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It was early. Poppy hadn’t bothered to reach for her phone yet, but she could tell by the sunlight filtering in through the curtains that it was way earlier than she would have preferred to be up on a Saturday morning. The songbirds were tweeting their typical chorus outside in blatant disregard to any sleeping occupants in the apartment building; she noted with no small amount of irritation, though, that the other individual in her bed seemingly had no issues drowning out the world at large.
The brunette turned her head away from the window and appraised the man with a flat look, though not without affection, wondering how a person who operated at face value on nothing more than paranoia and rage could sleep so soundly. He was sprawled carelessly across the bed, hair on the pillow in a spray of inky, wild streaks, lips slightly parted and breathing deeply. It was one of the only times she was able to simply look at him without being questioned or teased, and she found herself surprised by how young he actually looked when he wasn’t scowling. The thought of it brought a smile to her face. He’d probably hate that she thought of him that way, and she forced herself to suppress a giggle at the concept of telling him how peaceful he looked unguarded.
Still, she mused as she reached out to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead, he was very beautiful. He wasn’t her type, or at least she would have argued as much a few months ago, but it would be an obvious lie to deny that he was objectively attractive. She let her finger play along the flat planes of his face, marveling at the way the muscles in his jaw felt as she traced the bones there. The entirety of his body screamed strength and power; he was the polar opposite of her in almost every conceivable way, and yet, here they were. Her hand paused as he shifted in his sleep, muttering something incomprehensible, and turned toward her in a languid movement, nearly trapping her fingers beneath his face as he settled back into a content slumber.
She sighed, lying her own head down onto her pillow and continuing to trace his body, her finger drawing an invisible line down over his Adam's apple to the dip in his collarbones. She wasn’t even remotely certain what the protocol was on gang tattoos and found it only a little curious that he’d left the skin there barren, the olive tones much darker than her own but still starkly pale against the vivid blacks that decorated his chest. She followed the outline of his pectoral muscle until her path was impeded by the cloth of the tank top he’d worn to bed, then followed the hem of the collar up and onto the bulge of his shoulder.
It was a rare night to have him stay with her like this, and certainly without any additional...activities. The thought brought a fierce blush to her cheekbones even as she continued to admire his artwork, lazily tracing the intricate outlines that decorated his flesh. She certainly hadn’t planned to engage him...that way...but he had a certain animalistic draw to him that she had ultimately been powerless to resist. Despite the way he presented himself initially, she’d been surprised to find that he didn’t give himself up so easily after all, and only after he’d admitted that she had impressed him by “making him work for it” had he made an earnest advance on her. As she found herself admiring the way his biceps felt like steel barely contained in warm silk, her blush spread, her thoughts turning to just how tightly those arms had held her that first night…
She continued further, lazily drawing over the waves and scales that danced over his skin. She didn’t know a thing about tattoos other than the fact that they were permanent, and that her dad had been very firm in explaining what sorts of people got them. These didn’t seem so bad, though, and she found herself wondering about what they symbolized rather than feeling intimidated by them. It fascinated her that by touch, his arm felt no different than any other; she wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t...that.
She let her hand linger over his when she passed his wrist, hesitant still about the contact, unused to such intimacy. She and Julri had never gotten this far, not even when they’d been drunk, and so the territory was still near entirely foreign to her. Deciding against it, she dipped her hand and instead began to trace his belly, fascinated by the landscape of his abs. As she traced the ripples there, rock hard and yet strangely pliable, she could feel the heat in her cheeks increase tenfold--Julri had never given her this , either. It wasn’t to say he was unattractive, but there was something different about Tora, something dangerous and lethal and sexy that the other man could never have accomplished.
Besides, if Julri had half the integrity and the loyalty that Tora had already shown her in a scant few months, she never would have been hurt in the first place.
When she nearly arrived back up to where she’d started her little exploration, she pressed her palm flat against his chest and smiled, enjoying the way his heartbeat pressed against her palm, stubborn and strong. Everything about the man seemed unyieldingly persistent and she was almost annoyed to find that she was beginning to find it endearing. It felt natural, then, to smooth her hand up along the bare side of his neck and cradle it gently, wishing, just for one fleeting, sad moment, that she could offer him a fraction of the safety and security that he’d given her.
“Is this what you do with every guy ya bring over here?”
