Chapter Text
He could kill her. Maybe, even, without guilt.
Shit, or fault.
Out of her fucking mind.
Got him acting like a fucking addict on his toes for his next fix, coked up and fist battering the door and she’s yelling out, all naive- kind of voice that makes his eyes roll, “Can you fucking wait?”
Which he has been doing.
For 45 minutes.
And he’s been waiting on the burning soles of his feet, back leaning over the wall just beside the door, patient for the first 20 and then heated for the next 25- and that’s him being extraordinarily kind.
Fezco’s fists keep hitting at the door only now it’s erratic- as if to pester at her and she’s hustling through the shower, “You’re so fucking annoying!”
He laughs at that, not in humor but more out of disbelief- shot out air through his mouth more snarky than it is funny.
“Lexi,” he starts, slow with his hand pausing at the door but voice rising, “I’mma make this real easy, you get out the shower or-”
“-Or what?” She pipes out, muffled voice going taunting through the thick of wood, “What are you going to do to me?” and breaching out a small giggle, through it, sounding muddled in the platter of rain-like sounds, the shower muffling her tease, “You’re so big and scary!”
“Now you pushin’ it.” He grumbles, more to himself under the lapse of his tongue and he’s picking at his pocket, hand rifling through random receipts, fingers pinching at the loose bobby pin- one she had left under his pillow, one he grabbed just before she hopped out of sleep and pulled her arms over his neck, kisses over his cheek like he’s some chum, like he isn’t her ‘best friend’ but a lover of some sort.
Which, maybe he is a chum because he lets her do that- he likes to feel her press her chest to his, feel the swathe of her hand, tiny fingers mantle his neck, the very tips craning his face to turn and he’s drafted as her armor somewhere within it.
He rests his hand on the knob, going silent while warping the pin, sliding the edge of it into the small, (usually) insignificant hole. He’s searching for the lock, but just as he finds it, before he could push it in with this shit-eating grin on his face, the door swings opens and he’s nearly falling forward.
She almost shrieks at him, wafts of thick gust-like steam flowering out.
“You’re such a little weasel,” She cries out, smirk widening her face just as she looks up into his eyes, “You could’ve seen me naked.”
He shrugs, flat in saying, “So be it.”
Really.
So be it.
Because, by nature, he’s gazing down at her but he keeps his eyes to her face out of curtesy. She looks kind, looks warm, wet and he wants to press something to the drops of water, use his hand to sweep it off of her.
Regardless, he sticks to her eyes and stays on the doe-like light browns.
She has her body wrapped in a towel, hands to her chest with the fabric snug in her grasp. The darkened curls cling to her forehead- his favorite spot, he loves it more than he loves sleep or getting high- fuck, getting high with her, the only place to kiss without her getting a weird idea, it’s mania he’s growing keen to.
“Move.” He mutters, out no where. Just as she opens her mouth to berate him, he’s pushing her back with a large hand to her forehead, kissing it with his palm and maneuvering her body backwards.
“Hey!”
“Nah, hey you- been waiting on your ass.” And then, voice coarse- so much so that she flushes at it, “Jesus, bro.”
She grabs at his wrist in retaliation and he wacks his hand down, sharp, like she were something sticky and she is- everything she does sticks.
“Like a fuckin’ fly in my ear,” He grumbles just as he moves passed her, air feeling warm and plump in dampness. He breathes it in and prisons it in chest, ransacks the toothbrush and paste. Peering over to the sound of running water, he snorts at the beckoning steam, jutting his chin to it, “Save the whales, what you doin?”
“The whales?” She questions, eyebrow jerking up just as he turns off the water and passes her damp body, "And really? A toothbrush? That's all?"
“Mouth feels weird.” He explains lamely. At the jarring grab she makes to his wrist, he turns his heel back to her. He studies her brief before he asks, “What’s up?”
“When do you go to work?”
He blinks, “Later. Late shift.”
“And when do you come home?”
“Around 12.” He thinks, then, drawls out, ”Why? What’s good?”
Going soft in tone, she asks, “Can we do movies tomorrow instead of today?”
Pausing to the pugency of sweetness to her tone, Fezco flits his gaze over the bathroom again: she has an outfit on a hanger- tight black silk dress, disordered makeup box to the sink countertop and shaving tools stacked over the shower shelves- just in front of that, unbluring his focus, she’s smiling at him up at him with her eyebrows pulling downward, coaxing out a blush, looking coy; he’s melting to that gaze, dripping somewhere- her palm.
“Man,” He gives her a slow growing lopsided smirk, eyes darting over her, “What you doin without me?”
Lexi slumps her shoulder and rolls her eyes at the teasing tip of his tongue and then, flushed, “A date, Fez."
He studies her with a widening smirk. "You tryna get laid, player?"
"Yes, player," She glimpses at his mouth then says, "I can’t take you to that.”
“Why not?” He asks, so sincere that Lexi stalls, frowns over his indolent gaze.
A beat later, she scoffs. “Very funny- you’re hilarious.”
Still humorous and disregarding the way she leans over the door frame, bats her eyelashes- looking touchable, he asks through a huff, “Whatchu mean funny? I’m dead ass, we come as a package-”
“-You scare off every hook up.” She states dryly. She tilts her head to the side in contemplation, “And you hate sushi, so..”
“He can’t buy me no lunchable or somethin’?”
"Fezco," A smile breaks on her face, voice going amorous, “Shut up.”
He ignores the sentiment and says, “Could use a free meal too.” with a grins at her, it’s cute and ridiculing. At the push of her hand to his chest, he’s catching her wrist, humoring her with, “Yo, man, Lex, you gonna show me too much with moves like that.”
“Yeah?” She rips from his grip to push at his chest, harder, “You’re just jealous.”
His grip falls to her forearm and pinching it lightly, he’s slipping out, “Of that free meal.”
She lets out a snicker. Tiredly, with eyes crinkled and lips so pink he almost leans to it, she whines, “Just get out, i’m trying to be hot.”
"What you mean?" He scrunches his nose at her, “You are.”
She clarifies, “Actually hot.”
“Yeah, that’s- i mean, you are.”
Arm falling limp, she sighs, “No, but like, date hot, Fez.”
Eyebrows stitching together, he stares off into her.
Slow, like he's drunk, he says, “Ion get the issue, man, you makin' shit up-”
She snorts tonelessly.
“Leave.”
“Could’ve at least tried inviting me- rude not to.” He says offhandedly. She gives him a shrug, a sort of ‘true’ look before she steadies a gaze at him. After studying her for a second, simmering in it and cresting over, he’s nodding. “Nah, forreal, we’ll do a movie tomorrow, Lex. Don’t ‘fret’ or whatever.”
She perks up. “You’re not mad?”
"Nah."
"Really?"
