Chapter Text
I’m alone, and yet he is everywhere. I smell him: on the sheets, in the air, all over me. And, oh god, that smell. I am intoxicated by the headiness….. Of his sweat, his musk, his sex….. Even a hint of his breath remains here. Fuck. I breathe. Breathe the ghost of his presence deeply into me, feeling the heavy absence of his body, no longer here, whilst at the same time still somehow feeling him here so fully, that I am already getting hard again in anticipation of the continuation of our coupling.
I groan, loudly, as flashes from earlier plague my thoughts. Heat. Moaning. Muscle. Salty skin. Sharp nails. Panting. His gasping release. I am swimming in these remembrances, wholly lost to them now. Ugh, just what is it about this man? The way he affects me so viscerally, as though I have somehow partly become him and he me, all so effortlessly (and so very inconveniently) that in spite of my heavily crafted facade of the playfully nonchalant fuckboy (who was supposed to shield me from all of this), he has, undeniably, crashed through my defences and made his home within my walls.
How is it that this one person has become my everything? When did I lose my ability to think of anything but him? I am falling….. becoming lost inside myself… lost to myself….. and all I want is for him to return so that I don’t have to feel this way anymore. The sadness. The panic. The dread. It’s always the same, after. The contrast is too great to bear, from being with him to then without; the loss overwhelms me anew each time, the shame of my need clawing wretchedly at my insides, as my body curls back into itself.
He can never know.
It is my confidence, my ease, my quick-witted sass, that has captured him - not this implosion of a person that I become when he is gone. Do I even exist at all anymore, without him? I pinch the skin on the back of my left hand, hard. I barely feel it. I rarely feel anything anymore, unless I’m with him, and then I feel everything so keenly, so exquisitely, that I almost want it all to stop because of how unbearably good it feels. Almost.
Because when you suddenly feel fully alive - buzzing with it, humming with the delicious electricity of it - after years and years of living in dull mediocrity? Well. There is nothing in the whole of existence that would ever convince me not to keep this. To keep him. Not that I actually have him, not really. He is mine in moments, in fractures of time and space, briefly slotted in between what must surely be far more meaningful times - his, not mine. For there is nothing in our time together that could ever cause it to be relegated to mere filler status, not for me. My time with him is the only time that counts, that matters, and I live for it, for him.
He can never know.
He wants me cool, casual, unaffected by these (now daily) encounters. And I can be that for him. I can. I will. I’ll be however and whoever he wants me to be, just so long as he keeps coming back to my bed. And if what we have never moves beyond this room? Then I’ll be fine with that - I’ll have to be.
I breathe in slowly through my nose, his enduring scent both a comfort and a taunt. As I breathe out, the sudden sound of my phone vibrating loudly and repeatedly against the wood of the bedside table causes my breath to catch and my heart to race; people don’t contact you in the darkest pre-dawn hours of a weekday morning unless something is wrong.
After several moments of paralysed panic I grab the phone, only to see a stack of mounting notifications from him - and my heart stops. We don’t do this. We don’t message one another. This ‘thing’ that we have is founded on our mutual aversion to any type of commitment or communication beyond that which takes place sans clothing. It relies on it. At least, it did - for a few weeks, anyway. Apparently that was all the time needed for me to catch feelings, and forget every reason I ever had for not wanting to be in a committed relationship with somebody. With his body. With him.
The terms agreed at the start were clear: that despite our initial exchange of numbers and the inevitable relations that followed (not to mention my immediate and total infatuation with this gorgeous, hulking man-god), no further plans to meet would be made; our potential future would be entirely left up to fate. How fun! How very extremely casual! How completely and utterly stupid! Of course, it was all my idea. Way to go, fuckboy.
So, the plan was that as long as we bumped into each other completely randomly, then we could hook up, with no hard feelings either way if/when either of us chose to go home with someone else. Easy. Simple. Except that’s not quite how things have turned out.
Because it’s now however many months later, and I’ve scarcely even glanced at another guy; every night that I’ve gone to the club looking for him, he has already been there, and every night we’ve come back here and completely devoured one another, in as many ways as possible. At first it was just at the weekends. And then again mid-week. But now for the past 9 days I’ve been going to that bloody club every single night, and when I arrive? He. Is. Always. Fucking. There.
Every night, my body finds its way to him, inexorably drawn, magnetised, winding through the hordes of anonymous bodies in the dim pulsing space of the club, in constant motion until I am once again pressed against him - and, only then, do I still. The heat of him radiates, penetrates throughout my body, loosening my limbs and slowing my racing heart. Even the memory warms, soothes me. Feeling emboldened by this reminiscence, I unlock my phone and am met with a volley of messages from the man who I can no longer pretend that I am not desperately in love with:
I know we don’t do this
Sorry
But leaving you is getting harder every time
And you looked so sad while I was getting dressed
I think you might feel the same way?
I can’t stop thinking about you
It’s driving me insane
So I have to try
Charlie - would you maybe want to go out on an actual date with me sometime?
It’s Nick btw
From the club
Sorry
Shit
No
I’ve ruined it haven’t I?
Fuck
I promise nothing has to change, we can carry on like this as long as you want to
Casual is fine, it’s cool
I can be chill
Just please don’t stop wanting me
Fuck
I did it again
I’m sorry
Idiot
Shit not you
Me, I’m the idiot
Obviously
...........
Ok I’m going now bye
As I read through the messages for a third time, my disbelief slowly morphing into a steady thrill, a bright laugh bursts unbidden from my mouth. Is this real? Is this actually, really, truly, real? Have I honestly been given another chance to not completely fuck things up with the most beautiful, ridiculous, squish of a man that I have ever met? I really think I have. Oh fuck.
I feel giddy, my insides aflutter with nerves, my skin flushing with the radiance of excitement and the heat of promise. A wild, unbridled smile takes over my face, the feeling spreading outwards to the rest of my body, as I lift the phone to my ear, and wait for Nick fucking Nelson to answer my call.