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English 2352 {DearestDarling & Dane Stalling}

"Oh, have I not made that clear? I am corrupting you. I want you thoroughly corrupted by the end of the night, and if we don't get to everything... Well, there's always tomorrow at dinner." Jess had decided, she would definitely go. "You'll have to help me pick out what to wear, though. Something that your mom would like... And that makes my ass look good."

She grinned down at him, sighing as he kissed where she had pointed, exploring further. His lips were so soft, almost too soft to belong to a guy, but she liked that. "Maybe a short skirt that you can sneak your hands under when we're at the table... Oh, but then your mom will think I'm a sorority slut." She laughed, her breasts bouncing in time just in front of his face.

Each kiss tingled, buzzed in a way that made Jessica wonder if Nate was telling the truth about his lack of experience. He had great instincts, and none of the awkwardness. "You taste like you." She giggled and moaned as he flattened his tongue against the soft, sensitive space between her breasts. She melted in his hands, wanting to become whatever shape he wanted. "Perfect? Me?" She was laughing. "Gosh, you're cute. Of course you think I'm perfect. I just had your cock in my mouth.... Wait till you fuck at least a few girls before you make that kind of--oh-- judgement."

Suddenly she was straddling his chest rather than his hips, and she tried hard not to laugh as he tickled her ribs with his kisses, his breath hot and tingly. "I could write your number on a bathroom stall... Or maybe I won't kiss and tell, and keep you all to myself." She hissed as his tongue flickered out, touching every ticklish spot as though he'd been given a map. Her hands drifted of their own accord, one cupping a full breast and squeezing, the other reaching behind her and finding his cock, toying with it. Already almost hard again, she could barely believe it.

"You know what I really want to try?" She wondered if he was thinking the same thing. "I want to ride that tongue... But only if you want me to." Was that pushing him too far? She touched her tongue to her lip, looking down at him, his flushed cheeks, his tousled hair. "You know... If you ever don't want to do something I tell you to... That's okay. I don't want you to feel pressured, or whatever. Okay? If we're going too fast, just tell me."


***​

"Wrapped around my finger."

Luke whispered it so quietly that if he hadn't been pressed against her body, she wouldn't have heard him. Chills dripped down her back and she came again, twice as hard as the first time, gasping his name in quiet delight. There was so much she hadn't known that first night, and she regretted nothing. Did he have any idea where coffee at that dive would lead them? If he did, he didn't let on.

She tilted her head as he suckled and kissed her neck, her blood rising to meet him, eager to brand her skin. In the silence, she remembered what he had said by the lake, that he could hear her blood at a thousand yards. It had sounded like a line at the time-- a good line, a line that sent wonderful shudders down her spine, but a line just the same. But now... Now she thought it might be true.

He withdrew his fingers and she sighed contentedly, closing her eyes. "That was the first time I ever..." She wondered if he had felt it, the second time she came on his fingers. "If I stay here, that'll be the first time too." Did it count, if it was someone else's pool house futon, and not Luke's bed? The latter made her heart beat a bit faster, somehow threatening, a claim being staked on her. This was neutral territory, she told herself. Sort of.

She didn't answer about breakfast; the thought made her feel uneasy. Too domestic, too deliberate. She turned in his arms, kneeling on the bed and facing him. He smelled like her and she loved it, pressing into him for a kiss. "I could ask," she finally said against his lips, "but I think that would be pushing your friend's hospitality too far." She pulled away slightly, her hair sticking to her damp skin like chocolate syrup. "Unless maybe I tip him. But how would you feel about that?" She traced a finger down his chest, and though her tone was nonchalant, it was something she wanted to know. If he wanted to be exclusive; if he expected that of her.
 
“If it makes your ass look good,” Nate said, turning his head and kissing the inside of Jessica’s thigh, “my mom won’t like it.”

He liked her weight on his chest, the way she paused sometimes when he kissed a certain spot.

“I like skirts,” he said, “Even longer ones. They have so much…”

He took a deep breath and smiled. “Potential,” he said. He kissed again, the other thigh this time, then strained for one of her breasts, but he couldn’t reach either one.

He wondered about fucking other girls. Jessica seemed confident that he would be able to do that, fuck other girls, but it was something he had always thought was only a very remote possibility. His brother did, of course. Tyler was the athlete in the family, the one with the trophies. Girls threw themselves at him. He had graduated the year before, his academic standing unimpressive, but his batting average pretty good. Nate remembered more than one vicious fight between Tyler’s girlfriends. He never seemed to get blamed for two timing.

Jessica was asking permission to ride his tongue. As though “no” was in his vocabulary right now.

Nate answered by pushing her up further, closer to his mouth. He reached again, and managed to touch the tip of his tongue to the center of something hot and exciting. “Keep me to yourself,” he said, “I’ll make you shine.”

He looked up at her, her eyes looking down at him between her breasts. “I’m a good student,” he said, “Ask anyone.”

He pushed her up a little further and covered Jessica’s pussy with his mouth, lips, tongue, the tip of his nose touching her smooth skin. Her flavor was overwhelming, delicious, forbidden, exciting.

“Get down here,” he said, and licked her thigh again, “Don’t make me chase you.”

——

Rosalie said Luke’s name. He felt her come the second time, the trembling ripple against his fingers, the shudder down her back. She almost told him it was the first time. Why hadn’t she finished the sentence? Why hold back when it would be easy to relax, enjoy the quiet, the pointed atmosphere, the warmth and touch of a shared bed? Even if that bed was a beat up futon in a pool house. He found the wine bottle and took a swig. He took another. It was pretty good wine.

“Josh. He’s an iceberg. Nine times colder than you think he is.” Luke gathered Rosalie’s hair in his hand and pulled it off of her skin. He blew on her neck briefly.

The thought of her offering herself as “a tip” made him uncomfortable. He thought it was just jealousy, not wanting to share her with anyone. But it was more than that. He kissed the back of her neck.

“Do you always think of yourself as currency?” he said. It was the wrong thing to say, he was sure, but he wondered at her willingness to sell herself for silence, for breakfast. What would be a reason that was too small for her to consider exchanging her body for it?

“Honestly,” he said, “I want you. I want you for myself.”

He squeezed her hair in his fist, brought her head forward until his lips rested against her neck. He grazed his teeth on her skin. He let her hair go.

“You won’t be just mine though, will you?”

He smiled into her throat, smelling her sweat, the smell of her sex wafting from his fingers, from his hair, from his lips. Her wildness made him hungry and full all at once.

“You don’t have to answer,” he said. “I’d be disappointed if you could be caged so easily.”

He would be disappointed in any case, he knew. But for now, anyway, his heat had turned her head, made her body sing, caused her to whisper his name, unthinking. For tonight it would have to be enough.
 
"Myself?" Rose repeated, exhaling as his lips touched her neck, warm where his breath had cooled her. He was fire in one moment, ice in the next. She favored neither; both thrilled her. "I don't give out myself. My self is unobtainable, non-transferable, unreachable, unavailable. You're talking about sex, a totally and completely separate entity. And who's to say I wouldn't enjoy the exchange?"

"Honestly, I want you. I want you for myself."

Rose clenched the bed beside her and released it, in a movement so subtle she knew that Luke would likely pick up on it. He never missed anything. "You don't know what you want," she said lightly, turning to hide her frown. "Look, I could've gone home with anyone. I bet even Jessica's little lightening bug would've welcomed me to their private afterparty... But I'm here. I'm with you. Doesn't that count for something?" She tilted her head slowly to the side, baring more skin for him to claim, if he wanted.

"What would being 'yours' even mean? That I'm your girlfriend? That if I fuck another guy, you'll skin him? Luke..." She laughed, but it sounded wrong. "Those ideas are so... old fashioned." She thought of trying to fuck Alex the day before, how pleasureless it had been. How she had only thought of Luke, and couldn't put him from her mind. She wanted to ask how he had done it, how he had put this hold over her when so many others had tried and failed to keep her interest... But then he would know, and knowing gave him a power that she didn't want to let go of.

"Let's make a deal." She turned in his arms, she wanted to see his face. "You don't have to make me the same promise. While this is going on, this thing, seeing you... I won't sleep with someone else." It felt strange to make such a promise for nothing in exchange, but maybe it would make everything less messy, complicated.

"Unless, of course, you want me to." She flashed a devilish smile, leaving him to interpret that as he wished, what possibilities she was leaving him with. She dipped her head, her lips ghosting over old blossoms she had left on his skin. She thought of how he had bared them in the crowd, shown them off as though they were a backstage pass. She shivered. What was she doing?

There was something else on her mind, something she wondered. "How many girls have been 'yours', Luke?" She didn't know why she was asking. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know. "How many good ties have you given away? How many girls have you spilled ink on?" The sole of her foot still tingled with the words he'd pressed into it. She kissed his pulse, wondering how it might change as he answered.

***​

"You can look through my closet later, tell me what would make you smile to see me in." The idea sounded fun now, but they only had forty minutes before the cake would be done. No time for a fashion show when Jess already felt him hardening in her hands.

He urged her closer and she hesitated, letting him struggle a little, teasing him. "Keep you to myself? Aw, but that would be so greedy. You deserve to be shared. If anyone knew how sweet you are, they would want a taste." She finally moved with his nudging, murmuring his name as he reached for her with his tongue, making brief but wonderful contact. "Ahh-- besides, isn't that every guy's dream? To bang as many girls as possible? I could help you with that..."

She wasn't done speaking, but then he found her pussy with his hungry lips and tongue and she didn't trust her voice. Her hips rose to meet him, and she leaned forward to cling to her headboard, glancing down for a moment to see his head buried between her thighs before needing to look away. "Is this re-really the first time?" she asked, her legs spread widely on either side of him, petals completely open to him to explore, to taste. "Right here." She reached down, a fingertip tracing a slow circle around her clit. "Kiss me here... just kiss me. I want to see if-- oh, if you can make me come just from that."
 
Nate smiled. “I don’t know about your wardrobe, but I like what you’re wearing now.”

He liked what he was wearing too, just Jessica’s body.

“I don’t know about every guy’s dream. I’ve only talked to a few hundred guys in my life,” he said, “but I think I want to bang as much as possible. Whether it’s one girl or a variety.”

She could help him though… that was a tantalizing thought. It would be like having an insider, someone to weed out trouble, to find undiscovered talent, to put in a good word at the right time.

“First time,” he said again, then kissed her finger as she circled her clit, pressing it into her flesh a little before kissing exactly where she had pointed. Maybe there would be a first time for her tonight too.

“Tell me,” he said, between kisses, “who?” He kissed, his lower lip touching her clit, then his upper lip. He let it drag across her skin for a few seconds, then kissed again, his lips around that one spot, not touching it.