“Not even a bit- on ya toes for nothin’.”
To the sound of that, the soft in his throat, she’s gawking off with softening eyes that zip across his face.
It starts to feel invasive and heated to it, he clears his throat and brings attention to the toothbrush in his hand, gestures to it with a waving hand, “Finna brush my teeth in the kitchen for you.”
“Thank you.” She finally chokes out.
“Mhm.” He pauses, going on to ask, “You want waffles?”
“I do.” She grins over, “Please.”
“Chocolate chip?”
She merely nods at him, water droplets swarming down her skin- there’s a trail of water running down her forehead. He watches it slide across her milk skin and almost jealous of it, he brings fingers to her chin, tilts her down to press a thick kiss to her forehead, nose smashing into the curls that damp his mouth, palm squishing her face.
He pulls from her, pecking once more- quick before she pushes him off.
“Got you.”
“Right.” She murmurs, fire in her chest but she pushes it down- kills it with a pressed smile, “Promise you’re not mad?”
“Got my word.” He mumbles, patting at her shoulder and trying to keep the distance. “Really, have fun.”
“Guess you’ll see my outfit.”
“Guess so.”
She gives him a curt nod, salutes to him just before curling her fingers on the door.
He watches her close it and stands there for a second, dazed and slightly, the tiniest bit, yearning. Then, he turns his heel again, ghosts over in the kitchen, still hazy in the eyes while he takes the toothbrush under sink water, paste and then water again.
He’s brushing slowly, thinking deep.
He means it: have fun.
He just hopes it isn’t that fun.
He didn’t like to wake up in the middle of the night, hear the front door open and peer over to the clock, squint at the time- delay to the sound of her groan rattle from the hallway, hear it seep into his chest and his head thuds to the pillow.
And other places- which it shouldn't, it’s wrong.
So, he’d put his earphones in, roll over to his side and let out a shot of breath because there’s a twitch in his leg and, fuck, he could die to that shit. It’s so wispy, her moan is vaporous and soft, sleek pink on his face and he might cum to the sound alone so he turns the song up and blinks away the thought of making her grind on his hands, jolting her body to thick thrusts, making her scream his name, marking her with bites- fuck - he’ll just breathe away the scent of her skin, fall asleep and pretend he wasn’t incredibly hard over her.
God, it’s selfish-
She’d always trot up to him the next morning with tousled hair, lips raw and he’d avoid making the mistake of looking at her and going territorial over where her mouth was, agitated that it isn’t over him-
Anyway...
And anyway, he shouldn’t think that way.
He should be neutral. Indifferent.
He figured if she had a boyfriend, he probably wouldn’t like Fezco. He’d see right through him, watch Fezco gape at her whenever she turned around, grab at her waist to move her body not because she’s actually in the way but because it’s a small excuse to squeeze at the tightness. To be close. To be warm.
That’s fair.
Fezco probably wouldn’t like the boyfriend much either. He’d watch a guy hold her the way he thought to do, go to bed alone, wake up alone, get used to sharing her.
He thinks, at the very least, that he’d try.
There’s merit to that: he treated her hookups nicely, kindly, as he’d put it. Would meet up with them in the morning while she’s still dozed off, make them a bowl of cereal as a peace offering, compel them eat it in front of him as he folded his arms, ask them what they like about her (If it it’s her heart or smile), if they want kids (because she does), how many (to make sure it’s 3 and if it isn’t, he’ll keep her up with the tabs), and if they’re sure she came (he thought the reaction was funny: choking on milk and fruity pebbles made even the hottest of dudes look dumb as shit).
Sometimes, if he were more irritated because they came back for more, because she had hickeys on her neck and he hated that shit, he’d tell them they’re actually in an open relationship searching for a third party, which was funny to him because the dude would usually size him up, gulp and then leave quickly with a drizzle of milk over their chin.
At least he got a laugh.
But then she’d get angry, tell him to make his own dinner, push away his hug, slam her bedroom door shut, ignore his apologies, have this glaze over her eyes whenever she did look at him-
All of that only to crawl in his bed the next night.
It would be rayless, crack of his door creating a gloomy slit of light to his wall. He wouldn’t look. He’d usually open his eyes to it and stare at the ground, zone in the sounds, back facing the opposite way and the light would dissipate, cease to exist just as her foot steps rose and his bed sunk. She’d sigh in the dark, the crisp quiet and scoot the slightest bit, press her forehead to his back. He'd let her do that, feel her grip on his shirt and murmur his name in the dark, sounding like a dove and he coped to it.
He’d slowly turn over, settle in front of her only to rut over a hand, cup the back of her head while he raked in his fingers to her hair and pull inward, hem her to his collarbone.
He’d tell her he’s sorry (and he was, every time- he just hates the idea of her splitting time with him and another guy), she’d tell him she likes sleeping next to him more (she’d toss and turn in bed, think about his scent and body heat, press her mouth together because bedrooms are cold without him, breathing is void without him) and then he’d tell her that he likes sleeping with her more than his last girl, last fling.
(Or, really, any girl.)
Ignoring that thought, he spits into the sink and hears the shower turn off just as his drains out.
She wore a silk bow to her hair when she first met him.
On a final leg, bone feeling heavy and muscle like an inconvenience with bills piling up. And she was begging, then, for an answer through apartment searching, settling on roommate finders.
Just her luck: he posted one around the time she refreshed the page.
She liked the place, liked the way he seemed laidback in the post, and over messages, brief ones, she liked how kind he was.
He asked about boundaries, asked about her- stupid things like what her favorite color was, which, made her choke out a laugh because he asked it while she was mid tears over her phone, about to be fucking evidicted but she couldn’t help but grin at how he typed up:
naahhhh fr? That’s sick man me too. you a cobalt blue typa girl?
I am! You’re a cobalt blue guy?
u ain’t know the half of it lexi howard
haha thank god. I don’t know if I could live with someone who doesn’t like that color but, you know. I’m kind of desperate.
me too. Swear i’m not some weird homeboy
Sounds like something a serial killer would say lol
lmao nah then I wouldn't be able to tlk to you
fr I ain't gonna bite u
all about respect u get me?
I get you. I'll respect you.
Catch up. I already respect u.
She smiled to that. That’s big, she hadn’t been smiling lately, hadn’t felt her cheeks lift in a while.
And with him in front of her, plans settling, she figured he wasn’t bad in person either.
It poured outside, pattered along the cafe roof and she hadn’t expected it- wore her usual get up- so the silk was damp, hung as low as her head because she was incredibly broke, and not only that: she was terribly desperate.
Her sneakers squeaked, sort of hissed and he was jerking his attention to it. From across the cafe, he visually patted her down, dipped divine eyes to the divinity of hers.