It was a miracle she didn’t hit the ceiling.
"T-Tora! I--"
He snorted dismissively, unphased by her quiet intrusion, and moved instead to envelop her further by sneaking one arm underneath her pillow and pulling her closer by the waist. The heat of his mouth screamed against her skin as he pressed a gentle, possessive kiss to her forehead, already slipping back into a thick twilight now that he'd seen that they were safe. Poppy closed her eyes for a moment and soaked in the feeling of being held, marveling at the way he always seemed so firm with her and yet more gentle than she'd ever been touched before.
His strength was earned, natural--she could remember her dad talking about it in one of their boxing lessons. It hadn't made a lot of sense to her at the time, the difference between gaining your strength from stimulants and steroids or earning it, but now that she had seen Tora, had watched the way he carried himself and felt his hands on her body, the difference was immeasurable. She finally moved, twisting somewhat within his grip, and pressed her side into his body so she could lie on her back instead.
She tried to fall back asleep; she really did, but once she was up, she was up, and she soon found herself growing restless no matter how nice it was to feel him wrapped around her. The man in her bed kept strange hours, and though he never spoke of it and she never asked why, it had become a sort of unspoken agreement between them that he was allowed to come to her when he needed her after a long night, and she was allowed to come and go as she pleased to settle her morning routine without him. Last night had been no exception; she'd let him in without fanfare somewhere in the darkest hours of the morning and gone straight back to bed. He'd showered, changed, and crawled right in with her without any greeting or explanation.
Tora, she had come to learn, was much better at speaking through actions rather than words. Were it anyone else, she might have been irritated to be woken up at 3am by a man who came and went as he pleased, but Poppy soon realized that it was his way of showing her that she was his safe space--she had become who he wanted to come back to even if he had his own apartment across town, and the implications of that far outweighed the minor inconvenience of unlocking the door for him or making sure there were extra towels in the bathroom.
Still, she mused with exasperation, his arm was really heavy and she had to pee.
Learning his different quirks and moods had been an adventure, to be sure, but now that she felt like she was getting the hang of him it was almost fun, like a jigsaw puzzle where half the pieces were put together. She'd had to surrender her side of the bed the first night he'd stayed over, something about him needing to be between her and the door, and that was after he'd stood in the center of her bedroom and nearly fretted over there being no other configuration that didn't leave somebody's back exposed. She nearly giggled again at how grumpy it had made him when she'd told him that she also had no significant method of self defense in the apartment.
That particular comment had been what led to him staying with her the first time, and the rest was history…
Unable to wait any longer, she grumbled to herself and untangled her body from both the blankets and the heavily muscled arm that pinned her to the mattress. For a man who was so independent, so flighty and cautious, he sure was clingy in his sleep. It would only take a few minutes to tend to her business and she could go back, maybe tempt him into brunch after a little while… The chill of the apartment was startling as she hurried through using the restroom, already missing his abundance of body heat even though she had a bad habit of setting her thermostat higher than she probably should. She fought a shiver as she washed her hands and tugged at her t-shirt, taking a few moments to straighten her bedhead in the mirror before she returned to bed.
He’d shifted since she’d been gone, on his back once again but taking up even more of the bed without her impeding his progress. His right arm had drooped over the mattress, hand lying in an awkward slump on the floor. His other arm was still under her pillow. She tutted, approaching him cautiously despite her haste to get back under the covers; she’d surprised him once, early on in their relationship when she’d gotten up in the middle of the night. He’d unwound like a rattlesnake striking even when she had been certain he’d been in a dead sleep, his hand around her throat like a vice and his eyes ablaze even before the fog of waking up had lifted. It was the better part of a month before she had been able to convince him to return to her bed, and even then, she could tell he was still uncomfortable despite her best efforts to explain that she wasn’t upset.
Shuffling quietly across the room, Poppy weighed the option of tapping him with something against simply climbing over him and hoping for the best, knowing she would wake him either way. Just as she was peering hesitantly around the room for a ball of paper to crumple and toss at him, a startled squeak escaped her as his free hand suddenly began to smooth its way up the back of her leg. His eyes were still shut when she looked at him in shock, but she definitely did not miss the amused smirk that now curved his lips. Before she could admonish him, his hand cupped her buttocks and squeezed, guiding her up and onto the bed to straddle him.