“Who would you share me with?”

He kissed in time to one of the songs from the band’s set, hearing the music in his head. He wondered if a drummer could tell which song just from the tempo of kisses.

——

Luke rolled his chin across Rosalie’s shoulder, listening to her talk, getting lost in the intricacies of possession and freedom. Her voice, even when she thought she was setting him straight, was attractive, intelligent. It was different tonight though. She didn’t sound like she might jettison him at any second. She sounded like she wanted to clear up something so that they could go on. And she was here with him.

It was the strangest deal he had ever heard. It could hardly be called a deal at all. She didn’t put any conditions on him, and promised something herself.

“I like your deal,” he said as her lips touched his bruises. “And I won’t promise the same thing.”

He sat back and looked into her eyes. He didn’t have plans to sleep with anyone else, no prospects that appealed. There was Juniper, loose, drunk, busty, available, degrading. He could have written everything she knew about literature on the back of a business card. No competition there. The tease about him wanting her to sleep with someone else was just her kind of mischief and he wondered if she meant it, if it was something she would want herself.

“I want something more from you though,” he said, finally. “I want you to be yourself, promise or not.”

His marriage had become one long exercise in twisting himself into the shape of a promise without respect and he didn’t want to look in the mirror and see Isobel there in his own face. Rosalie wouldn’t let that happen to her, would she? It was hard to imagine, but he hadn’t thought he could be so tamed either, so emasculated.

“Scores of girls have been mine,” he said, smiling, “and never a single one. I’ve slept with four. I’ve given ties to two, but only one good tie.”

He let her lips warm his neck, just under his ear.

“I’ve never written on anyone but you.”

It was too late to be awake, and his eyes blinked slowly. “I’ll write you a bedtime story to carry around someday. I’ll write you mysteries and secrets. But now I’m illiterate. Foolish. Sleepy."
 
Rose buzzed. Her fingertips trembled as she gave that small part of herself away, such an ordinary, taken-for-granted promise for most, but from Rose it was a precious gem, black opal. 'Deal' was the wrong word, but she was more comfortable with it... 'Promise' made her itch. Fidelity came naturally to him. He wanted more, of course he did, from their very first encounter he was too greedy for her. She looked down at the bed, her lips tugging into a frown. He had no idea what he was asking for. Her lips parted to answer him, to retort with something snappy, but the petals touched his throat instead.

"I've never written on anyone but you."

"Good," she breathed, enjoying a strange thrill... Was it relief? "That's what you can give to me. Don't write on anyone else." She had wondered if it was just some strange trick he used with women, or if he only had with her, their special, sacred thing. He hadn't disappointed her.

She left again, but this time he had the benefit of a note, tucked under a coffee cup, a solid black J monogrammed on it. Hurried, loopy cursive sprawled across the napkin, not a centimeter of space left unmarked.

'Jittery, so I left. I hope you don't mind. At least this time you have your keys... And your shirt, though it did look great on me when I tried it on.

Jealous of the coffee, that it's the first hot thing that your lips will touch today. But we have time, remember you told me that?

Just another few hours before I see you again, and I can hardly wait. I've been dying to see how your teaching has improved since you've loosened up a little. It might be in your best interest to make the lesson engaging... When I'm bored, my mind wanders... Sometimes to steamy places.

Jetting off now. Oh, and I think this is Josh's favorite cup. He'll probably want it back.

R'

She arranged them carefully on the bar, glancing again at Luke and thinking of the promises she had made to him the night before. The unspoken commitment of sleeping with him, really sleeping, instead of leaving as she usually did. To her surprise, it hadn't been the worst thing, to close her eyes and focus on the soft hush of his breath against her shoulder, his arm snug around her waist. She had liked it.

She left him with his arm outstretched across the futon, a kiss pressed to his cheek. It all felt tender and new. She snuck out into the shade of the overgrown elephant ears, slightly rumpled and very confused.

***​
Jessica quirked an eyebrow, or tried to anyway. Her legs were splayed on either side of him, and she moaned quietly, wordlessly, as he dragged his lips against her clit, teasing. He was much more skilled than his blank resume suggested.

"Who?" she repeated, her eyes nearly fluttering shut as he kissed. His lips were electric, but she wanted to watch him. She released her grip on the headboard to push his hair back. "Bored of me already? At least fuck me once before daydreaming about someone else, it's only fair." Her hips rocked in the tempo he set; she wanted him now, but they had time to kill. If he didn't last long, and she didn't quite expect him to, they would have the cake as an excuse to stop. How long had it been anyway?

"Don't worry. I hear a lot of things. I collect-- oh, please, right there, don't stop--" she gasped, as his lips ghosted over her wet, velvet skin. "I, um, I collect stories... Fuck, I don't think I can wait. I want you now, Nate... Have you made up your mind? What do you want to try? I think this is going to be my favorite story yet..." She stroked his hair gently, so soft for a boy's.
 
Nate laughed into Jessica’s skin and brushed his cheek against her thigh for a moment. “Bored? No.” He kissed again, trying to follow her instructions, but wanting to try things. “Just the thought of this,” he said, kissing, “fantasizing about this is what I do to keep me from being bored.”

She talked like he knew what he wanted, like it made a difference to him. He wanted to try everything. He wanted to learn himself, to learn women, or at least this woman for now. Maybe they were all different. How would he know?

At least he knew when he was doing something right. Jessica let him know in no uncertain terms and he was happy to keep “right there” in the center of his attentions. She had a hand around his cock, but she seemed to have forgotten it. He smiled. Kissed.

“I want to hear your stories sometime,” he said, “I want to make a story with you too. I want it to be about your eyes.”

He kissed again, then, hungry, he held her bottom with both hands and licked her, his tongue soft and wide. He tasted her wildness again, felt her hot against his tongue. He wondered if she would forgive him the transgression. He thought his chances were good.

“Your face is fascinating, Jessica,” he said, “I’ve made up my mind that I want to watch your face. Do you know that you flare your nose sometimes? Just before you tell me to do something again, your nose flares.”

He ran his hands up her sides, feeling her skin slip under his fingertips.

“I’m all yours,” he said, “but let me see your eyes.”

——

Finally, something Rosalie wanted that Luke could give her. Some small exclusivity. Words on her skin only. Something about that small jealousy appealed to him, made him smile. He realized she had given him a way to hurt her.

He dropped an arm over her waist and curled around her body. She smelled of herself and wine and as his mind wandered, sleepy, the scents tangled and he slipped into a dream where Rosalie was lost and he would only be able to find her by the scent of the wine they had shared. What had that label said? He turned the bottle, but the label was blank, a smudged image. A breeze brought a scent to him, though, and he followed it until he found her in a forest, overshadowed by tall trees. She was clothed entirely in wide ribbons and some of them were weightless, lifting into the beams of late sun slotting through the trees.

“Will you fly?” he said, taking one of the ribbons and sniffing it.

“I will not stay earthbound for you,” she said.

Luke looked down in the dream and the earth had fallen away. He was suspended at the tips of the trees, and Rosalie laughed at him, floating nearby.

“You should see your face,” she said, “You look like you haven’t ever flown at all."
 
"You're, oh, you aren't a good listener." The scold sounded much more like a moan, too breathy to be taken seriously, but Nate's tongue had licked the sense from her. Her back arched as he experimented, each lap causing her hips to jerk in delightful shock, every delicate nerve sparking with pleasure. Each kiss was utterly electric, and even in the dark, he made her glow.

"I'm all yours, but let me see your eyes."

Jessica's freckles scattered as she grinned, cinnamon over cream. There seemed to be more of them than before. He saw her, spoke to her with a sweetness that made Jess curious-- was it just that he was a virgin, that he looked at her with awe and accepted every small touch and affection with an adorable eagerness? Or was that just Nate?

"I can't wait anymore." She eased back, smiling as she glanced down at his flushed face, boyish and thrilled just to be there with her. She had wanted him to watch his cock slide into her, but he wanted her eyes, and she wasn't going to argue. She slid down his body, sighing as grazed every inch of hot skin and wondering if the A/C was on the fritz again, or if it was just the fire they'd made together. Maybe that.

She bit her cherry lip, easing back onto his rigid cock slowly and sighing as he stretched her wet silk. "You're delicious." She rocked, leaning forward to kiss him and smiling when she tasted herself. "So much better than chocolate." She brought his hands up to her breasts, urging him to cup them as she bounced a few times, trying a quicker pace before abandoning it for something slower, deeper. She felt relieved that they already had plans again, and so soon. She was already hungry for seconds and it would be more than fun to sneak around in his house, especially if his mother was half as overbearing as she sounded over the phone. It only added to the challenge.

Her hands had flattened across his chest, and she spread the fire in haphazard patterns across it. She allowed herself to close her eyes for just a moment, wanting nothing but to feel the heat, the wetness dripping down her thighs, the incredible friction as they moved together in the dim light. "You're a natural." Jess' voice was breathy, almost unrecognizable as she moved over him.
 
Jessica had electric eyes, Nate watched them as he pressed his lips against her flesh. For some reason every fantasy he had ever had paled against Jessica’s heat and motion. The fact that she enjoyed this as much as he did was too good to be true.

When she slid down his body, a grin on her face, he took a big breath. It would be his last as a virgin. One last thing.

"Oh lord,” he breathed as she enveloped him. He had expected some variation on the feel of his own hand, or even the warm paradise of her mouth, but this was different. Indescribably better. He hadn’t thought about the textures of her pussy, the subtle difference in the feel of her moisture, the muscles that she could bring into play. He didn’t expect to be squeezed.

Jessica knew what she wanted and he was grateful that she wasn’t shy about taking it. Taking him.

“Holy,” he said, and grunted unconsciously as she rocked against him, “Holy chocolate.”

He smoothed his hands over her breasts and felt her sink deeper onto his cock with each thrust. Slow and deep. She had taken the edge off earlier, but edges were close together for him, and Jessica seemed intent on keeping him on cliffs.

“You’re molten,” he said, and felt it- liquid heat that had its own hunger. He wanted to be consumed, to enter somehow into not only Jessica’s body, but into humanity itself.

He never knew, later, if those thoughts had crossed his mind in the moment or if he had fabricated them as his memories in those minutes. In a way, it hardly mattered.

“Fuck me,” he said, his fingers curling into her flesh, the muscles of his stomach contracting almost involuntarily with each thrust. His body knew what to do.

Nate tried to smile, but a new angle made him close his eyes for a moment and grit his teeth. “Oh Jess,” he said, “I had no… nnnn… idea.”

He opened his eyes again, knowing that he could keep no secret from showing in them. He didn’t care. Jessica’s eyes burned with her desire for him and he could almost feel the heat of her gaze on his face.

