His voice sounds coarse, almost as if he’s a bit choked up with emotion. Or maybe you’re imagining it.Another lengthy silence follows. Perhaps a change of topic is in order. You don’t want to go to sleep just yet. “So what made you decide to move here, anyway?””I liked the location. It was time for a change.””How many other apartments are in this building?””Mmmm, I forget. Can’t say for certain. This is the largest one on the top floor, though.”“Of course it is. Always have to have the biggest thing around. Show off.” You nudge his ribs and are relieved to hear him chuckle softly.“The ground floor actually features a dance studio.”“Like ballet?”“Possibly at some point in the past. Right now it’s focused on Latin dancing. Salsa and Bachata.”“How often do they have classes?”“Three evenings a week, and once on Saturday mornings. I know because they haven’t stopped flooding my mailbox with flyers,” he adds with a soft growl. “It’s becoming a nuisance, having bills and correspondence competing for space with that junk.”“Are they loud?”“Depends on the number of people in the class. You can’t hear it up here with the other floors in between, but at ground level in the main entrance area, the lobby or even the elevator you certainly can. Sometimes it can get pretty lively. Usually around the holidays, when people give out lessons as gifts. Then it quiets down as students drop out and lose interest.”“Do you ever stop to watch people dance?”“Not deliberately. Just see it in passing. The instructor, she’s very…” He hesitates.“She’s very…what? Hot? Young?” You suggest, feeling a little flare of jealousy.“Neither. She’s…unrelenting. Always inviting me in for a free lesson.”“Oh, she likes you.” Now you’re even more jealous.“I sincerely doubt that. She’s married. To a woman,” he adds.“Oh.” You scratch an itch that suddenly tickles your cheek. “I have two left feet, so I don’t think she’d want me in her class.”“She offers different levels. You’re not meant to be an expert on day one.”“You seem to know a lot about it for something you only observe in passing,” you remark wryly.“Again, she is quite…persistent. I’ve been forced to hear her extol the school’s merits on more than one occasion. That’s when I’m not having the advertisements thrust at me.”“I can’t picture you waiting around to listen. Or bothering to actually read the flyers.”“I can be polite and formal when the situation requires it. And I suppose they make for good coasters, if nothing else.”You bark a laugh. “Coasters? Now that I can picture. But you, polite and formal? This, I have to see.”“I beg your pardon?” A heartbeat too late you feel his hands dive beneath your armpits to tickle you and you squeal in protest, squirming and struggling to block him.“Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I was just teasing you. Dave!” The comforter has shifted down past your waist, and he has your wrists now pinned on either side of your face.“I had no idea you were so ticklish. How interesting,” he muses.Your body relaxes against him and you feel his lips on yours. “I’d try it once. If it was with you…”“You want to check it out tomorrow? You, the girl who’s the very definition of antisocial?”“I’ve come out of my shell a bit,” you protest.“A bit,” he concedes. “You want to dance with me?”Something in the way he phrases it makes your stomach flutter. “Yes.”“Alright. We should get some sleep then. Class is at ten.”Your body spoons against his, the bed covers adjusted. You’ll probably regret this decision in the morning, but right now, it sounds like it could actually be fun.
***
Yes, you are indeed regretting that impulsive decision you’d made.Butterflies in your stomach make you only pick at the breakfast Dave cooks.“I’m not even dressed appropriately,” you grumble, eyeing the neat button front black shirt, matching trousers and oxfords that comprise the motel manager’s attire.“You’re fine.” He takes a sip of orange juice. “Having second thoughts? Want to back out?”“Maybe.” You set your fork down defeatedly.“Tough. We’re going.”You sigh. Of course he’s going to make you do this.After you help Dave clear the table you follow him to the opposite side of the apartment, where a long hallway eventually leads to an elevator. The main lobby is double the size of the rear one, featuring a pair of couches and several armchairs, potted plants and lamps and a poster advertising the available vacancies set into a metal display frame near the entrance. When you emerge from the building you find that the rest of the sidewalks still haven’t been completely cleared yet, but a path has been shoveled to the front entrance of the studio. Dave holds the door open and you step inside. The room doesn’t look overly crowded, but you’re still early.You recognize the instructor immediately—slender, graceful, her form practically floating over the wooden floor as she moves to greet you. Her dark hair is drawn back into a tight bun and her lips are painted a deep shade of crimson.“Mr. Miller! What an unexpected pleasure. Who’s this you’ve brought with you?”“My girlfriend,” he answers smoothly.Your heart skips a beat and you dart a surprised glance in his direction. Was he serious?“She wanted to observe. I hope that’s alright.”“Of course! Always happy to see new faces. Do you have any previous dance experience?”You shake your head, already starting to feel overwhelmed, your queasy stomach making you grateful that you’d skipped breakfast.“No worries. We accommodate all levels here. The Salsa group you’ll be seeing today is three weeks in, so they’re still fairly new. Let me get a couple of chairs set up for you. The coat rack is over there.” She nods to Dave and then walks back across the room, disappearing momentarily before returning with a pair of folding chairs, beckoning you over with a jerk of her head after your coats are secured on the hangers. You sink down into the offered seat, your hands resting in tight fists on your lap.“Class will begin in about fifteen minutes,” she says.You wait for her to move away before whispering to your companion. “I’ve been upgraded to girlfriend status?”One eyebrow lifts. “It seems as good an explanation as any. Or are you uncomfortable with that phrasing?”“I guess not,” you mumble uncertainly. “Just caught me by surprise.”“Should I have addressed you differently? Told her what a good lay you are?”“Dave!” you frantically hiss, eyes darting around to see if anyone has heard, but none of the students gathered thus far offer more than a cursory glance in your direction.“I thought you’d be pleased,” he murmurs.“I am. I just…”He shushes you, nodding in the direction of the class that seems to be getting underway and your attention shifts.There is a brief period for warmup exercises before the students arrange themselves in some predetermined placement apart from one another. The majority of the class appears to be comprised of the expected couples, but there are other solitary figures as well.You can tell that most of these couples are not in it for the long haul.You immediately recognize the ones that spend more time chatting amongst themselves in between dance move instructions; that do not seem focused, are easily distracted, or clumsy with their movements, in comparison to those that perform carefully, moving smoothly and seamlessly as both individuals and as a cohesive unit, perfectly in sync with the music that issues from the CD player on the floor by the row of mirrors lining the wall.The hour long session passes by faster than you might have imagined, the room now beginning to empty. You and Dave fold your chairs and lean them against the wall nearby.“So. What did you think?” The teacher makes her way over to you after the last students depart while Dave volunteers to return the chairs to storage.