Once settled, Poppy watched as his hands roamed her body without direction, lingering here and there and simply touching whatever they could reach--which, she grinned softly, was pretty much everything, considering he was nearly twice her size. It wasn’t until one palm slipped its way up and onto the swell of her breast that she playfully smacked at it, a wordless scold without any venom. “You have a one track mind.”
“Quit watchin’ me sleep, it’s creepy.” He opened one eye at long last and peered at her, bleary from his glorified nap but seemingly unbothered by being woken up. Poppy raised an eyebrow at him and feigned offense, which he answered by stretching languidly underneath her, punctuating the movement with an exaggerated yawn.
“It is not.” She spread her hands across his chest when he’d quieted, admiring the way his broad build made her hands look feminine and delicate. “Besides, you’re lucky someone actually enjoys looking at your mean face. It’s not so bad when you aren’t cussing the paint off a building.”
He grunted and opened his other eye, focusing on the strip of skin that he could spot between the hem of her t-shirt and the top of her panties. “Is that right?”
“Besides, I’ve never actually gotten to--” She swallowed, chastising herself for once again allowing her mouth to move before her brain caught up. She didn’t dare admit that she’d been taking advantage of the situation to actually check him out, or it really would be creepy. Unfortunately for her, Tora was as sharp as ever even as tired as he was, and he caught onto the statement immediately. Even as he drew his thumb across the little stripe of exposed skin, his eyes pinned her.
“Gotten to what?”
“I--” she shivered momentarily, distracted by the way his touch was just this side of ticklish, “I...never actually got to see real tattoos up close before. Like I’ve seen yours, but I never really got to look at them before.” She wrapped her arms around her body self-consciously for a moment and turned her gaze elsewhere. “Sorry if that’s weird.”
Tora stared at her for a long moment, his face expressionless. His hands had stilled on her body and Poppy began to actually worry that perhaps she’d ruined it, still unsure of where he drew the various lines in the sand of topics he wasn’t comfortable discussing. Ever since their first date at Alice’s, if it could even be called that, Poppy could never quite shake the feeling that she needed to be a bit more cautious about what she brought up around him and how. As the silence drew on, she cringed internally, increasingly convinced that she had probably breached one of those personal boundaries without having a contingency plan prepared.
Just as she started to move, to lift herself off of him and apologize, Tora sat up. She felt her heartbeat begin to race in response to his proximity, a scant inch or two separating her from the veritable wall of muscle and mischief that had suddenly appeared, but instead of closing the distance as she’d expected, Tora simply reached down across his body and pulled his tank top up and over his head, tossing it carelessly aside once it had cleared the majority of his hair. Poppy couldn’t suppress the small gasp that escaped her at the sight of him; she’d never quite gotten to see him like this , either.
They’d lain together a couple of times now, but it had always been frantic and heated--she tried to recall a time where she could compare this Tora to any other memory she had of the man and found herself come up wanting, much to her surprise. It wasn’t that he was an inconsiderate lover, quite far from it, in fact--but he had quickly demonstrated that he was definitely not the stereotype she’d come to expect from the romance movies in which Poppy had guiltily indulged on her loneliest nights. Sex with Tora was spontaneous and, at least in her limited experience, typically didn’t involve a lot of gentle foreplay.
The man underneath her now, however, was placid and almost patient, watching her watch him with a strange expression on his face, almost as if he was simply interested in seeing how she would react. Poppy fought the urge to stare at his body and insisted that her eyes remain on his face, refusing to give him another reason to tease her or, even worse, doubt her. Whatever it was he was looking for, he must have found it, as he offered her a lazy shrug and sank further into the mattress, his arms at his sides. “So, look.”
Poppy held his stare for a few seconds more, unsure of his intentions until a slick black eyebrow twitched upward, daring her to move forward. She wasn’t sure why her heart was pounding or what was making her hands tremble; they’d slept together , for crying out loud, but for some reason this felt altogether different. She knew that the artwork was symbolic to him, something deeply personal and frequently private, and the vulnerability of him offering her the opportunity to have unrestricted access to something that significant nearly overwhelmed her to the point of her shying away entirely. Still, when her hands returned to his chest and brushed against the ink there, just as they had earlier that morning, he made no move to correct her; he simply watched, content to lie there for her satisfaction.