“Finish me,” he said, and surrendered his body to hers.
 
"You're so funny," she gasped between breathless giggles, her palm leaving his chest so that she could push back her disheveled hair. It defied gravity, a plume of of cobalt that fluffed softly back and forth as she rocked into him. He was precious, but she thought if she said so, it might embarrass him. He had no idea... No idea of what? She wanted to ask but the next thrust made her breath catch.

"Finish me." Jessica smirked, slowing so that she could find his hand, smoothing her own over the smoldering trails he'd left behind. Across her tender breasts, her nipples peaked and rosy from his studious attention, down her belly, her hips... She found one and closed it into a fist, kissed his knuckles sweetly, and brought it down to where they joined, resting it on his belly, just above his cock.

"Only if you'll finish me." She rocked again, her breath catching as her clit rubbed against the ridge of his knuckles, savoring each valley and peak. "Watch me take your cock, Nate; isn't it so delicious, how perfectly it fits?" Her mind was bright, fuzzy, and stringing a sentence together took serious effort as she raised herself up, up, so that just the tip of his cock pressed into her wet, aching need.

She lowered herself down again, watching his face to make sure he was looking where she instructed. She wanted to catch every micro-reaction, every small movement of his innocent eyes, his soft, boyish lips. Her eyes were hooded as she observed him, preserving every second to reflect on later. She had planned to tell Rose everything, but now she felt greedy, and thought she might keep it for herself.

Light hovered around the corners of her vision, then darkness, every nerve brought to life by the rhythm she'd set. His knuckles were glistening with wet, and the sight made her moan his name.

"I'm going to keep you." She said the words without thinking, without even fully understanding what she meant, but they felt right. It was greedy of her, but she didn't care; he would be her secret. She bent down for a searing kiss, tasting herself and grinning.
 
Nate tore his eyes away from Jessica's face and let them travel down her body and rest where they were joined. He was fascinated with the way his cock disappeared into Jessica, that they were perfect flexible pieces of a puzzle that was forever creating and recreating itself.

"You feel amazing," he said as she positioned his hand. He watched her engulf him, slide against his knuckles. The heat of her on his hand made him catch his breath. He was getting used to the rhythm she had set and he began rocking his pelvis into her. He could hear one of the band's songs in her tempo and he hummed the melody, losing his voice between his panting and Jessica's breathless words.

"I'm going to keep you," she said, and he nodded, finding her eyes with his. She was beautiful, rumpled and glowing, her hair a fine blue flame. When her lips touched his he felt himself losing control and he grunted.

"Jessica..." he said, and took two breaths, his mouth wide open. He tried to find her lips again, but his vision sparked at the corners. He came then, teeth clenched, but his eyes wide open as his body tried to curl completely into hers. He shook a little, tried to make a sound, but found that he couldn't yet.

He found Jessica's cheek with one hand and touched her like she was a miracle.

"I didn't expect it to be so..." he said, breathing hard between phrases, "...so different."

He smiled, then winced as his body spasmed one last time. He looked into Jessica's eyes, "Is it always so... unexpected?"

He tipped his chin up then and kissed her deeply, feeling close to her, fused with her. "We've got to do that again," he said, and licked her chin.
 
ZZ Top blared from Rosalie's headphones as she waited for a city bus, half-wishing that she had stuck around and caught a ride from Luke. What would that be like, to wake up with his arms around her, his nose buried in her hair? She had felt funny when she extracted herself from him, as though she were stealing something from him. She thought she saw the ghost of a smile turning his lips, some self-congratulatory grin... But she had felt anxious and tingly when she thought of staying and lazing in bed with him. So instead, she boarded the crowded bus that would take her south, then she'd walk the rest of the way.

The volume dipped as Dusty Hill demanded to be taken downtown, and Rose glanced down at her buzzing phone. Her stomach turned when she saw that the text was from her mother.

'Hey sweetie, did you stay at the lake house last weekend? You know you're supposed to let us know when you drop in.'

Rose stared so hard at her phone that her gaze could drill a hole in it. How the hell did she know? She combed her messy hair from her face, typing a reply, deleting it, typing again, when she saw that her mother wasn't giving her the chance to reply.

'Security cameras, we just had them installed a few weeks ago. Who's your little friend?'

Then a picture popped up in the message feed, an HD image of Luke on top of her, his skin bright with moonlight, her wrists in his capable hands. Fuck. The phone clattered to the bus floor, yanking the earbuds from her ears, and an older woman sitting across the aisle helpfully picked it up for her, glancing down briefly at the illuminated screen and coughing in surprise at the graphic image. Rose swiped her phone back, murmured an insincere 'thanks', and stuffed it into her purse. She was breathing shallowly, and for the briefest moment she wondered if it were possible to get a copy of that home video before she returned to a state of dull panic. Her mother knew about Luke-- not who he was, but it was just a matter of time. She was totally screwed.

***​

"What the hell is this? Or maybe 'was this' would be more appropriate. Now it's a perfectly good pan I have to toss."

Jessica sighed into Nate's chest, turning her head away from the voice. She didn't care for the world beyond their nest of warmth and skin, and even through her eyelids, she could tell it was way too fucking early to be doing anything but sleeping. Maybe fooling around, if Nate happened to wake up, but he seemed very much asleep.

"Was this... Chocolate? Oh, Jess, there's chocolate all over you, both of you..." Jess could hear the trudge of boots across her bedroom floor, the bed groaning in protest of the weight of another occupant. Rose was laughing, too quiet to hear, but the mattress shook with it. Jess cracked open an eye and regretted it, squeezed it shut again. "He's cute, wow. Totally different guy when he's naked." Jess smirked, propping herself up on an elbow, then pressing her palms into her eyes to alleviate the ache.

"You should've been here last night, he was so fucking adorable... And adorable fucking. But I think two girls at once would've blown his mind."

Rose trailed her fingertips down his leg, barely making contact. "I'm trying this new thing. I think it's called 'being exclusive'." Her hand continued to creep up Nate's thigh, creeping up to his hip, and then down again in a lazy, circular motion. She looked up to see Jessica staring at her, the corner of her mouth quirked. "What?"

"Exclusive? You? It just seems so... Wrong. Like a zebra with spots. You know your hand is like... Three inches from Nate's cock, right? How close can you get before it's considered... 'inclusive'?"

"I told Luke that I wouldn't fuck anyone else, I'm just... touching." She traced over his hip as Jess found the soft spot where his neck and shoulder met, licked her lips and pressed them to his skin. She had never minded sharing, and the thought of what Nate's face might look like if he happened to wake up made her grin. But Rosalie didn't seem interested beyond smoothing her hands over his chest, down his thighs, as though she was testing her own resolve.

"Why did you agree to that? Two days ago you weren't even talking, now you're day--"

"No," Rose said abruptly, "we're not." She followed the length of Nate's cock with her fingertip, watching his small reactions with interest. "We're just... Seeing each other, I guess. He's leaving his wife, but I don't know what that means, or if I want it to mean anything. I don't want it to mean anything." She pressed her lips together, contemplative. What would Luke think, that she had left him again? At least she left him where she found him, and with his accoutrements undisturbed. "He looks really familiar. I think I made out with his brother at a party last year; he has a brother, right?"

"Yeah, I think? I'm having dinner at his house tonight, I'll find out." She kissed his pulse, and thought that it might've quickened as she did. Was Nate awake?

"Tell me what the mom thinks of you; when she dropped him off last night, the look she shot me with was positively lethal. And that was before I stripped."
 
The smell of chocolate batter half-woke Nate throughout the few remaining hours of the night, Something had changed, and he had dreams of sweat-slippery skin, his and Jessica's. They were curiously vivid, and he could smell her perfume, her sweat, and something else that made his heart lift strangely. Blue fire seemed to edge his sight. He was unaccustomed to sleeping without underwear, and every time he turned over his cock flopped. The mattress was softer than he was used to, but once he was asleep, he sank deep into his mind and the lights and sounds of the unfamiliar place could not penetrate his slumber.

Fingernails on his thigh drew a quiet, deeply contented sigh from him. He woke erect almost every day, the edges of sensual dreams saturating his body even as he came slowly to consciousness. Lips against his neck, fingers touching his skin, leaving ticklish trails that seemed to spark and itch in the wake of fingers. He twitched both of his thumbs. The hands touching him were someone else’s. The pad of a finger traveled his morning hardness.

“Mmm. Jess…” he said, hardly thinking. The taste of her name on his tongue roused him a little. The night came to him in a rush- the chocolate cake, Jessica’s nipples dimpling his tongue, the taste of her mouth, her pussy, the skin between her breasts, and the plunging damp heat and squeeze of her when he had finally entered her body with his.

He felt a grin spread across his face. He knew where he was, even with his eyes closed. Jessica’s bed. Hadn’t they destroyed it last night? Not a single pillow or blanket was left on it by the time that cake was done. It had crumbled over her stomach, warm, chocolate, and hopelessly soft. He had eaten it from her skin, his eyes watching hers. He had not stopped eating when the cake was gone.

He opened his eyes, squinting against the sun. Jessica’s breath tickled the hairs on his chest, and a form silhouetted against the light confused him. The bassist, Rosalie was there. The tequila thief.

He scrambled for a pillow, and finally had to resort to covering himself with his hands. His clothes were scattered, and all in the dining room.

“Hey, uh,” he said, trying to figure out why Rose was smiling like that. His mind went blank. This had to be the nightmare dream ending to last night’s very real dream. “Great show last night,” he said, lamely, “I mean the music part…”

He looked at Jessica, his eyes wide, then back at Rosalie. Whose hand had he just felt on his cock? It was impossible to tell.

“I’m, uh, going to find my pants.”

——
Nate slipped an extra plate from the stack onto the dinner table. His mother clattered dishes in the kitchen. “You didn’t tell me she had blue hair,” she said, pulling a casserole dish out of the oven with oversized bear claw oven mitts. “What if she doesn’t eat meat? Some girl scouts don’t."

“I’m sure lasagna’s fine, mom. Stop stressing. She’s got blue hair. So what? You dye your hair and you’re not a vegetarian.”

“You just can’t tell these days,” she said, tossing the salad for the fourth time. “She could be gluten free, paleo, banting, atkins, South Beach, Mediterranean, macrobiotic, vegan, kosher, or halaal. Or all of them."

Nate rolled his eyes. His mom seemed both suspicious and eager to impress. How could she feed both emotions at the same time? It must be exhausting being a woman. He put the rest of the plates down, one by one.

“I’ve seen her eat cake, so she’s not gluten free,” he said, and regretted it almost immediately. Jess had eaten a path of cake crumbles from his chest all the way to his cock. His cock remembered too. “She’s not vegetarian either,” he said, and grinned. He was pretty sure.