“There are some really talented people,” you compliment, then shuffle your feet, your voice lowering. “Personally, though, I don’t think I’d be any good at it,” you confess. “I don’t want to waste your time. I don’t even live around here. I’m on winter break, just visiting for the weekend.”“It is a commitment,” the instructor agrees. She tips her head to one side, considering. “You haven’t been dating Dave for long, have you?”“We met at the campground he works in the summer a few months ago.”“He’s very reserved, isn’t he? I don’t mean shy; I mean he keeps things hidden. A bit mysterious. A tough nut to crack.”“Yes,” you agree.“Speak of the devil,” the woman announces loudly when the man reappears. “Your girlfriend was just telling me about how you met.”“Did she?” His gaze shifts to yours.“I said we met at the campground,” you reply.“Right. Well, what did you think? About the class, I mean.”“It’s cool. I just know I’d be trash at it.”“Nonsense.” The instructor interrupts firmly. “Do you know what the most important thing is for a dancer to have? Especially in a setting intended to be shared with a partner?”“Having a sense of rhythm?” You quip.“Well, that certainly helps. But I’m talking about something else. The connection between the two people. Unity. Trust. And a spark,” she slaps her hands together and you jump, startled. “That is something that can’t be taught, and I think you two just might have it. If you have some more free time, I could go over a few basic moves. Let you see how it feels. You’re not obligated to join if you don’t want to.”“I really couldn’t anyway. School, you know…” Your voice trails off and you glance in Dave’s direction. He nods subtly. “Yeah, okay. Sorry I’m not really dressed appropriately,” you apologize.The teacher shrugs. “I’m sure this was an impromptu decision to visit today. Sometimes the best things in life happen spontaneously, right?” She grins widely and you return the smile a little less confidently. You think the woman is friendly, but she’s also a bit…overbearing. Over exuberant? You’re not sure what the word you’re searching for is. She is definitely daunting; you entirely understand what Dave had meant earlier.“Come stand over here. Mr. Miller—”“—Dave,” he corrects.“—Dave, right over here. Feet close together. Arms up. Not in fists, dear; you’re not going to be attacking your partner.”I might want to after this, you think wryly.“Now I want you to watch me. Left foot moves forward on one. A very small step, you see? Almost like a shuffle. No bounce. Just one sure step. My right foot now goes up on the count of two. I’m not moving it anywhere other than straight up. Now I place it back down and my left foot rejoins it on the count of three. Right back to the center, right back where I started. I’ll repeat it again.”You watch closely. It looks simple enough, but when it comes time to try it out, you find yourself suddenly panicking, forgetting which foot goes where at what time.“Dave, that was perfect. Now you. Let’s break it down. Only the first step. Repeat as I go. Left foot forward. Now right foot lifts. Now right foot lowers. Left foot back. Yes. Now try again.”It goes a little smoother after you practice a few more times. You glance at Dave. The man was born for this, that lithe figure of his easily managing the instructions as if he’s been doing this for years.“The next part is very similar to the first. Start with your right foot, move it back on five. Transfer your weight to that foot. Now lift your left foot and place back down on six. Then bring your right foot back to the center on seven. Watch me one more time.”She repeats the steps, counting out each one. You manage to replicate the pattern on the first try this time.“Good. You’re relaxing, getting a feel for it. Let’s add a little music this time.”The instructor fusses with the CD player and you spare your partner another glance. He’s watching you closely, a little smirk haunting the corner of his mouth, and your stomach flip flops.The other woman resumes her place before you. “Alright, here we go. Putting it all together now. One, two, three, five, six, seven and one, two, three…Good, keep going.”With the music playing, the steps seem to flow a little easier…until you let yourself be completely distracted by Dave, who manages to turn in a neat circle and make his way closer to you, his body moving in perfect time to the music. He abandons the correct posture to grab one of your hands, pulling you against him and then dipping you backward, his other hand resting on your spine to support you while he tugs you back upright.You’ve completely forgotten that there’s another person observing the pair of you in the studio, your gaze solely focused on the gray eyes fixed on yours.“I don’t think that’s one of the moves,” you say softly.”I like to improvise,” he replies, his voice dropping an octave lower.“I can see it’s going to be difficult to keep you two apart.”The dance teacher’s voice startles you, freeing your from Dave’s stare.“Why don’t we try something a little more interactive for the two of you now? I’ll teach you the butterfly move to finish the lesson.”You try to relax and listen to her directions but now that you’re facing him, touching him, your mind feels hazy. The feel of his hands and that secret little smile he offers keep distracting you.You struggle with these new, more complicated steps and definitely step on Dave’s feet more than once when you first begin learning how to let him turn your body around, but he proves masterful in his movements once again, effortlessly covering for your missteps and guiding you smoothly along. He’s a natural at this. You don’t know why you’re surprised.You’re warm and perspiring by the time the studio owner announces the introductory lesson is complete. Dave murmurs something about the two of you going to grab a coffee and you readily agree, deciding to use the restroom before you leave. The older woman accompanies you, waiting for you by the exit while you wash your hands.“He’s really got a hold of you, hasn’t he? Falling for him hard.”You pause in the middle of drying your hands, feeling your cheeks redden. “Hmm? Yeah, I guess.” You’re not about to confess your feelings to a virtual stranger.“There’s something about him. Besides the obvious charm, I mean. Lurking beneath the surface. A bit of darkness. I noticed it right away, the first time we spoke. I have a sense for these things. My mother was a fortune teller. I think she passed a little of her psychic ability onto me.”You crumple the paper towel into a tight ball and toss it in the wastebin, then force yourself to meet her gaze. “I don’t really follow any of that. Anyway, he’s been great to me so far.”A half smile curls a corner of her painted mouth. “Oh, that’s alright. Don’t get me wrong; I genuinely like the guy. I just thought I should warn you. As one woman to another…you might want to exercise a little caution. Be careful until you’re certain he’s right for you.”You move to stand in front of her, waiting for the other woman to shift so you can access the door. You don’t like the sound of whatever she’s implying and you find yourself eager to leave and get back to Dave. “Okay. Got it. Thanks for the lesson.”She shrugs and nods, stepping away from the door. “Thank you for coming. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”“Maybe,” you reply breezily, fairly certain that you will not be visiting the studio again.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Dave’s hands are tucked into your coat pockets.He’s standing behind you in line at the previously mentioned coffee shop downtown, his face lowered towards your ear. He’s humming, some melody that’s familiar though you can’t quite name the artist or song title. It was an older tune from a couple of decades ago, but you’ve heard it recently somewhere…where was that?