Poppy peered at the artwork once more, gently tracing the outsides of the black shapes that served as an aggressive background for his artwork. By touch, it was indistinguishable--she closed her eyes and felt, gentle and seeking, unable to discern where the artwork ended and the unaltered landscape of his smooth, flawless skin began. Her hands worked in tandem as her eyes opened anew, pattering over both sides of his body in near symmetry, tracing the various lines and swoops of the petals at his left, the scales at his right. As she worked her way up past his collarbones, she tested the feeling of his body against her fingernails and raked him gently, delighted when his body shuddered beneath hers and rewarded her efforts with a spread of goosebumps along his arms.
Tora waited patiently for her to get her fill, knowing that she’d probably just continue to sneak little looks and stares at him when she thought he wasn’t looking anyway. He wasn’t thrilled about offering himself as a spectacle, having been stared at for his tattoos for the majority of his life, but there was something different in the way she looked at him. There always had been, he supposed, whether it was the way her smile never quite left her eyes when she saw him, or the fearlessness there even when he tested her resolve time and time again. It was no different now; the way she gazed upon him was without lust or fear, nothing like the usual lurid gazes or apprehensive, darting glances he was used to. Poppy sat in her little t-shirt, hair a mess despite her obvious efforts to contain it, no makeup and eyes still puffy from sleeping for hours, and she looked at him with reverence, a quiet, powerful admiration and nothing more.
It was enough to force him to turn his face from her, ashamed of the way she celebrated him. How could he ever be worthy of a look like that, with all he’d done? Could he ever deserve her little smiles or laughs or the way she held his hand in the car, content to simply enjoy his company, asking for nothing more than his attention or a few words to break the silence now and again? He shut his eyes against the weight of it, aching for a cigarette even as he could feel her hands soothing him through their innocence, wondering if it would be better to ask her permission or simply beg her forgiveness later on…
The way her hips sat against his made it very difficult to resist teasing her, though his intentions had been pure when he’d offered her the chance to get a good look at him. Still, the way her hands worked his body, curious and almost cautious in their caresses, always afraid of causing him discomfort, apologizing through touch each time they’d accidentally bumped heads or noses or lips… He found himself fisting the sheets next to him as her fingers trailed their way up the side of his neck, diligently tracing the outlines of his branding, unintentionally seducing his body into a state of desperation. His chin lifted to accommodate her hand as it smoothed its way down over the front of his throat, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but press his groin up and into hers as his manhood jumped at the contact, surprising the both of them.
Poppy froze, torn between ignoring what had just happened and indulging it, her inexperience making a valiant effort to tip the scales in favor of moving on. She had always had a habit of playing with fire, however, and over the past few months had grown quite comfortable throwing herself into the territory of the unknown; despite not quite having a plan of action for what she really wanted, she threw what little caution she had remaining to the wind and pressed her hand a half an inch higher, seating the crook of her thumb just above Tora’s adams apple, and squeezed, barely there, just enough to tell him that she’d felt the way he responded moments ago but not hard enough to truly risk…
Unexpectedly, he growled, the sound rumbling low and deep from the back of his throat and purring against her palm where it still grasped him. His hands came up at long last and wrapped themselves around her forearm and wrist, then pressed hard, pulling a gasp from her body as he bared himself to her fully, the tips of his pearly white teeth peeking out at her from behind parted lips as he panted quietly underneath her, his head tossed back and chin high. Poppy could feel the way that his body throbbed between her legs as he strained against her, his boxers doing very little to hide what she’d done to him.
Amber eyes slid open just enough to stare her down, predatory and confident despite such a vulnerable position, and she found herself fascinated by the way she could feel the words he was saying just as much as hear them as he disallowed her from letting go of his throat. “If you’re gonna do it, do it.”
“Tora, I--”
“Press down with your thumb and first two fingers, sweetheart.” The corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction--a special smile that he used just for her when he teased her into doing something frightening. “Come on now, chickenshit. I dare you to.”
She chewed her bottom lip, anxious and yet unable to tear her touch away from the wild pulse that fluttered rapidly against her touch. Without breaking eye contact, she leaned into his grip, tightening her own against the delicate skin and cartilage that shifted underneath her right hand. Despite her hand being dwarfed by him, comically small against the broad expanse of his muscled neck, she was stunned to find that his eyes rolled back in ecstasy at the pressure, his body electrified underneath her. Instinctively, she shifted her hips against him in response, tempting his length with the heat of her body in an experimental thrust. Again, he grunted and shivered underneath her, his hands never leaving her arm despite the visible need that pulled the rest of him bowstring-taut.