He noticed the flat silk bow first, before every thing else, grinned a bit at it because her hair still bounced despite it being drenched, russet strands darkened to this quartz color and his heart burned there.
Prior to the meet, he asked about her favorite type of tea, after she concluded that she didn’t care for coffee- it was too tart, not light, didn’t soothe, only muddle.
He tip his head to a cup of sweet tea and she burned somewhere in that choice, just as he was saying something kind like, “My bad, didn’t want you to act polite and not lemme get the bill for you.”
"Oh, no-" She said it all meek- she was realizing he's hot, feeling embarrassed over running drips to her eyes, “I wouldn’t have minded.”
“I would've.” He said, and then, at the glimpse of her damp shoulders, he rolled off his sweater and gave it to her trembling hands, insisted, “Drive you back to yo place, if that’s alright?”
That settled it for her- for some reason.
Not all there, he laid slack on the couch with a leg propped up, head tilted to the side as his eyes more so brooded into the Tv rather than observe it. It’s some stupid action movie he hadn’t even been paying attention to. Useless.
He figured he’d nap before work or maybe stay up instead so he could demise into fatigue once he got home, avoid the audible groans from her in the other room.
Behind him, there's small sounds, rustling and tapping.
He clicks his jaw, focuses in on the sound of shifting behind him, and just as he thinks to turn around to face it, long satin legs appear right in his field of vision.
Peering up, slow, contemplative at the streamline of her silhouette, he's burning up: the silk dress must’ve been tailored, must’ve been made for her temple of a body because she looks like liquid, body poured into the dress, filled the right places, slender frame with curves.
He could die, could kneel, ask her to use him as a chair or, Shit, a step stool.
Just as he reaches her face, she’s raising her hands up in ‘ta-da’ gesture, cheery red lipped smirk, soft berry blush, sultry dark locks of hair caging her face- like a baroque beauty.
“Damn, look at you,” He said it low, sleepy voiced as his hand lifts, finger sliding on the back of her leg. It scalds her but the inward curve to his fingers, meaning to revolve her like she was a rack of sunglasses, had her singe and scorch. She follows his direction, spins around slowly, soft giggle through thick burning to her face. As his hand drops, his fingers grace down the back of her thigh, settle to her calf.
He's still gazing at her. Silent and handsome. Feeling hot eyes, she prompts up, "It's good?"
“Fuck,” he exhaled, almost unbecomingly unruly, so much so that she curls. “It’s so good it’s sick, Lex.”
"Yeah?"
He nods, going back to silence, tapping at her skin.
"Heaven been dreamin' about you." He says it so sudden that she's slightly lightheaded.
Bracing a grin, too shy- too shaky to say anything else, she bites her tongue to, “You’re going to nap?”
Finally looking back up to her, he gives her a purse of lips, like a ‘maybe’.
“Here?”
“Why not?”
She grabs at his forearm, applies soft pressure and pulls, trying to coax him up but he yanks back at her in response, hand gliding into hers.
Reading into her touch, like sunlight in his palm, he's feeling her say something like ‘go to your room' and says, “Nah, m’lay here.”
“You should go in your room.”
He shakes his head, “Chill.”
Lexi frowns, “Don’t you have work?”
“Uh huh, s’why imma nap here if anythin’.”
“You’ll wake up with a sore neck.”
“Nothin’ wrong wit that.”
She sighs to that, then, low in her voice, “I don’t like you being in pain.”
“You don’t like me complainin’ bout pain.” He counters.
“Same thing.”
He’s looking up at her like a gospel boy, squint in one eye and the splash of TV is making his skin glisten, look smooth, pliable for touches that don’t wane- only mature, thrive.
She says, aimlessly: “You’re pretty.”
He keeps his hand on her, blinking both his eyes open because that woke him, shook him to his core.
“On god?” he croaks out, "No shit?"
She squeezes his hand, “No shit.”
And then, he’s squeezing her hand back like he wants her to ‘stay’.
“Yeah, you surpass me, Lex.”
“Liar.”
“Nah, man.” He mutters, pinching at her fingers, “You a fine girl.”
Her hand is on fire. As if to feel it, to be burned by it, he drops her hand, tells her, “Lemme know how it goes. Imma come in late, so- you know. Don’t be in the hallway, you feel?”
“Right.” she mumbles, and then, “Movies tomorrow?”
“You know it.” he says dull- eyes hauling back to the Tv in front of him.
She presses her lips to the sound of it, presses a kiss to his cheek; his skin is fuming heat. She likes to feel it.
funnel it.
She moved in within the next few weeks.
She got used to his nature: kind with a bit of grime. He’d talk about his ambitions, talk about drug dealing and getting out of it, talk about his brother, most of all, who she met often.
He was clean, knew how to cook and told her it was because he cooked for his ‘partner’- and that wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. He’d bleed for his brother, fight for his brother, wilt for him.
“That sounds hard.” She told him, around the first month, whilst watching him pour batter to a hot pan with a thickness to his focus on it.
To the sound of her voice, he peered up.
“What?” He gave her a bored look, snorted, then, “Cooking? Yeah, real chore.”
She grinned to that, giggled out a “I was speaking on the taking care of your brother.”
“I mean, you know- life.”
Lexi jerked a brow, body swaying as she said, “Mortgage at, like, 10?”
“Life.” he said, simply.
“Yeah, but it must've been tough- you can say it was tough.”
He fixated on her smile, zoned out in her lips, and being caught in it, the heat within, she pressed her mouth together, confused and flustered.
Waking from the shift of her mouth, fumed up in the face, he blunk his eyes away from her.
His hand twitched.
“It was but I mean..” He trailed, flicked his eyes once more to her, again to her mouth, mindless but her heart mused, dreamt of him.
He started over with a shrug, eventually, saying, “Nah- or maybe not. Shit not that rough when you love someone. You take care the ones you love as easy as you breathe, you feel me?”
It struck at her chest, cleaved into it with sometime of binary code to her heart.
She made it a point to take care of him then.
Even more so when she started to love him.
Lexi has a system for hook ups or, in better words, a habit with them.
If the guy was nice enough, handsome enough, she’d kiss him by her door, wrap her arms over his neck and pull him into her hallway, claw at his clothes and discard them as she grinds over their leg- rips out a small moan but not too loud because his bedroom is right there.
But then she’d let out a bigger groan because she’s imagining it’s his leg, keeping her eyes closed to the vision: pretending it’s his mouth, pretending he’s breathing in her ear, calling her pretty, telling her he wants to sink himself in her, swelter of his lips over her neck, teeth gathering her goosebumps.
So she’d groan a bit louder because his bedroom is right there and she wants him to hear it, wants to entice him through the sound like a siren.
Which is wrong.