“You should pick out something to eat too, since you skipped breakfast,” he slips in between hummed fragments, and you nod, letting your back rest slightly against his front. The shop is crowded this afternoon, a stark contrast to how empty the city had been last evening. Wait. Last night…“Is that the song that was playing at the diner?” It’s a little awkward, having a conversation without facing each other, but the park ranger seems committed towards keeping you tucked close against him, moving in perfect synchronicity as someone exits the line with their order and you inch forward together as a pair, never breaking contact.“Mmm-hmm.”Once against the older man seems completely unfazed by his surroundings. Standing in public, virtually hugging you, humming in your ear—you’d never dare to initiate any of it yourself.“How come you didn’t tell me you knew how to dance?”“You never asked.”You chew your bottom lip, absently scanning the breakfast sandwich options on the illuminated menu overhead.“I don’t know what to choose. What do you recommend?”“You’ll be disappointed, I’m afraid. They’re not quite the caliber of the diner’s. Perhaps we should have gone back there instead.”“I’ll just get a toasted bagel with cream cheese,” you decide as the line moves forward once again.“Fine. We’ll enjoy a proper meal later.”He resumes the melody until it’s finally your turn at the counter, his hands slipping from your pockets, the warmth of his body suddenly absent as he moves to stand beside you, the leather billfold already clutched in one hand. A short wait longer and then your order arrives, Dave grabbing the coffees while you collect the paper wrapped bagel, allowing him to steer you towards a recently vacated booth along the wall.You shrug out of your jacket and hastily stuff it beside you, your appetite suddenly returning with a vengeance. You’re pleased to see they’re generous with their cream cheese portions as you unwrap your bagel and take a bite, accepting the napkin Dave holds out to you with a grateful murmur.“It seems like you’re no longer nervous,” he observes, dropping sugar packets onto the table that he’d collected from the nearby display beside the napkins and straws and stirrers.“Nope. All good now.” You frown at the mess on the table. “I thought you ordered extra sugar and cream in both drinks?”“They never put enough in here.” He removes the plastic lid from one cup and selects several packets, tearing the paper wrappers open and dumping a generous portion of sugar granules inside.“Seriously?”“Try yours and tell me what you think.”You finish chewing and take a contemplative sip from your cup. “You’re right. Not sweet enough.”“One of these days you’ll trust me.” He smirks, pushing the remaining packets in your direction. “So what did you think of the dance lesson?”“It was fine.” You give your coffee a particularly vicious swirl at the memory of the dance instructor’s parting words of caution.“Fine?”“I liked dancing with you,” you clarify. “The instructor herself, not so much.”“I did warn you about her.”You remain silent, attacking your bagel again.“What did she say to you at the end? You looked quite upset when you left the ladies’ room.”“Nothing. She was just being…nosy.”“Nosy? Really? What did she want to know?” Dave’s tone seems casual, but you think his gaze seems a little too sharply fixed on your features.“Maybe nosy isn’t the right word. She was just being…” You wipe your fingers on your napkin, stalling as you struggle to to find the correct phrasing. “Look, she basically just said I shouldn’t fall for you.”Your companion blinks, returning his attention to his beverage. “Is that all? Well, I can’t find fault with that. I warned you about that myself.”“You told her I was your girlfriend.”He sighs, shifting in his seat. Perhaps regretting not taking the time to remove his coat before he’d sat down. He looks a bit flushed. “Hung up on that, are you?”“Well, yeah, kind of. I mean, that’s sort of a big step, isn’t it?”“You worry so much about such inconsequential things.”“How is that inconsequential? We’ve gone from…” You sputter, at a loss for words again.“Fuck buddies?” He supplies casually before taking another sip of his coffee.Your cheeks burn and you glance around hurriedly. “Seriously, Dave?” You take a rapid gulp of your drink and nearly choke, coughing when it goes down the wrong passage.“Slow down, there. You okay?”You thump a fist against your chest a couple of times, trying to finish clearing the unwelcome liquid from your windpipe. An older woman at a nearby table is frowning at you. Now you don’t know if it’s because of Dave’s mouth or your inability to consume coffee like a normal human being. Great. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you croak. “Just went down the wrong way.”He leans forward slightly, the fingers of one hand splaying across the table’s surface. “Look, if the term girlfriend bothers you so much, don’t use it. Simple as that.”“I didn’t say it bothered me,” you mumble, grimacing over the lingering burning sensation in your throat. “Just surprised me is all.”“So what else did she say?” He’s gathered all of the scraps from the sugar packets together and is now pressing them into a compact ball.“Nothing much, really. Just that she hoped we’d come by again. Trying to drum up business, you know. Same stuff she’s been doing all along.” You very pointedly have decided to omit her comment about some vague darkness lurking within the man seated across from you. Somehow you don’t think he’d appreciate that sentiment.Dave grunts, swirling the contents of his coffee cup again before taking a healthy swallow. “Well, I don’t see that happening, even if you were able to go.”You rotate your paper cup, idly picking at the seam along the side until the motel manager’s eyes fix on you and you let your fingers drop. “So, out with it. Why do you know how to dance so well? No way you don’t have prior experience. Were you a performer in a past life?”A flicker of something in the gray eyes that meet yours. He opens his mouth, about to respond, then hesitates, rubbing at his bottom lip before replying. “You’re not going to like the answer.”You frown. “Why not?”Another hesitation, this time delaying while the rim of his cup is traced. “I was married to a dancer.”“Oh.” The response is like a punch to the gut, swift and fierce and breath stealing. Of course you’d known there had to be a wife before. Kids. It’d be naive to imagine otherwise for someone his age.But you hate the reality of it now, the words hanging in the air in front of you, ugly and thick. An image of a younger version of the tall, dark haired man invades your mind. You picture someone graceful and elegant looking, like the dance instructor or—no. Fairer. Blonde hair. A natural beauty, without the need for makeup. His hands settling on her waist after the children have been tucked into bed. Her lips on his neck. The napkin crumples in your fist. You suddenly feel nauseous, pushing the rest of the bagel away. Another meal to go incomplete.“Did you…did she…” You don’t even know what to ask, fearing every response he might give. “Did you love her?”“What kind of question is that?” Dave looks nearly as uncomfortable as you feel.You’re not sure whether to be relieved or distraught that he hadn’t answered affirmatively. “Do you still see her?”“No.”“Kids?”“What about them?”“Do you see them?”“No,” he repeats, the word cracking out whip-sharp. “Anything else?”You shake your head helplessly. You’d heard more than you’d wanted to already. Ignorance is indeed bliss, as they say. You hadn’t really meant to pry. It had just been an innocent curiosity.What had he originally intended to say? What was it, that gave him pause and made him choose this other answer instead? You’d have preferred the other. You could press him for it, but there’s no guarantee that he’d issue it now.
What are you hiding from me, Dave?