----

Luke woke to the tune of his phone alarm playing the default tune and buzzing on the coffee table. She was gone, and he sighed. He felt like he was wrapped around an empty space. The coffee, though, and the note- that was different. Better. At least he had his clothes and his dignity and time. Always time.

He sipped the coffee, took a picture of it next to his lips, just the black edge of the mug and the corner of a grin, and sent it to her phone. He stood then, dressed from the backpack, fashionably mussed, he hoped. He shrugged and decided today wasn’t the day to care.

He went through the lesson plan in his mind as he drove. Chopin, consequences, freedom. What is it worth? Is it worth dying for?

He walked into the classroom early, eager to see Rose, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there yet. He reminded himself. He sat behind the lecture table and watched the students come in by ones and twos, going, inevitably, to their customary seats. Would he even know their names if they changed rows? He doubted it. Habit was a powerful thing though. He didn’t have anything to fear.
 
'You know I'll find out eventually.'

Rose thought to block the number, but then she knew her mother would show up at her apartment... If she could fit it into her busy schedule. Or maybe the task would be delegated to someone on her payroll. Rose would have to answer the texts unless she wanted a face-to-face interrogation.

'He's just a friend. Why does it matter?'

It felt strange to describe Luke that way. Friends...? Friends hung out, friends talked. Friends shared their feelings with each other. No, they weren't friends, but that hadn't bothered her until she'd given it a second thought. Damn labels.

She'd left Jess and her mortified bedmate to their own devices, showering off the heat and the sparkle of the gig before they would inevitably want the shower for themselves. Irritatingly, her phone buzzed again, and she let the hot spray crash over her head, trying to block out the sound of her ringtone playing.

How many months had it been since her mother even bothered to contact her? Why now? It had been a mistake to take Luke into the house. It was a deviation from her plan, and now it threatened to fuck everything up. She sighed angrily, licking the water from her lips as she watched body glitter swirl down the drain. It had been such a nice morning too, so strangely pleasant to wake up in Luke's arms, though she denied herself the possible pleasure of staying. Now she only felt tense, every muscle coiled and in need of release... Usually she would invite herself into Alex's apartment to relieve the stress, but she had promised... And besides that, she couldn't bear to see the smug look he would undoubtedly have across his stupid face. Men and their smugness. Nothing was more of a turn off.

She would have to take care of it herself, but there wasn't much time. She shut off the water, toweling off as she watched her phone light up with each new text. Four messages, two voicemails. Buzz, buzz, buzz... She had to get to Luke, tell him before her mother could... But how could she without revealing the truth about the lake house, where she came from... Fuck. This was a mess.

'I'll call you later, Mom.' A month from then was 'later', and so was a year.

***​

The revelation that her mother knew, in some small way, about Luke caused her to look over her shoulder, to jump out of her skin when someone in the hall called her name. If she had been thinking clearly, she would've given her mother some false name and story to sate the psycho's curiosity, but now it was a game for her to play, a riddle to solve. And if Rosalie was an accomplished game master, she was nothing compared to her mother.

She thought about skipping class that day, but she wasn't sure what would be worse-- if she were being followed, reported on, wouldn't they wonder why she missed one class in particular? But what if someone followed her in, or worse, what if her mother had recruited one of her classmates to play spy? She felt silly and paranoid as Darlene Crenshaw flagged her down in the hallway to give her notes that she hadn't asked for. Could Darlene be capable of such treachery? She was intelligent, but only as a result of her gift of rote memorization. Nerdy, unsuspecting... Actually, Rose realized as she smiled, thanked Darlene, and turned away, the girl would make a perfect spy.

Rose lingered outside of class, pretending to fiddle with her phone as she debated attending class. She had told Luke she would, and he was expecting her. Despite herself, she had missed him in the few short hours they'd been apart. But was it worth the risk? She sighed. Yes. No.... She peeked inside the doorway; where was the harm in looking?

Last night was written all over Luke-- in his disheveled hair, the wrinkles in his clothes, the socks that from far away were passably matched, but a closer look revealed them to be brothers, not twins. Rose, by contrast, was fresh as a daisy, modest by her standards in a skater skirt and a form-fitting long sleeved shirt. Her hair was pulled into a neat, high ponytail, and her bright face showed no signs of the revelry of they'd shared that night.

She watched him for a brief moment from the doorway, noting how lost he looked, the way his gaze would fall on her empty seat, as though she might just appear there if he dared to blink. So cute. Her steps were small and measured as she took her seat, her skirt swishing as she walked.

She was careful not to look at him, except from the corner of her eye. There could be no indication that they were anything more than professor and student.

***​

Jessica pressed the doorbell four times in quick succession, not allowing the chimes to play out. She tugged at the hem of her tank top nervously, watching herself in the reflection of the stained glass door. Too much cleavage? She never would've thought that was possible, but who knew with moms? There was a sign by the doorbell-- 'Please ring once'. Oh. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, her broken-in Chucks stretching to accommodate.

She was pulling her top back up just a touch more when the door quickly opened, and Jessica grinned widely, looking down and smoothing her hands over her ribs. "Hey handsome, I was just trying to figure out how much skin was appro..." It wasn't Nate at the door, but a curly-haired, forty-something year old woman with his nose and chin. Fuck.

"I'm sorry, let me... Um... I brought cookies?" She scooped up the basket she'd left at her feet, offering them to Mrs. Powell. "Way better than Thin Mints but they can't quite touch Samoas." She could feel her own blood buzzing.

Nate's mother took the basket hesitantly, as though she might kick the jezebel off of her stoop at that very moment. She had sounded so much nicer on the phone, and it was difficult to match that chipper, sweet girl to this blue haired strumpet, but... Did strumpets bake?

"Could I... um, could I come in? Dinner smells delicious, spaghetti right?" Jessica smiled, taking a brave step forward.

"Lasagna." She had wanted to know who her son was hanging out with, had he spent the night with her? She followed Jessica inside. "Excuse the mess, Natey-bear and Tyler are always leaving their things everywhere... Boys..." She waved her hand with exasperation, but Jessica was too busy taking a look around to give her an obligatory understanding smile in response. Family photos were hung in the small foyer, small frames of kitschy cross stitch, shelves crowded with tiny figurines of woodland animals. Every inch of the wood paneled wall had something new to look at. Not a speck of dust rested on them, and she couldn't for the life of her see the 'mess' she fussed about.

"So um... Where's Nate?" Jessica asked, a bit sheepishly.
 
Nate hovered in the kitchen, a little nervous, and extremely hungry. He snagged a dinner roll and held it in his mouth as his mom handed him the pot holders.

“Darling, take the lasagna out and put it on the table. I’ll take care of the glasses.”

Nate leaned into the heat of the oven, turning his head a little to keep the heat off his face and he had just pulled the casserole dish out when the doorbell rang. Four times. Shit. And his mom beat him to the door. Shit shit.

Nate tried to find a place to put the hot dish, but there wasn’t a trivet on the table. He heard the word “skin” and “appropriate” and he moaned into his roll. He set the lasagna on the top of the stove, burned his fingers on the dish, and swore into the bread. He heard “Natey-bear.” Shit! He ran some cold water over his fingers, his eyes watering.

“So um… Where’s Nate?”

Shit.

Nate dried his hands, tore the roll out of his mouth, and ran to the door, trying to swallow a mouthful of bread in vain.

“Here,” he said, and waved his towel. “Eating bread.”

Shit.

——

“You should have seen the show, Mom,” Nate said.

Tyler hadn’t come in for dinner when they called him. He had to finish a Grand Theft Auto level. Of course.

The lasagna was good, anyway, but Nate had a hard time ignoring the chill radiating out in waves from his mom.

“I had three smoke machines and they had six laser installations, but only three of them assigned to the board, which makes zero sense, but during the fifth number I noticed there was this layer of fog over everything, clear on the top and the bottom. You know how rare that is? You can’t just make that happen. Anyway, I ran a circle program on the laser over Jessica’s head and it hit the fog layer right over her head. I swear. It was a perfect halo. Like she was this blue angel behind the drums.”

Nate remembered it all. Every cue, every effect. Every touch of Jessica’s lips on his skin.

"You should have seen it, mom,” he said again, infinitely grateful that she had not seen any of it. The bassist’s dress lying on the stage, the way Jessica’s eyes had burned at him. He had gotten laid.

“They had a Leviton NSI MC 24/48 board, and nobody had even changed the defaults on it,” he said, “It was cherry, right out of the box. How could you not pull the stops out on such a sweet piece of equipment, see what it could do?”

He could see his mom’s eyes starting to glaze over. For the first time since the doorbell rang, he began to relax. He snuck a look over at Jessica, trying very hard not to look at the appealing cream of her inappropriate skin. His mother would catch that immediately.

“Crushed it.” Tyler strutted into the dining room, halfway through pulling on a t-shirt and stopped cold when he saw Jessica.

“Jessica,” he said, “I see you’ve met my little brother. You working on a cherry pie?”

“No, she brought cookies she baked,” Nate’s Mom said absently. “But eat some lasagna first. I don’t want you to ruin your appetite.”

Nate looked back and forth between Tyler and Jessica. They knew each other. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how.

Tyler snorted an shook his head. “I’m not the one who’s been sneaking a little dessert.” He held up a fist to Nathan for a bump. “Here’s to scoring, Natey-bear.”

Nate didn’t bump.

——

Rose was taking her time getting to class and Luke had to get out. He kept looking at her empty desk every few seconds.

The break room was out of doughnuts.

“Hey Luke, you sleep okay? You look like shit. I didn’t hear you leave this morning,” Josh said, dropping a tea bag into hot water, “Is that my mug?”

Luke felt his face redden, but he shrugged. “Yeah. I can’t do styrofoam,” he said, filling the monogrammed mug with aggressively mediocre coffee, “bad for the environment.”

“Don’t let anything happen to it,” Josh said, picking up his satchel, “I use it for my oral fixation lectures.”

“You don’t do anything disgusting…” Luke said, looking at the mug suspiciously.

“…Nothing the sanitize cycle can’t take care of. You’re going to be late."

He wasn’t late, barely, but Rose still wasn’t in her seat. He sighed, turned on the projector and the title slide came up in the same lackluster template he’d been using for two years.

And she was there, taking the steps one at a time. She was somehow more precise, careful with how she walked, and it suited her. She showed less skin than usual, but Luke had to catch his breath. She looked fresh and delicious. He couldn’t wait to get her alone again. He’d have her come to his office. To get caught up. That should fly for the other students.