She’s been friends far too long for her to make a move now, too long for her to risk losing him because she’s conditioned to his friendship, reliant on his voice, prone to being lyched by his departure.
She’d probably wither, so, the man Lexi sees tonight seems like a great distraction.
He’s polished, seems level headed, handsome but in a convenient way- not overwroughtingly but enough to make her want to squander time into their lap, squeal about it to Fezco later while he flips through channels and, if he wasn’t grumpy, he’d high five her for it.
The guy does the usual thing: he picks her up, calls her pretty in the car and they do dreadful small talk. He makes her laugh, more of a polite laugh but still- it’s a laugh nonetheless.
That’s the first test. Lexi likes a guy who can carry conversation, who listens: a detailer.
The guy, unfortunately, doesn’t follow through with this. He’s a business man, talks up his father’s company and strokes his own ego with throwaway courtesies like ‘not to brag’ and ‘but what about you?’.
Then, he listens with only half an ear.
He takes her to the restaurant, still on about himself, still careless in some way to her and rambling on about work throughout the time they sit there. She’s nodding while wearing half an ear herself and darts her eyes around the menu.
Because she feels bad now, thinking about Fezco’s lack of energy, she orders something they would both agree with; she’ll save a few pieces of sushi because she wants to pester him about it.
“You’re living with someone, right?”
The voice minorly startles her, and jerking a look from across the table, narrowing in, she responds through a small smile, “Oh, yeah! Uhm, we’ve been roommates for a while.”
He nods, mindless, eyes going back to the menu and his voice comes out mundane, “She’s a friend of yours?”
“He.” Lexi corrects, then, “Yeah, he’s my best friend.”
The man flinches to that, pauses his movements and peers up to raise a brow at her, “You live with a guy?”
She nods with her neck feeling sore.
At the lack of response, through a fainting smile, she says, “Yeah, we’ve been roommates for, like, a year.”
He’s silent for a moment.
After it shudders through the air, clinks of glasses behind them sounding loud and Lexi can feel her palms bleed heat to her thighs, he goes on to ask, mystified, “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”
“Why would it be?” Her voice flattens over the table.
The date huffs to that.
“It’s kind of obvious.” He said it dry, almost as condensing as the drop of his focus from her, “Don’t you think?”
Lexi gapes at him- and letting out a half chuckle, there isn’t anything to it; lack of humor, more vice.
“No,” Lexi deadpans, “I don’t, actually.”
He shrugs and Lexi’s in her head about it: another red flag.
Worse comes to worse and halfway into the date, she’s bored.
And a date that is boring is worse than bad- at least bad was fun to speak of, fun to run her memory over with a finger and tell it to her friends, joke about it with Fezco over take out or while she’s splayed on his lap.
The date goes on, aimlessly and Lexi’s frowning because it’s been a while since the last time she had been touched and fondled with.
That’s the worst thing about it.
Lexi wants to get laid.
If the date itself is boring, and judging from the small peck he gives her from the car; his lips are dry, tongue twisted but not in a good way, it’s more confused, she doubts it’ll go well.
Still, Lexi goes on with it. She gets her box of food, smirks at the thought of Fezco trying a spicy tuna roll and her date, the one she should have her mind on, asks her, “You ready to go?”
And she nods to that, thinks about the throb in her core but it all goes to waste because once they’re in the car and she goes to kiss him. His lips are dry, tongue twisted but not in a good way, it’s more confused, needing direction and Lexi can only taste onion and spice.
She tries to ignore that by getting on his lap, grinding onto him but the man lacks rhythm- hands feeling limp and the taste gets worse.
And killed by the lack of passion, she’s actually starting to taste it in her mouth. She’s quelling his spit stain away by turning her head away and deciding, then, that maybe this date just wasn’t going to do it for her.
Even though she’s incredibly horny. So much so that she listens to her roommate and his hook ups: the small groan he makes through the wall, the sound of rocking. He’s vocal enough for Lexi to grow hot, see him in the morning and go red faced because he asks her if she’s hungry like he didn’t just wreck someone’s insides the night before.
To make matters worse, once she had said goodnight and ran up her apartment complex stairs, he hadn’t even commented on the dress.
Let alone her .
Lexi did what she thought she would: she started caring for him- and he’s right. It’s as easy as breathing.
She’d cradle his cheeks in her palms whenever he had a bad day, call in for his doctor appointments, share joints and smoke outside their apartment, he’d share his music with her and make her dance because she sucks and it makes him feel better about his, make him dinner while he handled breakfast, made an agreement to that after her failed attempt to simple dishes.
Movies are sacred for them.
She makes that a habit too. She promises to watch a movie at least once in a while. She’d usually let her head tip to his shoulder, slump over his frame and he'd pull her in, once in a while.
It was different one night. She slipped, laid head on his lap, face pointed to the tv after finishing take-out.
“You don’t mind me bringing girls here?” He asked, off handedly.
Lexi hadn’t even glanced at him.
With her cheek squashed over his thigh and, more tired than she meant to sound, she responded dryly, “As long as you don’t mind me bringing boys."
He shrugged to that and kept stroking her hair, twirling his fingers at the very ends like his fingerprints were heated enough to make them curl or crimp.
“You that type?”
“What?” Lexi asked, voice treading into a mock; ridiculing herself before he could think of it, “A whore?”
She expected him to belittle her.
She was ready for him to tell her about ‘purity’, sell her on it like tele-commercials try to sell diet pills and pretty shades; ruby reds to make her a woman, polished pinks to make her attractive, blacks to make her alluring.
Already sharpening her tongue and clenching her jaw, she working herself up like a chastised snapping turtle.
But Fezco doesn’t react the way she expected- and she should've expected that. It's Fezco, not just some guy.
"What you on?" He merely snorted and told her, humorously, “We all gotta fuck somebody- not about you.”
Stunned, she jerked her head to him and she’s in cooled heat to him already studying her, watching the flush to her skin, coils of pinks.
He was focused on her jaw, finger barely grazing it- and in response to the sudden movement, he flicked an eye to her.
They blunk at each other.
“What?” He jerked a brow, voice raspy and low enough for her to have felt it in her appendix, “You want some STD talk?”
Lexi blanched, and to the slow upward tug to his mouth, attention zipping across her paling features, he chucked out, “You wanna be called a whore?”
Lexi didn’t answer that because, truly, she wouldn’t mind being called a whore by him. She’d want to be folded in compromising positions, over the plush of his mouth, soft murmuring- that’s it, she’d like him to say it as a whisper, not with insolence; a crude throat.
Tender, like it were a compliment rather than a jab.
She turned her head back to the TV, nuzzled into his lap with a palm resting to his thigh, near her mouth.
After a beat, she responded to the overarching question, “You can bring girls, Fez.”