Maybe you should be heeding that dance instructor’s advice after all. Maybe this is exactly why you’d left her studio feeling so sullen; because you know, deep down, she might be right.“Are you finished eating?”Dave’s voice dissipates your thoughts and you nod, reaching for your jacket. The walk back to his apartment is silent, your hands shoved into your own pockets, the older man walking beside you with a fair bit of space between you. Nothing like the trip to the cafe had been, when you’d been holding hands and tugged over for a kiss every so often.He uses the front entrance of the converted mill building this time, escorting you through the lobby to the elevator, then back down the hall. After what feels like an eternity you reach the back entrance. He unlocks the door and you step inside.The door clicks shut and the deadbolt is slid into place. You can’t bring yourself to remove your jacket or your boots. The loft owner hasn’t either, merely standing beside you, the keys dangling from his fingers.“You had to have known,” he says quietly.“Yes. But it’s different, hearing it aloud.”“You’re upset with me.”“I’m jealous,” you admit, hating how whiny your voice sounds. Weak. Immature. “Of some woman who had so much with you.”“You and I have been together exactly five days, including today.”It doesn’t feel anything like such a short amount of time, and you think he knows it. “Yes.”“You’re still shy when we’re in public together. You were afraid to even call me on the phone.”More truths you can’t deny. “I’m…I’m working on that.”“So what is it you want from me?”A lump forms in your throat. You’ve been warned about this. By two different people now, one of which is the man standing beside you. “I…”“What is it, hmmm?” He suddenly grabs you and presses you back against the door, one hand seated against the side of your neck, the keys smacking against the rug with a sharp jangle. “I’m waiting for an answer,” he says, his face tilting in front of yours.“I want you to ache for me like I ache for you,” you whisper.“You foolish girl,” he breathes. “You think I don’t?”“Dave…”His mouth crushes yours and you whimper, clutching the lapels of his coat while he frantically unzips your own. It lands somewhere on the floor as he ushers you towards his bed, pushing you down onto it still fully dressed. You manage to work his fly open while he undoes the side of your skirt, hiking the material upward and jerking your panties down. You shove the wool coat off his shoulders as he leans forward, the heavy material dropping down his arms as his hips surge forward, his cock sliding into you.Then his mouth returns to yours in a frenzy of teeth and tongue, nipping and licking while he pumps in and out of your drooling pussy. One hand curls around a calf, resting against the leather, his thumb tucking inside the narrow space. You grind your heels deeper against him, trying to grip him tighter, draw him in even closer. The hot, sticky spill of his swift release doesn’t slow his frantic kisses or hip thrusts, still working until your back arches and you come undone.Dark eyes stare down at you, watching as you recover. “Have I fucked you back to your senses?“Yeah.” You trace the sharp lines of his cheeks and nose and jaw and then press against his bottom lip. He bends to kiss you again, gently this time, before withdrawing and settling beside you.You let your still quivering legs drop, resting your heels on the bed, then groan. “Shit, my boots. Your comforter must be ruined.”“There’s this great invention called a washing machine. You might have heard of it,” he says.“You ass.” You hit his arm playfully.His head tips to the side to regard you. “You’ll get to see me doing laundry. Wasn’t that one of your strange fantasies?”“It wasn’t a fantasy. And it’s not strange,” you add defensively. “Not nearly as strange as following young women into a public restroom.”“It wasn’t young women plural. It was one singular one. You. I was following you.” The emphasis on that last word makes something flutter inside of you.You reach out, your fingers closing over the hand he has draped over his chest. He removes his and places it over yours and you repeat the process, each of you vying for the top position until you eventually surrender, allowing him to win.A slow, lazy smile spreads across his lips. “You want to take a bath?”“Yeah, I’d like that.”“Okay. I’ll go get it ready.” He begins to sit up but you push against his chest, leaning over to steal a kiss.“In a few minutes. Just stay a little longer.”Dave settles back down, this time pulling you against him.
***
You’d only been teasing when you’d mentioned the bathroom being the best feature in Dave’s apartment, but as it turns out, it is indeed a hidden treasure.The counter is very long, with plenty of room for toiletries and cosmetics. There’s a shower and a claw foot tub, more spacious than anything you’ve ever enjoyed. Sinking into the warm water that afternoon is exactly what you need, the enveloping steamy heat instantly soothing you. You’ve been temporarily left alone, your host murmuring something about getting the laundry going. You slide down until your face is fully submerged, then break through the surface, slicking back your hair. Midway through browsing the soap and body wash choices that have been left for you the older man returns, pausing beside the tub to study your damp figure. His sleeves are still rolled up, and something about that sight pleases you to no end.“Having fun?” His lips twitch in a smirk.“It’s amazing,” you concede. “I would kill to have something like this at my place. I’d probably never leave the bathroom if I did.” You watch as he leans over and takes the clean wash cloth folded over the rim of the tub, submerging it in front of you until the water reaches mid forearm. “You coming in? Or are you just going to watch?” You reach for his hand underwater and his face dips to steal a kiss.“Hmmm. I don’t know. Both sound appealing.”“Get in here with me,” you command, flicking a spray of droplets that sink into his shirt.“Well, far be it from me to refuse such a gracious invitation.” He straightens, thumbing open the buttons of his shirt while you observe every movement. You think about your first impression of him, that day at the guard shack at the campground: tall, pale, thin, with his too-wide grin and gaunt cheeks and dark chocolate hair hanging in greasy strands, those cement gray eyes shadowed and hungry.Now there’s healthy color in his cheeks, he appears slender but not to the extreme of seeming emaciated, and combing through those tresses of his that are always scented of shampoo from recent washing are one of your many guilty pleasures. His eyes still have that naked ravenous want, but you welcome that gaze. He’s really changed, you think, since you first met him. He looks healthier. Like a black and white picture given color. More alive. More real.“Enjoying the show?” He teases. He’s just finished shucking off his briefs and peeling off his socks while you’d been daydreaming.“Immensely.”“Lean forward a bit. I’ll go behind you.”You obey, adjusting your body until his has successfully tucked behind and around yours, your back leaning against his chest and your head resting between his neck and shoulder. For a time you remain like that, just lightly stroking the bare skin you can readily reach while he nuzzles your cheek. The melody he’d been humming earlier resurfaces, and you feel yourself getting a bit choked up at that. Happy. He’s content, because of you. You’d almost spoiled it earlier, but things are okay. You’re going to be okay.“What is that song, by the way?”“Lindsey Buckingham. Trouble.”“Came out in the eighties, right?”“Mmm-hmmm. I’m going to wash your hair, alright?”“Sure.” You straighten up a little, hearing the cap of the shampoo bottle flipped open and a cool dollop sinks into the top of your scalp before he begins lathering at an unhurried pace.“Was he a one hit wonder?”“Not at all. Fleetwood Mac was very popular.”“Oh, I’ve heard of them. Stevie Nicks was in that band too, right?”“Yes.” He retrieves a stray drop of suds sliding along your ear and returns it to your head, his nails scraping pleasantly along your scalp. “A lot of tension in that band.”