“Okay everyone, open up to chapter two. Darlene- hit the lights, okay? It’s hard to see the screen. Let’s hear what a few of you are noticing about the way Chopin sets the scene.”

He took a sip from the mug and looked over the edge at Rose. Why wouldn’t she look at him? Well, he could do something about that.

A hand raised on the opposite side of the room and Luke took a few steps toward Jack. “Yes? What do you think?”

“I don’t get what’s happening,” he said, “It’s like just regular people doing regular stuff in a regular place. Nothing happens. And she describes all the clothes except that woman's swimsuit, so what’s the point? She gets a sunburn.”

“Anyone agree with Jack? Does nothing happen?”

He paced in front of the class as different voices piped in on the discussion. It would be pretty lively by the end of class, he thought. And Rose wasn’t making a whisper. He paced toward her, his eyes on the class, following the discussion, happy to let it burn on its own for a while. He felt her like heat on his skin though, no matter which way he turned, he felt her presence, and he was drawn to her.

He stood next to her desk, not looking at her.

Jack’s voice raised over the others, “There’s not even a fucking body. Nobody gets kidnapped. How is there even anything for this book to be about?”

Luke smiled a little, crookedly, and set the mug down on Rose’s desk without ever looking down. He walked away.

“Jack, not every story is about that kind of violence. Some would argue that there is a different kind of violence happening right there in the first chapter. Anyone see it?”
 
"You look so cold, Jessica..." Mrs. Powell stopped in front of the coat closet door, the smell of mothballs almost overwhelming as she opened it and began to rummage through its offerings. She fingered a winter coat that hadn't seen the light of day in at least a decade, the puffy kind that only had a day or two of use per warm winter season, but seemed to think better of it. Mrs. Powell reached back, far, far back, for a woolen shawl.

"Really, it's fine Mrs. P, it's like, eighty outside..." She understood Overbearing Mom Code. She had worn the wrong thing, or not enough of the right thing... Either way.

"Practically winter. Now, dear Grandma Powell loved this shawl; actually, we were supposed to bury her in it..." She was already pulling the scratchy thing around Jessica's bare shoulders and décolletage, fussing with the beaded tassels. Jessica didn't know whether to laugh or to cringe. It didn't seem like Nate's mom had heard her. "But this is a family heirloom. Okay. You look lovely in it, it really... accentuates your hair."

Four places were set, but only three sat down to dine. Jessica could feel Nate's wandering gaze and she did her best to give him a show, shifting slightly so that the scratchy wool slid down her bare shoulder and winking at him. She wondered how soon would be appropriate for her to insist on a tour of the house. Specifically, his room. Or that charming linen closet... She could stomach the smell if it meant she could make Nate gasp like he had the night before. There was something refreshing about his lack of experience, his generosity. He seemed just as eager to please her as he was to chase his own pleasure, not typical of guys his age.

Blue angel. She grinned into her glass of milk, her cheeks feeling very warm suddenly. He really had been watching her, not Rose. Some part of her had suspected that it had been a needless line, sweet talk, but she was the one that he gave the halo to. Not the half-naked bass player, the obvious choice. Her knee brushed his under the table, and she pretended not to notice. For all the awkwardness, it was nice.

"Jessica, I see you've met my little brother." Jess' head snapped up in time to see a very shirtless Tyler Powell standing in the doorway. Of course... She glanced briefly at Nate, then back to his brother. She hadn't noticed the resemblance until she saw them together. Halloween of last year. That stupid frat party that she and Rose went to as a joke. She knew him, but worse, he knew her.

"Tyler..." How could she say 'shut the fuck up' in a dinner-table-appropriate way? If Mrs. Powell wasn't there... "No, I enjoyed my cherry pie last night, thank you for asking. I enjoyed it all-- night-- long." She smiled, barely concealing the steel behind it. "It's been a while, I don't think Rose has gotten one of your delightful texts in what... Maybe a month now? Did you finally meet someone? We've all been pulling for you."

***​

Rose had gotten her way, and she couldn't even bring herself to enjoy it. Yes, he had brought back the damned PowerPoint, that lazy and outdated teaching method, but she could forgive him that. She could enjoy the material, the discussion, but what if...? She held the tension in her shoulders, in the taut skin between her fingers as she clenched the side of her desk, the slight twitch at the corner of her glossed lips. She felt caged by the fear that there was one of her mother's recruits among her classmates. That woman inspired paranoia in her like nothing else, planted it in Rosalie and tended to it like her prized, award-winning orchids.

She hardly heard Luke's introduction to the chapter, only allowing herself to look up at him when he had his back turned to her. Had someone gotten to him already? She looked down at Darlene's notes, in case they hid some kind of clue... Nothing, not even when she tried reading every other word for a hidden message, or taking the first letter of every bullet point to see if they spelled doom. This was stupid. For all she knew, her mother only knew what Luke looked like from the back... She glanced up again, accidentally catching Luke's eye. Fuck.

He hovered around her, though he pretended not to see her. Every step towards her was painfully deliberate, at least to her. She grasped the pen in her hand tightly and desperately tried not to think of how nice it would feel for him to fuck the stress out of her in his office. She should've fooled around with Nate earlier, something to take the edge off. But then, she had promised...

He was so close to her desk, now. She could reach out and touch him, grab the end of his tie as she had, that first office hours meeting, and pull him to her for the kiss that her lips buzzed with. He set Josh's cup down on the laminate, bait if she ever saw it. "Mmph," she huffed quietly, before she could help herself. She itched to pick it up. She could tell where his lips had touched, and an intense thirst for more than just coffee burned in her throat. Between that and the dull conversation over the chapters they were supposed to have read, Rose felt ready to burst out of her seat.

"Some would argue that there is a different kind of violence happening right there in the first chapter. Anyone see it?”

Fine. Rosalie half-raised her hand, impatiently wiggling her fingers, and began to speak before she was acknowledged. "Some could argue that the stifling oppression of marriage and motherhood that Edna is confined by is a kind of violence, but I think calling it 'violence' is overstating it a little." She waited for Luke to turn his attention to her, then she raised the cup to her lips and took a long sip of the best worst coffee she'd ever tasted. She was stupid for doing it, but it felt good. Hadn't that always been the point? Her heart was racing from the recklessness of it. "Oh, and Luke... You forgot your coffee." Her lipgloss was smudged on the rim, and she licked her lip. All she could taste was him.
 
Luke raised his eyebrows and turned to Rose.

"Really, R... Miss Clarke?" Luke said, and took two steps toward her. "I expected you on the other side of this one. What would you say it is then? Captivity? If so, is that not a kind of violence? Exclusivity?"

He could see a drip of coffee on the edge of the mug, held in place, no doubt by a thin layer of strawberry lip gloss. It trembled a little with her touch. Maybe he would have been able to see her heartbeat in that tiny dark drop, but he couldn't look that long. The class wasn't watching, he was certain, but he didn't want them to start, and too much attention on any student might draw attention. Almost tenure. He realized he wasn't going to make it. Even if he didn't get caught, if Josh kept it all under his tight, tight hat, he just didn't care about it that much.

"What would it take for you to make that kind of promise, I wonder? And if you ever did, would it feel like captivity to you? At first? Ever? And if it ever did, then what? Spoiler everyone, Chopin's Edna sees suicide as her solution, but it could be anything- disappearance, reclusiveness, or even murder." Luke walked over to Rose's desk and picked up the cup again. "Not you, of course, Miss Clarke. Jack maybe, but not you."

"I'd just fuckin' hire a lawyer and get a restraining order," Jack said, "and if she kept coming, the law's on the side of firing in self-defense."

Luke dumped the coffee in the trash can. It was awful. "Swipe left on that face, ladies, you've been warned."

He never put the cup down though, the rest of the class, he kept it dangling from a finger, sometimes he gestured with it. The "J" monogram irritated him a little, but he didn't look at it much. When it had been long enough, when he almost forgot it was empty himself, he drew it back up to his lips. Strawberry. He knew it would be there. He touched it to his lips, pressed into her scent, touched the taste with the tip of his tongue acted surprised when the mug was still empty. He was a professor. They expected him to be absent-minded.

"Low on lip gloss, Professor?" Darlene's glasses reflected the projector's light. She smacked a tube of ChapStick on her desk. "This one's got sunscreen."

Luke set the cup down quickly. Too quickly. "Thanks, Darlene, but I'm staying out of the sun," he said. She had been watching. "It's the only way to be sure you don't get burned. Can you turn the light back on? I think we've done all of today's damage."

He turned to gather the things that always seemed to get spread out during his lectures- a pen at one end of the table, the PowerPoint remote at the other on top of his iPad. He wondered where Darlene's glasses were pointed now.

----

Nate smiled at his mom. "Love the lasagna, Mom."

Stars didn't align for him often, but his mother's attempt at making Jessica's mouth-watering breasts, well, less mouth watering also made simply looking at her fair game. Not allowed to allowed in three seconds. He looked. He didn't care if it accentuated her hair as long as the tips of those tassels bounced and swung with Jessica's tiniest move. Her knee touched his. He dropped a hand under the table and wrote H-O-T on her thigh with the tip of his finger. He would have liked to write more, maybe much more, but there wasn't time. He slipped his fingers up the inside of her thigh, his pinkie tapping the center seam of her jeans before he put his hand back up on the table.

Then Tyler came in and started talking like Jessica was very ungirlscoutlike. Which he was pleased to know, for a fact, to be true, but weren't there times and places for these things? In front of their mother could not be one of those places.

"Grow up, butthead," he said, and regretted it immediately. It seemed to be Tyler's most precious goal to do nothing of the sort. He'd have to go for the jugular if he wanted any peace at all tonight but Jessica seemed to have him silenced for the moment. What did it mean about Rosalie getting... or not getting texts from Tyler? He didn't know they knew each other.

"You're a Violent Delights groupie?" he said, and shoveled a forkful of lasagna into his mouth. What he said next was indistinct, but it might, charitably, have been "sore trucked."

Tyler served himself a slab of lasagna and left the table with his plate and a fork,

He ate, both hands visible for the benefit of his mother, and his knee tapping Jessica's every few moments. It wasn't as fun as licking batter off of each other, but it would have to do as long as his mother kept frowning.

"You know, Mom," he said, "Jessica's going to teach me how to operate sound in the PAC. She has a lot of experience in the booth. They've got a Midas Pro 3 digital mixing console up there."
 
Was it hypocritical of her to feel peeved when Luke taunted her in class? Undoubtedly, but she tapped her nails on the desk irritatedly anyway, her lips pursed as she considered him. Exclusivity. In a moment of weakness, of vulnerability, hadn't she given him just that? Still he toyed with her though, probed her, and though she didn't have the actual benefit of privacy, when he spoke to her there was only him, and the rest of it faded into dullness.