His hand faltered. Within an instant, as if there were no interlude, he went back working at knots, palm falling over to pinch at her chin. Finger curling, he tilted her gaze back to him.
Burning to that, fueled in the remains of his touch- and they say it takes 7 years for skin to forget, to renew, so she’s stained - she gave an awkward grin, “What?”
He pursed his lips, shook his head lightly, “Nah, just wanted to see if you meant that shit.”
Which, she did.
The one thing she hadn’t considered with Fezco is how loud he is. That was her demise.
She wakes to it one night. There’s sound outside of her door like a whistle. Little giggles, a woman’s voice that combined with his.
Soft smacking and lips moving; she can hear the creaks to his bedroom, soft slam to his door.
Lexi listened to it, sunk into her bed to the sound of his groan and soft rocking, tiny curses that flicked off the wall, slipped under her door.
She melted to him, felt embarrassed at the flush of her face to the lack of censorship to his voice: the drone, blast of deepness to his tone.
It was so rattling she felt her knees buckle to it- and she figured she’d listen to music, plug herself out, pluck herself from the noise; the deep groan- god, it sounded so good.
She saw the woman the next morning, wobbly in the leg, her brown eyes glazed before she left.
Lexi didn’t always like to see it, so she steered clear of his hook ups and, sometimes, if they came back, only met them in the morning to snark, say “he’s good, right?” and then smirk at their disgruntled stare.
She masked it as payback for all the times he had done it to her.
But it hit her one night. Maybe it’s not.
Maybe she’s just territorial and she hates those that bite.
Washing herself off, her face and tongue, she pinches her lips to the sight of his toothbrush in the cup, it’s tipped over with her now damp one. She sighs, heat growing in her stomach, torrid between her thighs- it’s chafing at her.
She glimpses at the mirror, studies the growing heat because she’s thinking about him now, thinking about his groan, soft touch- and she’s blistering to that, wanting to douse him onto her for relief.
Blinking away from the sight, dress still over her tiny frame, she flips the switch off with a strung out hand, sharp- like she were disciplining herself.
All to waste.
Fabric not even touched and she has something raising within her core, thighs feeling balmy and there’s this stretch in her fingers, a judder to her chest as she passes by his bedroom door.
She pauses her steps, contemplating in the dark.
Flushing in embarrassment, lips screwing shut, she lifts her phone to her view, and in the bright lights- it’s exactly the time he should be home.
Her shoulders tighten at the sight and she listens to the silence. Nothing.
In bed. Alone. No one else. Just him.
Her core aches, pulses and to the feeling, trying to conceal herself through pressing her lips, she concedes to her thoughts. Emitting a restricted sigh, she walks backwards with scrolled fists, releasing them only once she reaches his door.
Condensing her ear to the wood, there isn’t much of a sound except for the insignificant creaks underneath her feet.
And because she rather be in his company’s heat than in her cool loneliness, she slowly wiggles at his doorknob, cringes at the small squeak it makes as the door topples to an open.
Peeking in, he’s definitely in bed. His back is turned, covered by his sheets.
She blinks his silhouette in, she takes one more breath before stepping inside with light steps. Bringing the door to a shut, she uses an even lighter hand.
He doesn’t move to any of it: the muted steps, her tender shudder of a breath to any creaks to his floor, the faint light to her home screen that she uses to guide herself into the room. She’s almost sure he’s asleep just by the leveled breathing, the lack of motion.
Reaching the foot of his bed, she pulls at the cover and worms herself into it, sinks into the mattress and winces at the sounds of squeaks.
She settles, nuzzles into the plush of the pillows and lets out a breath of relief to the radiating warmth behind her. Blinking into the dark, she fixates on his breathing: it’s even, soft, fluttery.
Lexi's hoping for something: a shuffle, muscle spams, a light finger. Anything that meant he's awake.
After a moment, as if to answer her, there’s soft sparse crinkles behind her; grazing limbs and sheets.
Abruptly, fleshy heat hits her hand.
It’s a tiny tap, fingers gentle in crawling into her palm and submitting into her warmth just as a shrill climbs up her spine to the warmth.
“Lexi?”
She gulps. “Who else?”
Ignoring that, he asks through a wariness, “What you up in my bed for?”
His voice kills her. It slits into the air, over her hankering heart, it’s gravel and rough, sleepy and she’s fluttering her eyes to the sound of it.
His finger taps her again; like he were reminding her to speak.
“I don’t know,” She murmurs. She takes a moment to curl her fingers over his, then, “You aren’t happy to hear me?”
Weakly, he snorts.
“Nah,” he responds eventually. “Mean I thought you was gettin yo shit wreck tonight.”
“Yeah,” She breathes, face falling with her tone. “Me too.”
“Was shit?”
“Horrible.” She grumbles, then, light in her voice, “I made you brush in the kitchen for nothing.”
“You’re good. Sound like it was rough.”
“Kind of.” Lexi listens into his sigh. “You sound like it was rough tonight too.”
Groggily, he hums at her, draws circles to her palm and she decides to keep it, curl her fingers in and cup his hand into hers.
Sharing the quiet with him, she’s playing with his hand, whirling his ring and squeezing his fingers.
After a minutes, she stops.
His thumb swipes over her fist like a reminder to move, and to it, she tugs him inward. She’s soft, whispering into the dim, “Come here?”
Toneless, he asks, “What for?”
“Cuddle.”
It’s silent again and, in response, his palm goes limp.
Along the delusions of swirling color in the darkness, she darts her eyes and finds it in herself to tug again, at a second time.
“Fezco?”
Without answering her, he suddenly pulls his hand from hers.
Her fingers recoil, withdraws in front of her as his body shifts. He’s turning and she can hear the bed match his movements: small squeaks, weight over the mattress that lightly bobbs her body like it were a trampoline.
There’s a dip behind her, he slips his forearm under her neck and she cowers into the warmth; to the way he nuzzles behind her, shares the lone pillow she rests on. His nose drags on her shoulder, accidental and brief, and his breath hits her skin. He’s emitting a soft, tired sigh.
He’s settling.
There’s some distance so he curls his arm, drags her closer to press a small kiss to the nape of her neck. His lips are damp, the burn lingers on her skin moments later, even after he relaxes back behind her with his face buried into the crook of her neck, light sniff.
She’s red in the face, body stilled and her breath bated to the hand he puts to her waist.
The silence is so loud that it becomes sonorous and she’s aware of every passing sound; more so to the sound of his breathing, the sound of his swallow.
Fezco shifts again, palming at the fabric of her dress while he adjusts himself.
Then, he pauses at the cloth and tightens his soft grip to her dress. It’s silk. It’s thin against her body and he’s observing aloud, more soberly, “You ain’t change?”
“No.” She breathes. Hardly.
His fingers play with the fabric. It’s thundering in her veins.