“Why?”“Well, among other things, writing a song about breaking up with your ex and then having them perform it tends to cause some strife.”“Did he do that?”“They both did, actually.”“Good for her.”“What about him?”“Nope. Just her. Total icon. Good for her.”“Close your eyes. We need to rinse.” Now you understand the purpose for the empty cup beside the tub. You tilt your head back and shut your eyes. A gentle stream of water cascades over your forehead and through your hair, the motions repeated until he declares the task satisfactorily completed.“I wanna do yours,” you reply immediately afterwards. With a bit of careful shifting you manage to kneel between his legs facing him, sinking your damp fingers into it before you even attempt to wet and lather it. “You have amazing hair.”“It’s a nuisance,” he says dismissively. Cowlicks. Grows too rapidly. Never the same part twice.”“Amazing,” you repeat firmly. “Now shut your eyes. I have to get this wet before I can wash it.”His lashes descend and you pause, admiring the simple beauty of that motion. Was he always this gorgeous, or had he really changed, like you’d suspected earlier, or was it your emotions making you see him in this new, perfect light?“Problem?” He teases, his eyes remaining closed.“No.” You cup his jaw and bend to kiss his mouth and he hums a little surprised moan before responding, one hand leaving the water to rest against your spine. He pushes against you and you shift, gasping when his teeth catch one nipple, tugging lightly before he begins sucking. Your pussy throbs in response, welcoming the fingers that dive and delve between the petals to reach your entrance, a pair of fingers curling inside while his thumb rolls your clit in expert circles. You whimper, clutching his hair.“Oh God, Dave…”“Shhh. I’ve got you, sweetheart. I know what you need.” Another throb from deep within your core at his tender words. Your mouth searches for his. The water sloshes as you rock your pelvis against his hand. Your head tips back and he licks along the arch of your throat. “There you go. Just like that.”“Mmmpf—” A broken moan of pleasure lands somewhere near the corner of his jaw. He knows exactly how to take you apart. Slow or fast. However he wills it.“Don’t rush. Enjoy it.” His pace reduces and you automatically grind more slowly, resting your forehead against his.“Dave…so good…”“I can make it feel even better. Bend over for me and I’ll fuck you with my mouth, too.”You exhale a heavy rush of air, the arousal at this new declaration the strongest pulse you’d experienced yet that afternoon. His fingers slip from your sex and you shuffle to turn in the opposite direction, arms resting on the opposite edge of the tub as you bend at the waist. His squeezes your buttocks and gives each cheek a moist kiss before his fingers rediscover your clit as you try to spread your legs within the confines of the bath. Then his tongue is fucking into you, joined with a pair of fingers from his other hand, stretching and spearing with moist thrusts while your swollen nub is massaged. He hums encouragingly as you push back to meet him, the vibrations heightening the experience. You nearly lose your grip more than once as his tongue becomes more fervent and demanding, the room a cacophony of splashing water and your moans and the words that spill from Dave’s lips in between his hot kisses and plunges and caresses. You finally surrender, keening as you let your orgasm crash over you, pleading first for him not to stop, then begging for mercy as you become overly sensitive.He slaps one cheek playfully, then lounges back against the rear of the rub, waiting as you resume your previous position, kneeling in front of him on legs that still aren’t entirely steady. He grins rakishly at you, teeth catching his bottom lip before you claim it, sucking the plush wedge of pink flesh between yours. You snake a hand down his chest, thinking to begin returning the favor, but he halts you, grabbing your wrist with a sigh.“Later. So I can reacharge a bit more and put a decent load inside of you, hmmm?”“Jesus, Dave.”“I know you like it when I fill you up.”“I love it,” you admit breathlessly before kissing him. “And now I want to finish bathing for real. The water is getting cold.”“Agreed. Then a rinse under the shower and we’ll get you into some of my pajamas.”“Okay.”This itinerary is followed without further interruptions. Well, interspersed with a few small pauses for some heated kisses, but for the most part things go according to plan and you find yourself clad in another set of your lover’s sleep attire, now seated on the couch while he stands behind it, his hands resting on his hips as he surveys the living space.“You know what this room needs?”You glance back at him. “What?”“The couch pulled out further. And that bookcase should be moved over to that wall.”“You’re teasing me.”“I’m not. I’m dead serious.” He turns, resting his forearms on the top of the center cushion and leans forward. “What do you say? Want to help me move some furniture?”“You’re really going to change it just because I suggested it?”He shrugs, smiling. “Why not?”You grin, hopping to your feet. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”The daylight filtering through the frosted glass windowpanes fades fully by the time you complete rearranging things, discovering as you go that there are other placements that just make better sense. Dave flips on the overhead lights and paces the new layout, delaying his answer to your query about what he thinks. He finally stops, turning to face you, his features grave.“You like it, right? I’ll feel bad if you don’t.” Your hands twist anxiously.Abruptly his lips part in a grin. “Yes. It’s better this way.”“Good, I’m glad.” You beam back at him before you walking over to the record player now more appropriately placed on the top of a set of three tiered bookshelves. “You ever use this?”“To be honest, not much as of late.”“You’ve got a lot of vinyl.” You bend and begin flipping through the stacked discs, halting when you reach a familar artist. “Hey! You have Lindsey Buckingham. Is that song you were humming earlier on here?”“Yes.” He tucks his hands inside his pockets.“Well now we kind of have to play it.” You look a question at him and he nods.“Sure. Go ahead.”You have vague memories of your parents owning a record player at one point. You also remember destroying the needle by mistake when you’d inadvertently pressed it firmly against a spinning record. Ouch.“Funny how other forms of music have gone out of fashion. Eight tracks and cassettes are now obsolete, but vinyl always seems to hold on somehow. You’ve used a record player before,” he notes, watching you lift the arm and move it away from the center until it clicks on, then carefully adjusting it to find the correct track.“Ages ago, yeah. I think this is it, right? Yes, that’s it,” you answer yourself while he nods. The introduction of the song admittedly sounds different from the rest, but you recall the percussion and countdown before the song begins in earnest, the male vocalist gently crooning the opening lyrics.
I should be saying goodnight
I really shouldn’t stay anymore
It’s been so long since I’ve held you
Forgotten what love is for
Dave steps towards you, tugging lightly on one of your hands to pull you into a spot clear of furniture nearby. His hands sit on your waist and your hands rest against his chest. You sway gently together, your breath stuttering when he sings in accompaniment this time, his lips tucked close to your ear.
I should’ve run on the double
I think I’m in trouble
I think I’m in trouble
You shiver, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. His singing voice is huskier than his normal tone, coarse and yet soft at the same time. Another thing to become addicted to.
Come to me darling, hold me
Let your honey keep you warm
Been so long since I’ve held you
Forgotten what love is for
He shifts a hand from your waist to brush his knuckles against your cheek, gently nudging your chin up while staring into your eyes. His face descends slowly, capturing your lips, leaving the singer to finish the song without his aid.