They weren't talking about the book, that much was clear to her. Didn't he understand that he was talking to a jail-broken bird, asking what it would take to lure her back into that cage? She had lived that life, clipped her wings for him even, but he still wanted more. She stared at him, chest rising and falling as he tried to defuse the stark address with a joke, but it fell flat on Rosalie's ears. He still didn't know how much trouble they were in to be worrying about who was fucking who, and she had no idea how to tell him.

Still... he didn't seem to want answers to his questions, not now. He moved on with the lecture and half-formed sentences swirled in her mind, frustratingly abstract as she tried to work out just how she could warn him about her mother, who should've been a detective instead of a socialite, and the possible spies that could be lurking among them. It was crazy, wasn't it? She was paranoid...? She watched as he poured the coffee out, wondering what he meant by it, if anything... no, she was looking for clues where there were none.

Suicide? No. She would sooner disappear, smoke in the wind. Maybe she would take him with her, maybe not. He hardly seemed tied down here... She watched as he raised the empty cup to his lips, a passable actor for any other student that could've been watching, but she saw the deliberate kiss that he gave it, the flick of his tongue as he savored her, even across the room. Where could they go where her mother wouldn't find them? If she hadn't brought him to the house.... but she didn't regret it, not really. She tugged on her ponytail as she debated herself, no closer to answers than when she first started asking.

They needed to get away for a little while. It was all in her head. A long weekend on the coast, maybe... but wouldn't their absence look suspicious? So did the mug and she still took a sip.

She watched the rest of the students pour out of the room, a special interest on that droll could-be spy, Darlene, and studied Luke from her front row seat. What could she say...? When the doors had swung closed, she straightened her notes and inhaled, exhaled. The crazy thought that she could be being recorded crossed mind-- crazy thinking, yes, but could she put it past Her mother to do such a thing? Sometimes you had to think crazy to beat crazy.

Taking time to smooth down her skirt, she crossed to Luke, heart pounding. He suspected nothing, she thought, and why would he? “I thought we could meet in your office,” she said carefully— that was neutral enough, right? She glanced back at the doorway, then back to Luke and her eyes were strange, as though she couldn’t quite decide whether she wanted to fuck him until she forgot about the whole damn thing, or tell him it was over, and for his own sake as much as hers. Despite herself, her fingertips lingered where a tie might’ve rested, edging against the buttons of his shirt. “We need to catch up.”


***​


"Groupie's a good word for it," Jessica agreed with a sly grin, winking a bit passive-aggressively at Tyler. "I don't think Rose has ever had a fan quite as... dedicated." But now there was Professor Campbell. Maybe Tyler had some unhealthy competition. She watched with glee as the elder brother stomped up the stairs, seemingly defeated for the time being. Later she would have to give Nate some ammo against him; she had more than a little. She felt weirdly protective of him, and with a brother like Tyler... if his texts to Rose were any indication, he likely compensated by being a dick to Nate, as he didn't have much of one to speak of.

But as soon as Tyler left, she realized that the distraction of him would've been welcome. Nate's daring hands under the table, scaling her thigh and tracing letters into it like that old game at scout camp. H-O-T. More than he realized. She had never appreciated how much more fun things could be when they had to sneak, when it was forbidden. But how to get him upstairs alone?

She tapped Morse code against his thigh, wondering if he ever went to camp too.

-.-- --- ..- .-. / -.-. --- -.-. -.- / .-- --- ..- .-.. -.. / - .- ... - . / -... . - - . .-. / - .... .- -. / - .... .. ... / .-.. .- ... .- --. -. .- .-.-.-

As Nate talked, she feigned as though she were pulling the itchy wrap closer around her, her hand falling naturally into her lap, the right one still in plain sight, grasping her fork. She smiled politely and nodded, shifting slightly in her seat, the back of her hand brushing Nate's hip. "Absolutely. Nate's so talented... I think he could work absolute magic up there, with the right person to show him the ropes, of course..." Her hand slipped onto his thigh, featherlight over his jeans. She wanted to grasp it, to skate her nails over it, but the tension in her arm would've given it away. This would have to do while they were being watched.

“Your home is so beautiful, Mrs. Powell,” Jessica said, trying not to think of the creepy way that those figurines had watched her enter the house, keeping watch over the Powell boys and warding away any temptresses that might’ve shown up at the door. “Maybe after dinner, Nate could show me around…”
 
Nate didn't get every letter. It had been a while, but what he got was enough.

"I don't know," he said, a grin spreading across his face, "this is pretty good lasagna."

His mom squinted at him. "What are you talking about? I swear, Natey, your head's always floating around in the clouds. And what are the Violet Lights?"

"Violent Delights, Mom, it's Jessica's band. I was telling you. The concert last night."

"Well, I guess it's good that Tyler has interests outside his bedroom."

Jessica's compliments made him swell up inside, the thought of spending a couple of hours being shown ropes sounded delicious. Her fingers tickled his thigh and he had a vision of sweeping everything off the table and screwing Jessica right in front of his mother.

"I know what you're thinking, Natey," she said, "but your room's clean enough. Go ahead and show Miss Hinckley around while I do dishes. Tyler! Help Natey show our guest around!"

"Like they need help," Tyler's voice was distracted.

"I'm serious Tyler. Be a good host."

"Whatever."

Nate collected plates and silverware and headed for the kitchen.

Nate's mom dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. "Don't let Nate bore you with all his gadgets. He tends to go on about them. You know, I think I have an ivory pin that looks stunning and will hold that shawl together for you."

----

"I would fuck you on this table," Luke said, "but Rolando comes in with a vacuum cleaner in three minutes and I wouldn't be able to hear you breathe. I wouldn't be able to hear you say my name."

How she managed to look perfect, tantalizing, innocent and naughty all at once was a mystery he wanted to enjoy solving for a long time.

Something had her distracted, though. Her fingers on his shirt, were they to touch him or to hold him away? She had never cared about getting caught before.

"All right," he said, searching her face for a clue, "My office. No vacuum."

....

What was going on? He walked in front of her, satchel bumping against his hip, hands full, and when they arrived at his office, he had to shuffle things around to get his key out of his pocket. He would have asked Rose to get it for him, but this was the hallway and if someone came around the corner her hand in his pocket would look, well, too much like the truth.

The door opened. He tossed the keys on his desk, put everything else in a sliding pile on a chair. He felt Rose come in behind him, quiet. He faced her, three steps away. The door took forever to close, the old spring used to slam every time, but now it could barely overcome the latch. When it clicked, he crossed the room and kissed her. He heard Josh's mug smash on the floor, but he didn't care.
 
Right there on the table. Rosalie's eyes flicked down to the wood laminate, wide and imagining. Who was Rolando, and why the fuck did she care if he saw it? She wanted to feel the cool surface against her back, legs spread wide and eager as he'd flip her skirt up and keep that unspoken appointment between them. But her mother. The spies. The office would be safer. Her nails caught on the buttons of his shirt, raking slowly down. She felt voracious for it. She wanted his hands on her hips-- seizing, taking. Hesitation was uncharted territory.

She said nothing as they left for his office, too tense, her steps measured as though she were not quite familiar with the idea of simply walking instead of sauntering, swaying, sneaking. Luke was so much hotter like this, rumpled and devil-may-care, and despite the fear she felt she knew that she couldn't resist at least some small taste of him in his office. The door had a lock, at least.

She stopped just inside of the door, expectant as he set his things in a malformed pile, and she didn't give them a second glance as they began to slip and tumble to the floor, that borrowed mug smashed into a thousand shards on the linoleum. He was just staring at her, but fuck, that hunger. It burned in his eyes as though they hadn't spent the whole evening together, as though he hadn't shared some sweet fantasy of fucking her on stage, or named the colors of her pussy as he explored her, or spent most of the night with her, mere hours before. She couldn't break it off; would he even let her? They had barely survived the last time.

"We could be being watched," she meant to say.

"That house we broke into? It was mine," she thought, but couldn't bring herself to whisper.

"We have to stop before my mother finds you," was on the tip of her tongue, but her tongue was otherwise engaged. Her kisses were feral, teeth tugging at his lip, reaching back for a moment to click the lock before her hands grasped his forearms, pulling him quickly to her. Her boots crunched the pieces of mug as she leaned into him, easing him back to his desk so that he was pressing against it, urging him to sit so that she could slide between his thighs.

She kissed his throat greedily, pink gloss shimmering in her wake. "We're playing a gig in El Paso next week," she ultimately said, "and if there's a certain muse in the audience, I might be persuaded to strip again." She reached down to the hem of her top and slid it up, deftly pulling it over her head and tossing it onto the floor with the rest of the mess.

"I have this theory," she began, her mouth having quite a different agenda than what she had intended this office meeting to be about. "You don't really like my breasts." They were soft and pale under the fluorescent lights, and she trailed her hand down, flicking one of nipples, so pink that it was nearly red as it hardened.

***​

But it's a pretty great cock, Jessica thought to herself, brushing down the length of his thigh with the back of her hand, as far as she reasonably could without the tassels shifting and giving it away.

"I know what you're thinking, Natey--" Mrs. Powell began, and Jessica was certain that she would be denied the tour, and quite possibly kicked out of the house if that was the case, but it seemed that she knew Nate better than his own mother did.

She was already standing, a little too eager when they got the okay, and the shawl had slipped down her shoulder. Resourceful as ever, Nate’s mother was quick with that brooch, cut into the shape of Texas with a glittering bluebonnet bedazzled onto it. It was almost ironically ugly, but not quite. She shrugged a little as Nate reentered, amused and aroused and ready to see the back of Nate’s bedroom door, so much so that when she took his hand, she was nearly leading him on a tour of his own house.

When they reached the top of the flight of stairs, just out of earshot, she leaned into Nate and breathed, “So, exactly how long does it take for your mother to wash the dishes?” She would make use of every single second.
 
Jessica's whisper tickled Nate's ear and made him shiver. "Not long, maybe four minutes. Then she'll set the table for dessert. Another two minutes. But she'll be hurrying."

He flicked his eyes to Tyler's door. The battle for control of what the door displayed had been epic. Tyler seemed to have the upper hand against his mother at the moment with a simple placard that said "Trust No Bitches."

"Tyler's room, Mom's room, bathroom," Nate said, "My room."

There was nothing on the outside of Nate's door. He let Jessica pull him in. His room was clean enough. Bookshelves full of equipment manuals, a periodic table he had put up halfheartedly three years ago and never taken down. He resisted showing off his overhead dimmable halogens. "Hey, let me show you my trains." He said it just loud enough.

He closed the door and kissed Jessica. "And you can show me what you can do in four and a half minutes."