The power he had given her was intoxicating, knowing what she was doing to him, what such a small action could turn him into. She ground backward this time, deliberate in her actions now with the confidence of his reactions, fascinated and delighted by the way he choked underneath her touch and yet begged her further with his knit brow and irregular, ruttish thrusts. It wasn’t until he finally tugged her hand away and pulled her toward him, their foreheads slick with sweat as they pressed together, breath mingling, hearts pounding, that she realized that he’d done it again. She’d never had the upper hand at all, and as he opened his eyes and stared directly past her, straight down into her soul, she realized that she never really wanted it to begin with.
“You keep teasin' me like this and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself, sweetheart,” his voice was rough and strained, frayed at the edges and yet Poppy found herself needing more of it, chasing it as a drug.
She reached up and fisted two hands into his mane of hair, holding him steady while he grabbed her around her waist. “Wh-who said anything about stopping?”
Even as he embraced her, his hands strong and seeking, his mouth under her jawline in a flourish of lips and teeth, even as his body threatened to swallow her whole, she was still privately thrilled that he always gave her a choice--a chance, even in the height of passion, to say no. She cried out into the quiet, chilly morning air as his fingers slid inside her unapologetically, only slightly hindered by her panties needing pulled aside. He worked inside of her quickly, stroking her as he found a rhythm that made her legs tremble while he sucked hungrily at her neck.
He'd leave marks, she knew, but even while she formulated a plan to hide them for work, it only increased the ache between her legs at how fiercely he always needed to claim her. Tora had never explicitly told her they were exclusive, but the way she often felt his protective hand at her back or the way he glared at curious onlookers, or especially the way he always seemed to leave his signature where others could see it… His tongue swept over a spot his teeth had just teased and she groaned at the sensation, overwhelmed.
"Tora!" She gasped for him, clinging desperately to his shoulders as she came, shuddering and breathless against his body. He chuckled, his voice smooth and arrogant, waiting and cradling her gently while she rode it out. After she'd settled, he used one hand to pull her into a sultry kiss, his other reaching absentmindedly into the bedside table drawer for a condom. She'd blushed furiously when he'd chucked them in there a month ago, but he noticed she'd never removed them either…He broke their kiss just long enough to rip the foil packet open with his teeth, eager to return to the way her tongue tasted against his while he sheathed himself and tossed the wrapper aside.
He wasn't quite sure what her allure was; she was plainer than most, nerdy, clumsy, comically unsafe… he pulled her panties aside once more and positioned himself at her entrance… gullible, naive, constantly talking… ecstasy, to be inside of her again, to swallow her moan and let slip one of his own in return… she was reckless and bold and challenging and everything he always thought he'd hate in a woman. As she ground down against him and tugged at his hair, lost in the way he filled her, though, he buried his face against the side of her neck and clung to her, needing to feel her against him and around him, drunk on the sensation of having her all to himself.
She was his escape, no matter how strange she could be, and as he began to move inside of her he let loose a deep, quivering sigh, always grateful for the weight that seemed to lift from his shoulders when she was around. His hand found its way underneath her shirt, unable to resist the temptation of toying with her nipple while she rode him; her body had stunned him the first time, nothing like the women he’d grown used to with their faces all painted and perfect proportions. Poppy was real , with curves and scars and beauty marks that dappled her here and there. Her breasts were soft and yielding and filled the palm of his hand as if she’d been built for him, a stark contrast to the silicone he’d encountered before. The smell of her, of sweat and shampoo and arousal, the sound of her voice as she begged him for more, the way her thighs rippled with the force of his thrusts…
She was real, and she was all his, and he would spend the rest of his life chasing the next moment he would be able to feel her complete him.
They moved together, their pace impatient and awkward until he finally settled back down onto the bed so that she could ride him in earnest. He loved watching her like this, with her head thrown back in pleasure, untethered by her usual shyness in favor of using his body to chase her next climax. He planted his feet and thrust up into her movements, baring his teeth at the way she gripped him with her body, addicted to watching every inch of himself sink into her petal pink folds over and over again. She was close; he could tell by the way she trembled around him, probably didn’t even realize she’d sunk her fingernails into his arms as her pleasure mounted. He grunted and pulled her down to him, steadying her with his hands still anchored at her waist while he kept the pace.