I should’ve run on the double
I think I’m in trouble
I think I’m in trouble

Oh, Dave. I think I’m in trouble, too.

***
You’re surprised when Dave makes the suggestion to go out shopping for dinner awhile later, breaking the comfortable silence the pair of you had been occupying while cuddling on the newly placed couch. You’d thought you’d be staying here for the remainder of the evening.“I’m comfortable though,” you pout, fussing with the collar of the older man’s shirt. Of course it should have dawned on you when he’d gotten dressed in regular clothing that he had every intention of venturing outdoors once more. “And it’s cold and dark outside.”“You can go out like that. I see people shopping in their pajamas all the time nowadays,” he murmurs, a slight note of disapproval in his tone.“In plaid pants? They’re too tight around my ass.”“That’s exactly what I like about them.” He smirks, reaching over the legs you have folded over his lap to squeeze your hip. “I’m actually sort of glad you didn’t bring a change of clothes. Seeing you dressed in mine has proven far more entertaining.”“We can’t all be the width of one electron,” you retort, mock scowling at him.“I beg your pardon?” He looks startled before breaking out into a laugh, one of those deep ones the catches you both unawares. You wish you could make him laugh like that more often.“Nothing. You look good in everything. You look good,” you repeat, your features growing more solemn. You slide your fingers through his hair, noting it’s still slightly damp.“We’re going out,” he says firmly, brushing aside the compliment. “And getting things to make dinner. And then we’ll watch a movie.”“And then?”He smirks. “You know what happens next.”“Tell me.”“Tell you? You want to hear about how I’m going to pound you into the mattress and breed you?”“Fuck, Dave.” You exhale a shuddering breath. Just like that, he’s got you ignited all over again. “Fine, we’ll go out.”“Mmm-hmm.”You lean over and kiss away the smug expression on his features. “Hurry up before I change my mind.”
***
Pajamas really aren’t good at shielding you from the winter air.But then again, neither had your skirt, so you suppose it’s a negligible sacrifice to make as you walk with Dave to his car. The cold of the vinyl seat seeps into your buttocks and thighs, making you shiver. Your companion looks over at you with concern, cranking the hot air on full blast once the car reaches a suitable temperature.“You okay?”“Yeah, I’ll manage.” You fold your arms tightly against your chest, your mittened hands tucked under your armpits.“You’re going to bring appropriate clothing next time,” he reprimands, resting a hand on the back of your seat as he reverses out of the parking spot.“Yeah, sure.” A half heartbeat later it occurs to you that you’re being invited back in the future. You start to grin in spite of your teeth wanting to chatter.“Silly girl,” he murmurs, leaning over to plant a quick kiss on your temple before he shifts gears.The grocery store he brings you to isn’t a bustling franchise but something that has the look of being a family owned, solitary establishment. The floors and paint scheme in shades of orange and yellow seem dated, but it’s tidy and kind of charming. Easier to shop since there are less aisles, too.You’re handed a list after selecting a shopping cart, a torn piece of notebook paper filled with Dave’s sloppy handwriting. It’s legible, but only barely.“Keep track of things, will you? My mind always goes blank once I get to the store.”“Mine too. When did you make this out?”“The other day.”“So you had this weekend all planned out, huh?”“Somewhat. I’ve improvised here and there when necessary.” Another brief kiss is pressed into your hair. “Alright. Let’s get this done so we can get back home.”You like the sound of that home far more than you know you should. Like it’s a place you share together. Today might have gotten off to a rocky start, but boy had things progressed well later on. You’re enjoying yourself. You like doing these mundane, domestic things with Dave. Your possible boyfriend. You think he enjoys it, too.Standing at the delicatessen counter, you watch as he orders, the quick little movements of his fingers, always talking with his hands when he speaks. The back of his dress coat collar is raised slightly at the rear, his dark hair resting over the upturned fold of the woolen textile, and you feel that familiar ache in your chest again. It’s really too late, now. You’re already so far gone.He thanks the employee for the package of freshly sliced cheese he’s handed and turns to find you staring, no doubt noting the dreamy expression on your features.“What?”“Nothing. Just…” You shake your head, reaching up to adjust his collar. “How are you even mine?”For a few heart stopping moments you think you’ve pushed too far again, a sudden silence stretching between you. Then he covers the hand you have resting on the handle of the carriage, giving it a squeeze. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s finish up.”Breaded veal cutlets. Pasta. Tomato sauce. Fresh produce. Wine. Bread. One by one the items on Dave’s list are collected. You help unload the cart onto the conveyer belt. Watch as he withdraws several bills from his wallet and hand them over, hastily shoving the change and his receipt into its depths before it returns to his pocket. The cashier wishes you a Merry Christmas. That’s right. It’s almost here. You’d kind of forgotten, so wrapped up in the man now unloading the shopping bags into the trunk of his car. Saturday night already. Which means tomorrow is Sunday. Which means…You firmly refuse to finish that train of thought. You’re not going to make that mistake again, getting bogged down with the knowledge that you’ll be leaving to go back home soon. You’re going to enjoy every minute that you can with him. And you’re not going to be afraid to call him. You’re not.As pleasant as the shopping trip had been, you’re grateful to be back in Dave’s apartment now. He wastes no time in beginning to prepare dinner, directing you to get started on making a salad, handing you a glass of white wine that’s overwhelmingly sour at first, then becomes more palatable with each sip. By the time you’ve finished the glass you find yourself eager for more. You’ve never really been a big wine drinker, but maybe you just haven’t been sampling the best kinds. It’s definitely hitting you hard, the scant food you’ve consumed today long since abandoning your stomach, making the alcohol absorption potent.“I didn’t know you could cook. And don’t say I never asked,” you add, nudging his arm as you watch him work.“Not going to earn any Michelin stars, but, you know, I can make some decent meals.” He flashes you a grin as he refills your empty glass. One wine bottle decimated already. No wonder he’d picked up several. “You want to go find something to watch on television? I’m almost finished here.”You nod, watching him set the cutlets in a glass dish filled with a shallow layer of oil into the oven, your stomach growling loudly in approval.Dropping down a little less gracefully than normal onto the center of the couch—yeah, the wine is definitely strong on an empty stomach—you reach for the remote on the coffee table, finding yourself immediately lightheaded as you rock back into your seat. You channel surf for a bit before settling on a horror film from the eighties, waiting for Dave to join you.Right on cue he appears, settling beside you. “Won’t take long. So what are we watching?”“Psycho Three.”“Oh, of course. The Norman Bates motel joke again.”“No! I promise that’s not why I picked it. It’s a really good movie.”“I’ve seen it,” he says drily.