“S’like a gown, I guess.”
“Kind of.” She grumbles, softening in his hold. “It’s meant for something else, though. So, it’s kind of a bust.”
He snorts. “Damn, he really ain’t pass the smash test.”
“Nope,” She snickers, faint and nerved over the felt of him rubbing circles to her waist. “It’s fine. I just want to be by you.”
“You got it.” His voice makes his chest rumble on her spine. It nips. He moves closer to her, making matters worse with his nose prodding over her shoulder. He burrows into her body heat, resuming his train of thought, “Nah, tell me, though- what happened? Was that bad?”
“Worse. It was boring.” Lexi sighs, pausing into the dark, suddenly irritated as she resumes with, “... And it was bad.”
He shifts again, pressing his chest closer to her back, skin to skin. She can feel his hand slide from her waist like it were a dripping faucet, palm settling to her stomach; he’s innocent with it.
Lexi doesn’t think as innocently.
She’s tapering her focus into it, compressing her lips to the stout of his hand, fingers long and weighty- biting down her mouth, crushing her legs together.
Oblivious, he’s only breathing out, “Nah, really? Homeboy ain’t get no kiss or-”
“-Boring kisser, figure he’d be boring at-”
“-Yeah, yeah- I get you. S’good point.” he interjects, nodding to her with his finger hanging low, nearly touching at her core. Mindless, he goes on, “No moves?”
“He didn’t even compliment me, so.”
She could hear his eyes open, the soft flutter in the air.
“What?”
“He talked about himself the whole time. Barely looked at me.”
There’s a pause.
"Forreal?"
"Not even a bit."
“Yeah,” Fezco agrees to something, a bit too snappy, “Fuckin’ prick, then. Too fine for someone to not say shit, Lex. You’re, like, the prettiest girl out there.”
Lexi halts to that, heart up her throat. His hand is starting to drift lower unconsciously, like he isn’t thinking. He's flexing his hand out, resting his palm to her thigh and her leg is sedated to it.
“Really.” He insists.
Lexi’s losing her mind to how close he is, fainting into how easy it would be. She’s losing train of thought.
“Well- He, um, didn’t deliver… so…” Lexi mumbles, heated in the face, burning to his forearm; her cheek is pressed against it, he smells clean, feels soft but toned.
Lexi wants to know what it’s like. What he’s like.
Every girl she ever heard him with had always came out of the room with rutted locks, blown pupils and ripe mouths like he dragged them across the mattress and modified their insides with fleshy kisses, bites over their mouths and necks.
She wants to know what it feels like to be in his grip, over him or beneath him.
Lexi halts, heart going so fast that she holds her breath. At a chance, she soothes her embarrassment with lust; she shifts in his arms and he lightens his grip, expecting nothing but a short scoot.
But she moves back further on him. Her ass presses to his lower stomach and she glides down, rests over his core.
Body going rigid, he inhales sharply to it.
But he doesn't say anything. Fezco lets the darkness rule over the sound of his held in breaths.
His hand feels cramped.
Lexi continues as if she can’t feel his heart thump. She gulps so thick that he could hear her throat clog.
“... So, I guess the dress was pointless.” She whispers.
He doesn’t respond.
He’s waiting for her next move, in his head about it being just him, the scoot meaning nothing, countered in goodwill or some shit.
Trying not to welt to the way her ass is pressing right on his cock, he’s up a rout: he’s sure she can feel it. She has to feel it throb, start to twitch to her warmth, feel his chest strain.
Innocently, or more so out of being flustered, he sounds rambly, “So, you went and he just sat there dumb as shit? Did nothing for you?”
“No, he didn’t do anything.”
“You wanted him to?”
He brings his hand up, sliding up her curve, tips indenting into her hipbone.
There’s a small gasp- oh god. Oh god.
He squeezes her, asks, “Can you speak?”
“I can-“ She pausing to the tendons, he squeezed her again, “I- I just wanted to be taken care of, you know?”
He’s testing it.
He tightens his grip on her hip, and in response, she arches her back to it. At the felt, taking it as permission, he scoots her closer, face heating at how she only complies, presses her back closer to his chest, drags her ass over his dick print, her hand grabs at his wrist, grips on it.
His breathing evelates, she can feel it.
“He ain’t had somethin to say about your dress?” He asks it calm, like his hard on isn’t dragging on her. She can feel him, she knows it’s there but it feels pointless to say it out now. “Really?”
“Really,” Lexi murmurs, temples flushing so bright it must pry through the dark, glow in his touch- sunshine in his palm, “It’s more- it’s more so for taking off, so-” Lexi nearly chokes, it comes out small, so tiny. “I, Fezco-“
She’s caught in her throat, words clotted up at the felt of his hand moving down her stomach, it’s gradual, and she feels the difference. It’s deliberate this time.
Lexi blinks out of the daze, finishing her sentence exasperated, breathless, “Feels like a waste.”
“It ain’t a waste, Lexi.”
It’s quiet: the sound of his hand reaching down her thigh, pulses rattling against each other- it sounds earth shattering, it’s ringing in her ear, burning in her core. The sound of his hand moving down silk, the breath on her neck, the way he’s restricting himself by pressing his mouth to her back, keeping it there as a muzzle.
God, his mouth is so wet. As if to show it off to her, he’s dragging kisses over the singe of her skin. It must be obvious, the swelter of her body, heatwave of her torso.
She sounds muffled, soared in his touch and skin shuddering to it, “You don’t… you don’t think so?”
“Nah, I mean...” He shakes his head on her, voice going low, “You ain’t alone. Got me whenever you need it.”
It.
He usually would mean it friendly, like, mean it in a sense of she can sleep on his chest or lounge her legs to his, hook her arm over his neck and sleep with her cheek squashed on his shoulder.
Not mean it with his mouth on her skin, finger dragging down her body.
She clears her throat to the tap his finger makes, as if his own body was contemplating, and to the soft bite he makes to her skin, asking for her reaction, she slips out soft moans to the nip.
It sounds so sweet (she must be doing it on purpose, she must be- he’s wanting to ruin her for how innocent she sounds, how hot her body feels- god, he could ruin her).
Restricted, her voice is even sweeter, “Whenever I want you?”
He drags his mouth down her spine, she could feel him nod on her, soft droning sound.
“Whenever you need me.”
Her breath hitches to the trickle of his hand, the long drag it takes to her thigh, the peek his fingers make underneath her fabric, just the slightest- wanting to see what she does.
“It feels, um,” She starts, and it comes out restless, sounding dumb because she could feel him rise his fingers, very tips sliding to her inner thigh, rising to the heat and she’s biting onto her mouth- blazed in the face, “Hot- Fuck, it feels hot.”