Poppy gasped at the movement, the position changing the angle of his manhood inside of her just enough that it hit her in all the most electrifying spots. She needed him, needed the release, and as he whispered quietly into her ear-- “That’s it, sweetheart, come for me, just let it go”-- she quivered violently, feeling her orgasm rip through her like an earthquake. Distantly, she could feel his hands shift from her waist as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to his body while she trembled and moaned against his chest. Between the ripples of ecstasy that still tingled across her skin and the dizzying rush of the way his body felt pressed against hers, she was only halfway aware of the feeling of him pulsating inside of her as he growled through his own release; she smiled, dazed, and indulged him, knowing he never seemed to be able to hold back once she’d given him what he wanted.
Moments passed, neither of them moving, content to simply lie there and enjoy the way their heartbeats pounded against each other. Eventually, Poppy shifted--she was always the first to break the magic, she’d noticed--and was surprised when, for the first time, Tora simply held her tighter, determined to keep her from leaving. She giggled, unphased, and prodded him in the collarbone, her hands trapped against him by the vice-like grip he kept around her body. “Hey. Let me go.”
He drew a comically deep breath, imitating a deep sleep, drawing further giggles from the woman in his arms.
“Tora. Come on. I know you’re not sleeping.”
Reluctantly, he released his hold on her and shifted slightly, pulling out of her body at long last but not quite willing to let her leave entirely. As she sat up and admired him, a content smile on her face, he raised an eyebrow at her. She glanced up to his face, then back down at his body, idly dragging her finger tip across his abs.
“So what do you think? You scared?”
It wasn’t what she’d been expecting, given what they’d just gone through. She blinked at him, curious; his face, as usual, offered no insights into what he was thinking. “Scared?”
“Of the tattoos.”
“I think they’re beautiful.” She smiled at him, a warm and girlish thing that she hoped added to the sincerity in her statement, and finally moved off of his body. Careful to avoid getting too serious, knowing it would turn him in on himself, she allowed her smile to turn sly as she leaned down to kiss him, her tone teasing. “But they’d be a lot better with some poppy flowers.”
Tora chased the contact, irritated when she dodged his kiss, and grunted at her words. “Too bad ya name’s Bobby.” He stretched again, reaching down to finally clean himself up, and found himself unable to suppress the grin that rose to his face. “Mighta been some real romantic shit otherwise.”
He expected the indignant smack against his arm, knowing she wasn’t actually offended. What a treat, he mused as he watched her flounce away to the restroom to do...whatever the hell it was women did after sex...what a gift that she could not only handle him, but gave his bullshit right back to him on the regular. She was so different from all the others that he found himself completely captivated by her despite all the effort he’d put into avoiding her entirely, and were he a different man he might consider thanking Alice for the kick in the ass she’d given him that finally pushed him to take the plunge.
He tossed his legs over the side of the bed and scrubbed at his face, still exhausted, still sore, but feeling strangely lighter as he always did when he spent time with her. As his body refused to move, even more sluggish now that he’d spent what little energy he’d regained from his sleep, he listened to the muted sounds of Poppy humming from the bathroom, cut short by the sounds of the shower drowning her out.
It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t pretty, but it was theirs. He stood and planted his hands against the ceiling, relishing the staccato pop of his spine as he forced his body to wake up. A shower with her was just the thing he needed, he’d decided, and as his boxers hit the floor and his neck cracked with a satisfying turn of his chin, he grinned to himself, allowing an indulgent surge of satisfaction to well within him for once.
She was his something, and if he dared to be honest with himself, that was enough. He didn’t dare allow himself to assume that it would last, that she wouldn’t become a liability or that he wouldn’t fuck it up soon enough, but as his feet carried him to the door she’d left slightly cracked as an invitation, he shrugged off the impending threat of heartbreak and simply rolled with instinct this time, tired from years of maintaining walls that did nothing but isolate. Even if she was his downfall, his Achilles heel, he supposed the consequences might be worth it, at least for now.
Pushing the door open, he smirked, readying a surprise attack from outside the shower curtain.
He was happy enough to call her his, for now, whatever it was that she ended up being for him.