“It’s so…I don’t know, tragically romantic.”He raises an eyebrow. “Romantic? He’s a serial killer.”“But he never harms her. He really loves her.”“Tries to kill her. More than once,” he mutters.“But he doesn’t,” you persist, shoving his knee.“Romanticizing serial killers isn’t exactly a new trend, I suppose.” He taps the nail of his index finger against his glass.“You don’t think they’re sweet together?”“Sweet?”“Well, I don’t know. Whatever word you prefer.”“You think you could forgive someone for doing those kinds of things?”“Well, no, not in real life, but—”“—Exactly.” He takes a large swallow from his glass.“We can watch something else.”“This is fine. Hey.” You turn to face him. “No pouting. It’s fine. Enjoy yourself. I’m going to go check on dinner.”You finish your drink and wait for Dave’s voice to summon you back to the kitchen area.“Alright, it’s ready.”You stand, casting one final glance at the television screen where Jeff Fahey’s character swindles Diana Scarwid’s out of additional money for a motel room before you settle onto a barstool, discovering a complete meal spread out before you.“Don’t tumble off, lightweight,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder on the way past you.“I got it.” You don’t wait to dig in, cutting a piece of fried meat slathered in melted provolone cheese and sighing rapturously. “Oh, that’s good.”Your partner nods after sampling his own.You’re not going to bother to ask why he’s skilled at cooking, lest he offer another excuse related to his ex-wife, instead deferring to another compliment and then steadily devouring everything placed in front of you. The pasta is cooked to perfection, al dente just how you like it. The garlic bread is crispy. Hell, even the salad is great. You just might rank this as one of the best things you’ve ever eaten.“You can have more if you like,” Dave murmurs, eyeing your empty plate.“No, I’m good. That was delicious. Thank you.” You wipe your mouth with a napkin and polish off your third—or is it fourth?—glass of wine. “You have to let me help you do dishes.”“Dishwasher, so not a big deal. But thanks.”“I miss having one. My apartment sadly is lacking in that department. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”“Hang on.” He slides down from his seat, watching cautiously as you slump down from your own. Whoa. Okay, still feeling that booze even with the big meal in your stomach soaking some of it up. “You gonna be okay?”“Yeah, I’m fine.” You take a tentative step and realize immediately that you are not, in fact, fine.“No, you’re not. Let me help you.”You allow him to tuck an arm around your waist, guiding you towards the bathroom. You lean heavily into his side, making your gait an awkward shuffle. “You smell nice,” you murmur, trying to decide if you really want to pee or just go collapse somewhere to rest.“Hold onto the towel bar so I can get your pants down.”“I can do it—well, maybe not.” You giggle as he hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic waistband of the drawstring pants he’s lent you. “Always trying to get into my pants. You’re such a pervert.”“You like it,” he replies, smiling gently as he steers you in front of the toilet, your borrowed briefs and pants now bunched around your knees.“I do like it,” you agree, dropping down onto the seat. “Cold,” you wince.“The back of the building is cooler than the front.”“You gonna stand there and watch me?”“Are you going to stay seated or am I going to be picking you up off the floor?”“I’m fine.” You wave a hand in the air, nearly losing your balance, making a wild grab for the towel bar again. “I can’t pee with you watching me.”“I’m not watching you. Just go.” He folds his arms across his chest, apparently picking a random feature on the vanity to stare at.“Dave,” you whine.“Good Lord. No more wine on an empty stomach for you.”“Serves you right for trying to get me drunk.”“That was not my intention.”“Uh-huh. Pervert.”“Fine, I’m going outside the room. Don’t try to get up without me.”“You going to wipe me, too?”“I’m going to spank you if you keep this up.”“Promise?”Dave’s cheeks redden. “Christ, I think I’ve finally met my match. Just hurry up and go.”He exits the room and you dissolve into giggles that fade into a sigh of relief when you finally start urinating. Relief floods through you. Much better. You fumble some toilet paper off the roll and make a pass between your legs. Good enough. You attempt to stand. That’s still a challenge. Lucky for you your rescue is here.“I told you to wait for me,” he scolds, helping you pull your clothing back into place and slapping the chrome lever on the back of the tank to flush it. “You act like I’ve never seen you naked before.”“This is different though. Bathroom stuff,” you whisper loudly, then begin giggling again.He sighs, escorting you over to the sink to wash your hands. “I should just put you to bed.”“I mean…”“Forget it. We’re going back to the couch to finish your movie.”You allow yourself to be guided back across the apartment, sinking gratefully back into the cushions. Dave returns to the kitchen to finish cleaning up while you return your attention to the events unfolding on the TV. Norman and Maureen are on their first date. She’s gotten a little tipsy off her own alcohol, and he’s guiding her to the dance floor. Suddenly you realize how many similarities there are between you—her embarrassment and shyness, convinced that everyone is watching them—and you find yourself charmed all over again.Dave returns in time to see the motel owner teaching his guest a basic box step.“See? They’re sweet together.” You tuck your knees up on the couch and lean against his shoulder.He grunts noncommittally. “How are you feeling?”“I’m good.” Your head lifts. “You’re not upset with me, are you?”“Why would I be?”“For getting drunk.”“No. As long as you’re enjoying yourself, that’s what matters.”“But are you enjoying yourself?” You jab a finger into his ribs.“Yes.”“You sure?”“Yes.”“Positive?” You poke him again and he growls, reaching beneath your shirt. You squeal and shift positions, climbing over his lap and sitting on his thighs, your hands firmly gripping his shoulders. “I want to tell you something.”“What?” He gazes at you warily.“It’s not bad, I promise. I mean, I don’t think it is. And you can blame it on the alcohol if you really hate it.” You release one of his shoulders and touch his cheek. “That stupid dance instructor didn’t really say not to fall for you. She said she could tell I already was. And she’s right,” you breathe, your face lowering. “And I know you warned me, too, but it’s too late for all that. Much too late. I don’t care if it’s only been five days, I don’t care what other people might think. I’ve never met anyone like you before. So uninhibited. Confident. Free. I don’t know how to be like that. But I’m learning, because of you. I’m sorry if I act immature sometimes. I’m sorry if I get weak and jealous and—”He lays his fingers across your lips and your words die abruptly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”You shake your head helplessly. “You won’t. And I won’t hurt you, either. I swear to you.” You pause. “I’m talking a lot, aren’t I?”He nods. “The wine.”“I know what I’m saying, though. I want to be your girlfriend for real. I mean it, Dave.”“Alright,” he says, his voice raspy.“Really?”“Yes.”You mouth breaks out in a grin of disbelief. That’s it. Just that easy. What had you been so afraid of?“Do you want to watch the rest of this movie, or do you want to go bed with me?”“Bed,” you say immediately.Dave reaches for the remote and the screen goes dark.“Shall I carry you there?” He pats your bottom.“Caveman style?”