“You feel hot.” He mumbles, and then she feels it- his mouth against her shoulder, small kiss, tender- matching the hand rising up her dress, tugging at her thigh, squeezing it before he rises up her dress, silk feeling like a border, “Why so warm, baby?”
Lexi could burn to being called that by him- she could be putty in his hand, molded however he’d like just to be called that.
She doesn’t say anything- it all goes fast: breathing heavily, she hooks her leg behind him, brings her thighs to an open and he’s burning up, mouth going slack on her shoulder, fingers lapsing at her covered core.
She jerks to the first touch- she could hear his soft groan to the wet- to the slide his fingers make on her.
“Fuck, you’re wet.” he’s breathing out, fueled by the slick of her cunt: it’s scorching, slippery, tight. His throat sounds tight, “Fuck.”
She cranes her neck back to the feeling of him rubbing it softly, clit thicken and panties drenched for him. It’s throbbing to the press of his thumb, surge of rushing blood.
To the felt of circular motions, the whirl of his lengthy finger, Lexi’s moaning, faint and barely there but within the dark, it’s booming in his senses.
“More.” she whispers. “Oh, god, please.”
He only nods in response, placing his fingers over the clothed core, nearly choking at how she grinds onto his fingers, the pressure he puts to her cunt just right- enough for her to squirm but not unravel to.
He kisses at her neck as she swirls her hips onto his palm, her soft whimpers are driving him insane. Like, actually insane. Feeling manic to it, he moves forward, brings his fingers beneath the fabric, pulls it down with two fingers, tangling with her limbs, letting it hang on one leg and he's hardening to the sound of his name coming out of her mouth: stiff and viscous.
He massages his kisses down to the crook of her neck and lets his teeth scrap over her, light bites to her crook just as his fingers swirl over her clit.
She pauses to that sensation, choking out a soft moan (god, if you’re there, you must be fucking real) it sounds angelic next to him, it sounds godlike being because of him.
He kisses at her skin, voice getting lost in her skin, “Wanna fuck my fingers?”
She nods profusely, going pale faced to the forearm pressed to her face curling in, moving her face to the side so he could kiss at her cheek, fingers swapping over her cunt, dipping into her arousal.
“Fezco, please-”
“- Please what?” His voice is so rough it makes her dizzy, so taunting that she’s nearly whimpering, “What’s wrong? What you want me to do?”
His finger is teasing at her cunt, circling around it, making a ring of fire. She’s burning. He’s killing her.
With fluttery blinks, Lexi’s voice comes out sounding like a whine, “Fuck me. Fuck me, please- please, please.”
Briefly, his finger stalls before it slides and dips down achingly slowly, up until the very tip of it sinks into her.
His kisses on her shoulder weaken: she’s tight. It’s like a tease to him; his cock throbs just to the compression of her walls, the pulse.
She’s so soaked that he accidentally snaps right in.
With a small twitch to her thigh, he pulses into her once, slower. His finger is big enough to snag every nerve, work out every inner knot.
“Poor girl.” His voice comes out throaty. “Gotta loosen you up.”
She pops out a breath, loud enough to make him jerk his finger into her again, bring her to take another finger, eager to stretch her out.
Letting out a small groan, he makes her take his fingers, slams her cunt down to his knuckle; her body lightly jolts to the fullness.
He traces his kisses to her neck, nipping at the very back, burning to sound of his name from her mouth. He works pulses onto her, hooks his fingers and rams it into the right spot. She can feel him pressing deep into her- their breathing goes rapid to the sound of soft smacking- sound of wetness.
“You a show off. A real big one, huh?” He mutters, teeth scraping at her skin and breath even more scolding, feeling rough along the span of her neck as his fingers go in slippery, curled up digits wrenching out louder moans. He feels dizzy to the sound. “You knew I could hear you, right?”
Nodding with a neck that feels loose, she gasps at the addition of another finger. Her hand reaches behind herself to clamp to him- anything connected to him. Almost careless, or erratic, he starts jamming his fingers into her, creating soft jumps to her body, her whimpering going louder, high pitched. He’s obsessed with it, enamored with her trembling breath.
Throat tightening, she tries to speak.
“Did you…” Her jaw loosens and all words cease to exist; he’s roughening with slow thrusts into her, vulgar jabs that make wet skin making smacking. She pauses to the feeling, and at the sound of his hum, like he wanted her to go on, she asks with a feeble tongue, “Did you like hearing me? Did you- you ever wanted to make me sound that way too?”
“You don’t Even know.” He’s bites lightly to the crook of her neck, earning a dizzy groan from her. “Could fuck myself to the sound of you.”
At the rising pulse to his hand, she’s squirming to it, chest heaving through an explosive rise to her own, his thumb taps to her clit.
Her walls start to clench on his fingers, clit being hammered by his thumb now humming to his skin.
Her breathing tightens, legs tremble.
“That’s it, Lexi, good fucking girl, you’re so good, baby-” His voice comes out as raspy as it is mocking. “Practice for my cock, right? You gonna take it all?”
She nods vigorously, core pulsating and near the rim of her orgasm. She can feel it run out of her just as he bites at her shoulder, sucks onto her through frenzied pulses, digits sliding through her skillfully.
She finally understands why every girl that comes out of his room seem to wither on the counter. She does. It’s so obvious. His hand shouldn’t feel that good, it shouldn’t match his words so clean cut, but it does.
Firmly tapping at his wrist, he pulls his touch out of her and he’s reading her through her buzzing skin, unhooking her leg from him with a soft push at the back of her thigh. She lets her legs fall to a close, heave to her chest, core still aching; still yearning.
He could hear her move briskly, sheets crinkling and, with both of them laboring in breath, she twirls her body to face him, burning at the clamp of his hands to her waist. He sharply tugs her over him.
Caging him with her legs, thighs framing his body, she grabs at his jaw to yank him to her mouth, nearly busting their lips together through a rough kiss.
There isn’t rhyme to it- their teeth clink onto each other, lapses of kisses not making sense through sloppy meshes.
He curses to her mouth, lips so wet and plump that they keep slipping from rough grinding on each other. Lexi has to hold onto his jaw to keep them from slipping off.
She drops her hand to his neck, palming at his pulse through a soft bite at his bottom lip.
He tastes like peppermint, tongue soft in contrast to the gruffness of his hand to her hip. He’s guiding her into a softer grind over his cock, arching his hips to meet her and she’s just as good as he thought.
She rocks over this thickness - and to the rise of pleasure, the shortness of his breath - his mouth slacken to the pressed drags of her wet cunt over his clothed cock.
”Just like that.” He’s barely a whisper, it’s like he mouthed it and she’s reading the movement of his mouth.
Their lips shift on each other, nothing but hot breath- their spit weaving and skin feeling like hot wax.