He pulled the shawl over her head, brooch still clasped and finally got to look at her the way she had intended. He traced his finger along the edge of her tank top, decided there wasn't time to waste, and pulled the tank top off too.

----

Rose pressed Luke against his desk, and he knocked back the mug of pens and pencils. They tumbled to the floor, skittered out across the blotter.

"El Paso's a long way away and you'll strip even when nobody's watching," he said, his throat warm with her lips. "Mmm. But you play a decent set and I'm a sucker for a girl with a bass."

El Paso. Eight hours drive each way. That was long for a weekend, but what did he have to stay in Austin for? Josh's pool house?

Rose's breasts seemed too perfect to touch, but he remembered how they felt, mashed against his hands. "You're right," he said, "I don't really like your breasts." He kissed the skin exactly between her breasts, touched her side with his left hand, trailed his fingers up, cupped her right breast and lifted so her nipple pointed up at him. He grinned and touched his chin to it, tickling with his beard. "I only really like one of them."

He kissed her nipple, licked it, ran his thumb over it once, twice. "Do they get jealous of each other?" he said, his lips touching her skin. He turned his head, looked at her left breast, close, smooth. Beautiful. "Is she lonely?" He bit her right nipple, licked again, smiled.

He felt behind him, found a pen, dropped the cap on the floor. He pressed the tip to the bottom of her left breast, just above her ribs. "Jealous." He wrote the word, said it at the same time. He did it again, "Jealous." next to the first, following her curve, only the tip of the pen touching her flesh.

He pinched her right nipple between two fingers as he wrote, softness and heat filling his hand. The old line came to him, he wrote curve after curve beneath her nipple. He spoke,

Whose jealousy admits no second mate,
Draws in the comfort of her latest breath
All dazzled... ​

Rose's breath ruffled his hair, he felt her inhale and exhale under his hand. The rest of the stanza would wait. Maybe forever.

He inhaled her right nipple, roughed his tongue over her, caught her between his teeth just like she had caught his lip minutes before, and let her go.

"Just one of them," he said, "but which one?"
 
Nate seemed to have the same flair for home tours that Jess did. He rattled off the rooms like a skilled auctioneer, so fast that she hardly caught it all, not that she cared.

His room looked almost stereotypically nerdy; she had half-expected a Flaming Lips poster or something, but he didn't seem to have the same decorating knack that his brother did. Maybe for the best. They couldn't be more different, hard to believe that they had grown up under the same roof. She recognized a cover when he announced it in a proper stage voice, and she grinned ear to ear. She slipped out of her tank top, cinnamon freckles dotting the skin that he revealed with a flourish. She wished he had time to kiss each one.

"Four and a half minutes? That makes my eye want to twitch... let's make it an even four, shall we? Close your eyes and count to thirty." She paused against his lips, hands snaking to the edge of his shirt, tracing his hips. To undress, or not to undress... better not, there wasn't time. A skirt would've been more convenient, damn her lack of planning. She kept her hands there, lips just brushing the dip where his neck met his shoulder, touching but not quite kissing.

"Look at you, bringing a girl home and taking her up to your room to show her your... trains." Her hands had slowly slid down, finger pressing against the front of his jeans, a slow, deliberate tracing. Always so eager. She had a soft spot a mile wide for him, for some reason she found his arousal a bit cute. "No time to undress, and such little time, what a challenge..." She was unfastening his belt, grinning madly, sinking down onto her knees. He was out in another couple of seconds, and she kissed his cock, despite herself, trying not to giggle. She felt giddy. His skin was so soft under her lips that she licked them after, as though she didn't trust it. "You know, this is pretty naughty of you. Your mom is just downstairs, your brother is right next door. They could burst in at any moment and see me on my knees...." She found his hand and brought it to her short blue hair. "Thirty," she finished for him. "Now move your hips with my mouth."

She licked the length of him, her tongue flat until she reached the tip, curling with the shape of him. Finding his hips again, she urged them forward slowly as she took him beyond her glossed lips, her smile losing its shape, but not it's sincerity. It was fun to please him, to let him be a little selfish. She withdrew for the briefest moment, gazed up at him. "I forgot... I want you to talk to me about those trains." She kissed his thigh, nipped it, and her hot, greedy mouth was on him again. She guided his hips in a rolling, fucking motion and exhaled.

***​

"What fun is stripping when nobody's watching?" Rose asked, but he didn't seem to think about it long. She hadn't even considered he would possibly say no, and it surprised her a bit that she cared so much. "Maybe you could ride with me," she suggested gently against his throat, and she was already scheming of the fun she could have with him on the long drive. El Paso had been Alex's idea, supposedly the next big music scene. Without Luke, the whole thing would've been a bust, but now the dreary prospect seemed bright with possibility.

She glared at him as he agreed with her, her eyebrow arched saucily, full lips threatening to pout. He wasn't supposed to agree, the jerk, but then he was touching her, his new beard delightfully prickly against her sensitive, rosy peak. "You're so messy now... but I think I like it," she breathed, trying to grin but too affected to fully achieve it. She was making his life a mess, but he looked happier than he ever had. That had to count for something. Fading ink on his forearm and a floor full of ceramic shards and debris, hair that looked like it hadn't been combed in a week and yesterday's crumpled clothes.

She held his gaze as he lowered his teasing mouth, always quick to taunt her with words or something hotter, wetter. It felt strange for him to neglect one breast for the other, unbalanced, it bothered her like a set of parentheses left unclosed. Wrong. She felt her hand drifting to play with her neglected nipple, to try to restore the balance that he had disrupted, but then she noticed the motion of him reaching for a pen and nearly sighed in relief.

She hissed as the tip of the pen met her skin, fingers curling, looking for something to clench as the cold metal tip glided and pressed into her skin. His cursive looped and rippled her skin with shivers, and she said something under her breath that even she couldn't hear, maybe damning him.

He abandoned it again for the right and teased her again, but his question didn't stump her for a second. "Too easy," she breathed, ruffling his hair before reaching further to scratch his scalp, her trembling hand flexing. His mouth was so insistent, tricky, but who knew how many women he had done that to... his writing, that was hers. "Left!" She gasped it as he tugged with his teeth, and a sharp knock against the door made her turn her head so quickly, it nearly gave her whiplash.

"Hey, asshole." She recognized Josh's voice, even muffled. "Did you find a place to stay? I thought we could carpool if you're still staying at my place-- we can even go out tonight, keep you out of trouble." Out of trouble meant sans Rosalie or anything like her. She smiled widely, dipped her head down to whisper in his ear. "Better proposal," she offered, "go out with me and I'll let you go deep, deep into trouble..." she caught the lobe of his ear between her lips, sucked tenderly.
 
Every place Jessica touched glowed. Nate's mouth opened with her lips just brushing his neck. He didn't feel naughty at all. He felt like laughing, but he didn't have the breath for it. She sure knew where to touch him.

He grunted as she licked him, felt his fingers curl into her hair. "Jessica, I… oh." He couldn't remember what he was going to say. Her lips were hot against his skin, sweet and moist and he started to wonder if four minutes would be too long.

He followed every instruction as she gave it, every move more exciting than the last until his cock swelled tight in her mouth. He could feel her firm palate against his head as she pushed in on him, then slight suction and the wet softness of the insides of her lips, her cheeks as she pulled out again. He could barely remember his name.

And she wanted to hear about trains.

"Uh," he said, "I have three scales of train... Ah, and they're all electric."

He rocked with her, he could feel her direction, her pace, he could tell what she was going to do next and he matched her movements.

"The smallest is N scale. The locomotive's not much longer than my finger. Shhhh. Mm."

Jess pulled his hips and her fingers tickled his skin a little. He was aware of every place she touched him. Wisps of hair tickled his belly every time she pushed in, her breasts brushed his thighs, her nose dimpled his belly. Her chin barely touched his balls sometimes. Friendly little nudges.

"Then there's HO scale, hhhhhaaaa, quite a bit bigger so they're easier to work onnn." He had the trains in glass cases. He could have just showed her. Why was she making him talk?

Something was wrong with his hips. He started pushing before Jess pulled. They kept trying to speed up. He looked down at her, beautiful eyes looking up at him, one eyebrow up like she was asking him to keep going. He wasn't going to be able to keep going. Her tongue pressed hard, soft, wet against the bottom of his cock and the tip pressed the very soft place just under the head.

"The biggest is O scale..."

It was as far as he could get. "Oh Jess," he gasped, "Oh Jess," and he came, his bottom clenched and trembling under her fingers.

He pulled away from her a little, dropped unsteadily to his knees and put his forehead on her shoulder. "Thank you," he said, trying to catch his breath.