“I was thinking more bridal, but I suppose I could toss you over my shoulder.”“No! Do it the other way.”“You’re going to have to stand upright for a minute. Think you can manage?”“Yup.” You scramble off his lap, using his knee to brace yourself as you straighten. There. That wasn’t so bad.God damn, you’re still so dizzy, though.Dave rises, offering you another dubious look. “Maybe I should have had you sit instead. Oh well.” He rests a hand along your shoulders, crouching down to scoop you up behind your knees. Your hands reflexively link around his neck.“You’re strong. Hey. We just passed the bed.”“Taking you to the bathroom first. I’m sure you need to go again.”“Oh, yeah. I do.”“Mmm-hmm. And I want to brush my teeth.”“Me too.”It’s a little easier this trip. Dave sets you on the counter to brush your teeth while he stands at the sink scrubbing at his own. Then you’re hoisted into his arms once again, jostled slightly as he kills the lights before setting you down on the bed.“Up for a minute. Need to move the comforter.”You stand and help him peel it down, then fall back beneath him, an errant giggle bubbling to the surface.He tastes like mint when he kisses you, soft, gentle touches while his hands roam over your borrowed garments, then beneath them. Then he divests you of them, one piece at a time, perhaps a little less sensually than he’d intended as you still burst into laughter at random moments, but it well and truly dies at the feel of his cock back inside of you. Something about being intoxicated changes the feeling, heightening it somehow, making your body even more responsive.“Fuck me, Dave.” You can’t decide where to place your hands, letting them wander through his hair and over his face and shoulders. He tightens his grip on your hip and shoves into you in quick, rough jabs. “Yes, like that. Harder. Yes, Dave.”“You want it, honey?”“Fuck, yes. Fill me up. I want to feel you cum inside me. So so so good…yes yes yes.” The words spill deliriously from your lips.His fingers slide over the wrist encased in the bangle he’d gifted you, weaving between your digits and pressing them firmly into the mattress. “Are you going to wear this every day?”“Yes.”“Tell everyone you’re mine?”“Yes, Dave, fuck I’m—”He moans against your ear and you feel him tense and shudder as you come undone around him. For long moments there is only the sound of your shared panted breaths, then the gentle creak of the mattress as he eases down beside you and gathers you against him. You kiss him, softer and softer until they are barely there, grazing and nuzzling before growing still. You feel far more sober now, and with that sensation comes a dose of reality. Your Saturday evening is over.“What time do you have to be at work on Monday?”“Early. Before six.”You wince. “Ouch.”“What time are you heading back tomorrow?”“I don’t know. Before it get dark, ideally. So I guess early afternoon.”“You’re going to call me to let me know you’ve made it back safely.”“Yes.”“You’re going to call me after that, too.”“Yes,” you agree.“Alright.” Another kiss on your forehead before the mattress creaks. He’s reached down to draw the comforter over you. “Warm enough?”“Yes.” You reach for him blindly, finding his cheek. “Dave?”“Hmmm?”“Thank you. For everything.”“You’re welcome. You had a good weekend?”“Yes. The best.”He makes a pleased sounding him. “Alright, then. Goodnight.””’Night.” You snuggle closer, sighing in contentment.
***
Two weeks have passed since you’ve last seen Dave.A little over that, actually. Christmas come and gone. The end of your school break drawing closer. The end of the year itself.At least you’ve gotten into a routine of talking to him on the phone nearly every day.It’s a little awkward at first. You’ve never been one for conversations that weren’t face to face, and let’s face it, you’ve never been particularly skilled at those either. But it becomes easier as time passes. You ask about his day and babble about yours. Not that there’s much to say about either. You just like hearing his voice. It makes the distance lessen.He receives your Christmas card late. Still thanks you for it. Says he’ll tuck that copy of the photograph of the two of you you’d gifted into his wallet. It’s the same as the one you’d always liked the best, when you’d both been facing the camera lens in the booth. You would’ve felt so silly offering it to him before. But things are different now. You’re different now.You’re disappointed to learn he has to work on New Year’s Eve. You guess it makes sense. Probably busy for the holiday. You’re just going to stay at home and watch the ball drop on television. Have a little bit of the bubbly. Go to bed. Exciting stuff.There’s still an hour before midnight. You halfheartedly take another sip from your glass. Drinking alone just isn’t that fun. The television hosts are kind of annoying. Too fake and too happy. You wonder what Dave’s doing right now. He’d promised to call you at midnight, if he could.There’s a knock on your door.At first you dismiss it. Next door, maybe. Certainly not yours. You’re not expecting anyone.Another knock.You set your glass down and lower the volume of the television, rising and padding barefoot across the carpet to the front door. You unlock it, tugging it open marginally, leaving the deadbolt chain secured in place.Your mouth drops open.Dave’s standing there, looking all stupidly handsome as usual, clad in his wool coat and the scarf that you’d also gifted him belatedly for Christmas, a slash of crimson draped around his neck. He holds up a wrapped bottle of what you assume must be champagne. “Can I come in?”“Shit, yes, hang on.” You fumble with the chain, shutting the door briefly and then flinging it wide open. “You told me you had to work.”“I wanted to surprise you.”“So you lied.” You fold your arms across your chest and frown.“White lie. Sorry. So can I come in?”“Yes. Get in here.” You grab his lapels as soon as he clears the threshold, stretching up to kiss his mouth. “How did you find out where I live?”“Return address label on the Christmas card,” he murmurs between kisses.“Ah. Forgot about that.”He leans to set the bottle down on the nearest available surface, then takes you in his arms properly. “How are you doing?”“Better now. Fuck, I missed you. I would’ve worn something nicer if I’d known…we could have gone out…”“I considered that. But then I thought, wouldn’t it be better to stay in? I’d like a tour of your place.”“Oh, yeah. Of course. Um, there’s not a lot to see. Obviously the living room is there, and—”“—Am I making you nervous?”“What? No. I mean, a little, I guess.”“It’s only been a couple of weeks since we last saw each other.”“I know. I just really missed you and you look so fucking good.” You sink your hands into his hair as he bends to kiss you, pushing you back against the door. His hands dip inside your pajama bottoms to squeeze your buttocks. “Do you, um…bedroom?” Your brain is short circuiting. He’s here. He’s actually here.“Yes.”“Over this way.”“How’s the New Years’ bash?” He nods towards the TV, slipping out of his coat and tossing it over the back of the couch.“Lame, to be honest.”“Then we won’t be missing anything.”“Now would be a good time to make some cheesy remark about making our own fireworks.”“It would,” he agrees, prodding you forward. “But that’s not really my style.”“Yeah, you’re too classy for that.” You push open the bedroom door and step inside.“Classy?” He repeats dubiously.“Sophisticated.”He raises an eyebrow.“Well, I don’t know.” You follow his gaze to your bed. “Yeah, it’s smaller than yours.”“We’ll make it work. Why aren’t you naked yet?”“Um, I don’t know? I guess I was waiting for…oh.”He moves forward, pulling you in for another kiss.