Groaning softly, as deep as she has heard through thin walls, he’s murmuring onto her lips, “Wanna fuck you limp- you want that?”
She rests her palm over his cheek, nods feeling discombobulated- tipping his chin to kiss her again- it’s loud, wet like the sharp movements over his core, groans whisking together.
Still stuck in darkness, they’re focusing on nothing but that: feeling, hyper vigilant of every touch, grazes feeling like snatches, kisses like nicks and cuts.
Over the soft kisses to her mouth, he goes to ask, “You still on birthcon-”
“-obviously, Fezco.” She pants over his skin, almost humorous at the small smirk he makes on her skin, “Did you think I was just risking it?”
“S’valid question.” he kisses at her jaw, slides down to kiss her bottom lip, and then, low voiced, “Get on my cock then, smartass.”
She pulls away from his mouth, hands twitching as she reaches between their bodies, wrenching to the fire over her face at the sound of his incoherent curses to the faint grab her hand makes to his cock.
She can feel the fleshy veins; so thick and hard that there’s a thud to it.
As if to alleviate some of the pressure, she jerks him once, palm folding over the tip- collecting the bits of pre-cum and slathering it onto his shaft.
She leans over him, kisses at his mouth; flush on her chest to the way he doesn’t kiss her back through another jerk down his cock- like he's delirious to it.
Swallowing thickly- thick enough for Lexi to churn to it, he says, “Fuck me, Lexi.”
Her head lightens.
She points his tip to her opening; her cunt feels plush, almost swollen to the tap of his dick to her clit- and at the slide of his cock down her slit, they both go soundless to the slow press of him inside of her.
With a sliding grip up from her hips, fingers caved into her plush skin, nails pinching, he reels her down his length.
She takes him all, they both pause at it- he’s trying to be kind, help her adjust before he lifts her back up but he keeps just wanting to pound into her, wanting to rip her apart.
She’s squeezing every sensitive nerve on him, so snug that he almost has to fight to keep his cock inside of her- so he moves, decides to split her in two.
He jerks himself into her, blowing out a low ‘fuck’, complimentary to her soft whimper. As if to be lost in it, she flutters her hands over his chest, grips onto his chain just as he snaps his hips into her, cock feeling heavy in her heat.
“Take my dick so good.” He tells her through a yank at her hips, forcing her into riding his length, drenching him with her slick arousal, “You’re so fine, Lexi.”
She goes slack on him, gripping onto her hips tighter to pump himself in her; her body jumps at each hit. His movements go frantic, fueled and tense like he had been waiting for it, dreaming about her undoing herself on his cock.
“God, yes-” She whimpers it breathlessly, small in voice- so cock drunk that it brings something out of him- he tugs her back down, snaps her cunt into his hips.
She’s falling forward, body going weak to his shallow thrusts, and in advantage of that, he brings his hand over her throat.
“You into-”
“Yes.” She murmurs, barely there through a daze, cunt being torn apart by his coarseness, the sound of his breath wavering through hot pleasure, “Squeeze.”
He squeezes at her throat gently, moderately tight as he holds her into place- dragging her into rough fucking, cock pounding into her and fingers curled over her skin.
At the sound of her bared breath, whimpers so uncontrolled that he’s blushing to it, he pulls her inward by the hand over her throat to kiss at her mouth, eat her moans.
She’s squeezing at his cock, he could feel him nearing it- feel his cock start to twitch through the thick plunges, her hips rolling into it, nothing but the felt of her hands, sound of her timid moans over him.
He thrusts into her a few times, palm sore on her throat- forcing her to take rough pulses, rhythm going rabid to the continuous low chant on his name.
At a slipped out moan, the rumble of it- she grips onto his wrist, pauses his movements and, moan going louder, she works his cock into herself, riding him with deep, mind blowing grinds.
He chokes to that, hand shifting from her throat, sliding up to reach at her jaw.
“Fuck, you hot.” He murmured, low rumbling voice encouraging her to ride him faster- just to hear him moan, panting to the growing whine- she’s so close, chasing the high with burning thighs, head cluttered.
“Take it just like that, Lexi- Just like that, pretty girl,” he helps her with stuttering hips, hands gripping to her jaw- anything close to her, “Gonna make me cum all over you.”
She’s ripping out an orgasm, body pausing at him through it so he finishes himself with slicing thrusts into her.
His plunges are scathing, abrasive to the cut of her breath- at the hand that slips from her jaw, threading into the strands of her hair and gripping tightly to it, she tells him, “Give it, Fez, I wan’t you to finish in me.”
Hearing her say that is enough for him to cum on his own, without touch. With his cock thumping into her, pace going rabid, her breath sporadic and temperamental, it’s all he needs to spill hot liquid into her.
She jolts to the hotness, the feeling of him filling inside of her with juddering hips- movements slowing into her.
“Fuck-” He hisses, body throbbing, tottering to the most intense flash of touch he has had, “Oh, fuck-”
He lets out a final groan before his grip loosens, hips slowing on her and she's able to finally breathe. Taking in a breath, her core going sore, she slowly leans herself down to him- chest falling to his with a gentle thud, a soft breath to the felt of his warmth.
Panting into each other, limbs convulsing and silence feeling harder, her mouth presses into his throat. He eases onto her, hand finally moving, tiny strokes to her scalp.
“You-” He sounds breathy, buzzing hand evident over the hum of her skin, “- You fine? Wasn’t hard on you?”
Shaking her head, she says, ”No, Fez, I’m okay.”
He said it like an aftershock, "Fuck, you're good."
"You too."
He relaxes to that, brings his hand to cup at the back of her head, careful in removing himself from her, letting their skin stick and her breath slide over his skin.
Her shoulder burns. She can feel it in the aftermath: bite shaped like his teeth, probably pink and raw, flushed.
Randomly, after he adjusted her head into the crook of his neck, she croaks out, "I- I saved some food for you."
He pauses to that, dazed through her voice; she's imagining furrowed eyebrows, squinted eyes, "You what?"
"I saved you food."
It's silent, then, dully, "Ion like sushi, Lex."
"I know," he could feel her tip her head up, "I wanted to make fun of you- but I'll buy you lunch tomorrow for this."
He snorts, "For what? Fucking you?"
She remasters that with a mental air quote,"Or 'the help'."
He nods slowly, soft in his chuckle.
"Made up for the date?"
"Completely." She lets them fade back into quiet. After thought, her voice crinkles back into the air; his eyes open to it, "Do you hate me now?"
He shifts her closer to him, turning his head to press his mouth to her forehead- light.
"Not even a bit." He murmurs to her skin, hand looping to rub her shoulder, "I wanted that, Lex- had me thinkin' on you- And you'd help me if I needed it."
She nods to that; making a silent agreement.
She'd help him too.
She'd help him too for sure.