"Dessert!" Nate's mom was halfway up the stairs.

~~~~

"Left," Rose said and Luke was just beginning to give her right breast a consolation prize. He had written "A million..." on her skin when Josh pounded the door.

Josh's offer didn't have a chance with Rose's counteroffer still breathing in his ear. "I'm good," he said, and his voice sounded strange. Slightly constricted. He cleared his throat. I've got a free-trouble place to stay."

"Fucker. You mean trouble free? You sound weird."

"Yeah. Hey I have my car here anyway, so I'm good."

"Okay. But listen. Don't you dare call your hot ass little ex-fling because you have zero chances left." He rapped on the door. "Zero chances. Open up. I want to see this register in your eyes."

Luke felt his stomach tighten up. "Sorry," he whispered to Rose, "disappear for me?"

He put the pen behind his ear and went to the door, unlocked it and opened it.

"Because I swear, Luke," Josh started speaking as soon as the door started opening, "I swear if I find out you're still screwing... is that my cup?"

"Yes. That's your cup. I'll get you another one."

"I got that in Vegas."

"Maybe you should have left it in Vegas."

"Shut up." Josh pushed into the room and picked up the handle of the mug. He looked at it for a moment, then dropped it again. It broke in three pieces.

"Shit. I liked that cup. Look, We've both had a dozen girls like her come on to us. Well, not like her exactly, she's got every perfect thing to be a total fucking menace. She doesn't fly under the radar. You can't get away with it any more. Understand?"

Luke nodded. "You're speaking English, Josh. I've been thinking about getting out of town for a few days anyway. Clear my head."

Josh shook his head. "God I wish they let us do brainwashing research these days," He took a last look at his shattered mug and turned to the door. "Acute negative feedback behavior modification even. Electroshock might have worked too. They don't let us do shit any more. You're on your own, buddy. Don't fucking let me down."
 
The grin slid off of Rose's face and she mouthed her dissent, but he wasn't looking at her and the words were wasted, never there. A place to stay. He had to mean a hotel. There were at least a hundred reasons why he couldn't stay at her place. Just the thought rang wrong in her head, like a chord played on out of tune strings. Sleep on her sofa... in her bed? She never brought boys home.

She peeked out from behind a needlepoint pillow, only just concealed. If Josh thought to look to his left he would see her, but the door partially blocked the view and he seemed more concerned with his wayward friend before him. Disapproving as usual. Anti-Rose as usual. He had been nice enough when she held a conversation with him; she wondered if he would be able to say all of that to her face.

As soon as Josh was out the door and presumably out of earshot, the heap on be sofa resumed its shape into lively young woman, and she wasn't happy. "Somewhere to stay?" she repeated, the threat of her mother fresh on her mind. Did she know where her daughter lived? She stood, arms akimbo, as though she hadn't noticed her breasts glaringly bare and glistening with his mouth and his ink. Some haughty and naughty Wonder Woman stance, but her power was a positively lethal glare. "I said we could go out, not that you could... stay." The sentence sputtered to a stop as she thought of why he couldn't go home in the first place. The ex-wife... her not so little involvement in it all. He had been sleeping in his car, his office. It was the least she could do, really.

She sighed and tucked a strand of black behind her ear, as though it were clouding her concentration. "Luke..." She looked him up and down. He was a real live person, facing real life consequences as a result of her meddling. Would it kill her, a very temporary sleeping arrangement? This was starting to feel more and more like...

Tapping her chin with her black-lacquered fingernail, she finally exhaled through her nose and nodded. "Okay." Her voice was much softer than she had intended it to be, maybe more than it had ever been. Her place wasn't free-trouble, but he didn't know that. Wouldn't, if she could help it. "Rules though." She stepped toward him, hooking her finger into her hair elastic and slowly dragging it down, shaking out her hair and sighing as she considered him. She was glad she hadn't run to Alex, but Alex wouldn't have wasted time.

"One... no souvenirs." Her hair tickled down her bare back as she shook it out of its neat ponytail. "Two... don't get too comfortable." She unzipped her skirt, sliding it down her hips and stepping out of it surprisingly daintily for her clunky boots. In strappy panties, she tilted her head, and smiled despite herself. "Three... don't feed my roommate after midnight. Now, I think you mentioned fucking me on a desk? Did I miss out on that offer, or do I need to wait for Rolando?"

***​
"You're fucking crazy."

Rose's voice was flat as she walked into what had been their apartment, but now looked much more like a child's fifth birthday party on acid. Red and yellow streamers were twisted and looped across doorways, along the walls, hanging down from the ceiling like limp tentacles of an apathetic monster. Immediately she grabbed at one, yanking it down-- another-- another-- swatting at them but there were so many. "Fuck, did you even go to class today? How long did this take you?"

"Like twenty minutes," Jessica said with Cheshire grin, laying upside down on the sofa. "Nate helped. He has an innate sense of artistry, you know that? He did the icing."

"Icing?" Rosalie half heartedly batted at another streamer and rounded on the refrigerator, yanking the door open and groaning. "Is that all y'all do? Fuck and bake?" She bit her lip, studying the cupcakes on the tray, all perfectly lined up. 'Welcome Home Luke'-- because that would send exactly the right message, wouldn't it? She paused for only a second before setting W, E, and L on the counter, drawing Jess' attention.

"Those are for you," Rose said over her shoulder. She swiped her finger through H diagonally to make an N, then rearranged the remaining letters into four much more fitting words.

"You're disgusting!" Jess squealed delightedly, mouthful of W. The piping around the edges really was sort of artful. Rose took L and licked the icing off, her lips and tongue an off-putting shade of blue.

"I'm saying they're from you, too."

"But you know, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if he moved in," Jess mused, looking up to see Rose staring at her as though she'd suggested a wedding date. "What? He has nowhere to go and we could use the extra rent money. That bit your grandpa left you is going to run out someday and then how will we afford this place? He could sleep on the pullout and then--"

"No. We'll figure something else out. Maybe Alex is really onto something with this El Paso thing. Maybe we have a better chance of success branching out and not getting choked by every other band in Austin trying to make it." The icing was licked clean off. She tossed the rest in the trash, appetite lost.

"El Paso? We're going to be performing for tumbleweeds and you know it. It's a waste of time, but I don't mind getting out of here for a few days." Rose's phone buzzed against her hip and she glanced at it. Luke was outside the door, no time to redecorate.

"Fuck, Luke's here. Try not acting totally insane. And don't say a word."
 
No souvenirs? What had happened to Rose that her first rule was no souvenirs?

She stood in front of him, looking hot and angry and soft and strong and when she finally dropped her skirt Luke decided to kiss her. She might bite him, but she might not, and it seemed well worth the risk.

He ran his fingers lightly over her right breast, the words there.

"I will leave every souvenir I want to leave," he said. He backed her up to the desk and swept the remaining pens and pencils clattering to the floor. With a hand between her breasts, he pressed her back, down.

She was beautiful like this, her hair spread out on his desk, her body stretched out in front of him soft and strong. He pulled her panties off, letting his fingers trail over the long smooth of her thighs. He dropped his pants.

"I will make myself as comfortable as I like," he said. He leaned over her, hands on her hips, and pressed his cock into her slowly, deliciously. He drank in every move she made, every sound, every twitch and moan. He held her there, a perfect moment, just feeling.

It was fucking she had asked for, though. Luke took a big breath and smiled. Then he let her have it. Every pent up desire at once, over and over, as deep and as long as he could.

When they were done, Luke was under Rose, his back against the blotter, his head in his out box. He uncapped his pen and finished what he had started to write on her right breast.

"A million things you can't have will fit in a human hand."

----

Luke stopped by Josh's house, let himself in the side gate and picked up the few things he had left there, mostly so he'd have the duffel bag for packing. As he left he saw the slight scuff where Rose had climbed into the window the night before. The window was open and Luke heard Josh's wife Chrissy singing along with Michael Bolton absently.

Baby love is tough but we can make it
Baby times are rough but we can make it
We can work it out

Luke wondered when it became good songwriting to rhyme an entire phrase with itself, and in the bridge, the core of the song. He remembered Rose on stage, a completely different experience. Unproduced, raw, and gritty. She turned herself inside out in a new way for each song.

He drove to his old house, and it looked even shabbier than the last time he had driven by. Isobel's car was gone, and when he slipped into the back sliding glass door, the house smelled empty. Something had gone bad in the kitchen trash. In his old bedroom, most of Isobel's things were gone and he pulled a few changes of clothes off the shelf in the closet. He had slept in this room for four years, or five, and he felt like he was stealing his own clothes. He stuffed the duffel and went into the garage. A six pack of beer was still in his little fridge, so he took it and looked around. Nothing caught his interest. The bookshelves that had been a refuge for him only looked like thin escape with a layer of cold dust.

It could have been him rotting away in that house, drying up. He left, and decided he'd never go back.

As he drove out of the neighborhood, he felt a spark of life begin again. He turned on the radio, and Rockin' Rick was spinning Stone Temple Pilots on 99x. Luke grinned, turned it up and opened the windows. When he got to Rose's apartment, he felt the irrational confidence that wind and rock brought him. The grin wouldn't leave his face, so when Rose opened the door, he stepped past her, although she seemed to be trying to stand in his way. He dropped his duffel and kissed her on the mouth before she could say anything. It looked like a party, and he smelled cake. Cupcakes, as it turned out, that spelled "COME ON ME LUKE."

Something wasn't right. He took in the room, and saw blue haired Jessica from his Tuesday class looking like her mouth was full of canary.

"Jess?" A voice floated out from the back of the apartment. "Hey, I'm done with the psych paper- you want to check it? Besides, I know it's only been a couple of hours, but I've completely forgotten what your tits look like. How about you remind..."

Luke saw a student he recognized stop at the hall entrance.

"Hey. Nate Powell, right? You did lights for the concert the other night."

"Professor Campbell. Rose. I didn't..." Nate said.

"Call me Luke," he said, and turned to Rose. "Why are your lips blue?"
 
Rose's chest tightened as she opened the door, Luke in the hallway with his duffel bag and his almost self-satisfied smile as if he had won something. She wanted to close the door in his face. This was way, way too much... he would need things when he stayed there-- he couldn't use her bubble bath or her toothbrush or wear her clothes, but something about that bag struck her as presumptuous. If it was anyone else's she might've kicked it, it was so deliberate and practical.

She thought that vampire rules would apply, but he pressed past her before she could find the words to keep him out, kissed her indignant mouth She stared at him, the blue that smudged his lips, and was struck by how permanent he looked, almost taller, more solid. The deflated kids' party atmosphere hadn't seem to strike him odd in the least, and Rose wasn't sure if she liked that or not.

He asked her why her lips were blue and she was tempted to reply that he was sucking all of the oxygen out of the room, but that would've been rotten. She invited him... or rather, acquiesced. "Oh, just enjoying a little snack," she said instead, opening the fridge and fetching the tray of cupcakes, perfect but for the messy 'N', the only sign of Rosalie's meddling.

Jess was silently shaking with laughter as Rose pulled the tray out from the fridge, only the slightest smirk twitching the corner of her mouth giving anything unusual away. "Rose made them special!" Jess gasped out and then her laughter wasn't silent anymore, her hands clapped over her face to try to contain the weirdness of her giggles, unnaturally higher than her speaking voice.

"I did not, in fact, make them," she said, setting them down on the counter. "But I did edit them."

"Jess?" As Rose recognized the voice in the hallway, she stared wide eyed at Jess and engaged in a completely nonverbal conversation; Rose's eyebrow raised in question, her hand flittering like a porcelain butterfly near her face, Jess shrugging inelegantly and grinning ear to ear. Nate was not supposed to be there. No one was supposed to know about Luke, but as Rose had neglected to explain the importance of the use of discretion, Jess hadn't taken her seriously. All of this was understood in the span of a second or two.

Too late now, anyway. "Yes Jessica--" Jess winced at the use of her full name. "--go remind Nate what your tits look like, maybe explore more tactile approaches to memorization." She was beyond frazzled. No beer in the fridge, no one had been home to go shopping. They needed to go out.

She waited until Jess had scampered away with a very confused Nate before leading Luke out of the tiny kitchen, gesturing towards the sofa that her roommate had just vacated.

"So here's where you'll be sleeping... it pulls out and it's actually very comfortable, although you'll have to excuse Jess' Sailor Moon sheets. Those were the only clean ones." Pink sheets with tiny moons and black cats peeked out from the plum cushions. "Anyway, set your stuff down and let's get out of here." She wished that they could go to the lake, but that was never going to be an option anymore. She should've told him then, about her mother, she should've told him in his office. "One of Alex's friends is having an actual party at a bar downtown, he just got out of lockup...."
 
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