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It had been a while since you'd last seen Caleb. Normally—ever since your work as a Hunter had taken up so much of your time—the moments you'd run into him were sporadic, almost timed to fit into your busy schedules. You might go out for lunch, spend an afternoon at someone's house playing a game, or simply chat in a coffee shop you'd mentioned wanting to visit sometime.
At first, getting rid of Caleb's company was difficult, but adjusting to not seeing him seemed like the new normal. A normal that perhaps felt a little refreshing.
Finally, you could think about someone other than him. Caleb shouldn't be everyone, and you shouldn't be everyone to him either, because Caleb was becoming something.
Incomprehensible, something that shouldn't be, nor something you should think about that way, your relationship was being tainted by confusion, by the absence of someone else, and that couldn't be healthy.
And so your conversations and texts became infrequent, calls a fleeting joy, and news something to share only on social media.
That was an understatement, because lately you had met a new man who was taking up your time. A messenger from the Farspace Fleet, who used to arrive at the Deepspace Hunters building offices when you were working on written reports about your patrols and solved cases.
It was only a few weeks, a few where his good mornings and compliments on silly details sparked your interest in the young man. That messenger, who went by the name of Dain, not only possessed a better-than-average physique, but he also maintained an interest in you that you wanted to exploit.
And so it was, when two weeks ago you exchanged numbers. Two weeks where you'd talk every night about your tastes: culinary, musical, theatrical, and more.
That's how you discovered that Dain liked playing Street Fighter with his brother when he was younger. It reminded you of the times you and Caleb would spend hours playing because you wouldn't let the brunette leave until you'd won fair and square.
And yes, you had a quick idea to invite Dain over to your house to play for a while and get to know each other better.
"I always play with Juri," you say holding the game controller.
"Really?" Dain comments, hesitating between several characters. "I usually play with Ryu, pretty basic of me, right?"
I chuckle. "A little."
"It's my brother's fault. The first time I played, I chose Chun-Li, but he told me that's not what real men chose," Dain explains. "We were under ten, so we weren't that manly, but it just got the way it is."
"Your brother sounds pretty uptight," you say.
"He is. The punchline is that when we hit adolescence, he only played with the girls. Can you believe it?"
You laugh, remembering how many years ago Caleb was perhaps similar, and you liked to tease him about it, telling him he was a loser who liked pixels on the screen. Then he'd make silly excuses, claiming he only chose them because he had to be good with the whole range of characters the game had to offer.
"And you? Any similar anecdotes about why you always choose Juri?" Dain asks.
"She's pretty," you reply.
"Is that it? Because she's pretty?" Dain laughs. "You're a sucker for pretty faces."
"I am," you reply with the same playful air. "Is there a problem with that, Mr. Dain?"
"Not at all," he answers, extending his index finger and thumb, placing them under his chin in a gesture. "Is that the only reason you spoke to me?"
"Oh no, you've got me," you mimic.
Dain makes an offended gesture, but it's quickly silenced by laughter that joins yours. The messenger boy is cute; he's fun to talk to, to get to know, and you can't deny that. It seems he feels the same way. Something's off, but it's not something you need to dwell on right now.
Behind your laughter, you hear the sound of the front door opening after the code unlocks. The laughter dies down, and you both turn toward the source of the sound.
You don't have time to wonder if it's an intruder because you see a very familiar figure: tall, strong, and completely serious. Supermarket bags fall to the ground at either end of his legs with a thud. No one says a word, and the character selection music is the only thing that punctuates the spontaneous moment.
"Caleb..." His name escapes your lips with a sigh. His left eye flickers before the light fades again, lost in the depths of his seriousness. "What are you doing here?"
The question is necessary to break the tension. Caleb snaps out of his trance before answering.
"I was going to surprise you with a home-cooked meal," he says. "I didn't know you'd have company."
"I told you I'd be busy this weekend," you reply.
"I figured it would be work, you're always busy with it." Caleb picks up the bags that had fallen to the floor, lifting them so slowly it's awkward.
Behind you, the sofa creaks and dips. A whisper raises the hairs on the back of your neck as Dain murmurs.
"Should I go?"
Your eyes, fixed on Caleb, tighten as he sees you so close to Dain. He's already gathered the bags and it looks like he's at least going to leave them on the kitchen table. For some reason, his indifferent seriousness doesn't sit well with you. Suddenly, you want to neglect your guest so you can talk to the other man who has been a constant presence in your life. You turn to look at Dain; he's pale, something you hadn't expected.
"I didn't know you were friends with the Colonel" he says.
"I'm not his friend" you reply. Dain goes even paler.
"Oh..." Dain hurries away. He gets up from the sofa. He rushes to get his bag, which he'd left casually on the coat rack in the living room. "I think I'd better go."
You don't argue with him, because it seems like a sensible option at this moment, or perhaps not sensible at all. Caleb comes out of the kitchen and looks at the other man, whose face has lost any semblance of vibrancy it might have had when he'd been laughing with you in the living room.
"Are you leaving now?" Caleb looks at Dain, raising an eyebrow with a disgust you only see when he's truly annoyed with you.
"Yes, Colonel." The messenger clutches his bag tightly to his chest, as if that could somehow protect the rigidity in every muscle of his body.
"It's early" Caleb remarks.
"All the more reason I shouldn't stay out late alone with a woman," Dain says, giving you one last look. "Do you think you could open the door for me...?"
"I will" Caleb offers, not giving Dain time to refuse. You doubted he would have refused in the first place. He seemed intimidated by the position Caleb held for him.
Caleb, Caleb, Caleb. Who was Caleb to get angry because you brought a man into your house and throw such a tantrum as if he weren't a grown man?
Who the hell did he think he was? And who the hell did you think he was? Because you felt angry, upset, caught red-handed, you'd committed such a grave sin that you had no right to criticize Caleb's anger, the damned man who'd grown up with you, whom you were sick of seeing, whose absence would definitely wreak havoc on your life.
When he returned, he stood right in the corner overlooking your living room. He sighed deeply; you could see his clothes were dark and heavy, matching his demeanor, a color Caleb rarely wore around you.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" you asked.
"What do you want me to say?" Caleb replied.
"Something" you reply. "Dain left for a reason, and I don't think it's because of the huge smile you obviously don't have on your face."
"Dain." laughter escapes his lips, sharp as a dagger. "I guess you two are such good friends now."
"Does it even matter? We'd just have an afternoon of games."
"Hmm, I see." His voice is dangerous, sharp, distilled.
He takes one step, then two, finally three and more toward you, stopping by the sofa, looking down at you. If he wanted to dye himself red, it would suit him, but dyed black would be ideal, the color of a wine so sour it would match the anger beneath every thread of his clothing. You hated this Caleb, a Caleb so bitter he didn't fit with the best laughs you'd ever had.
"Is that what you're going to do? Keep your shit to yourself?" His annoyance finally reaches you, and you want to fight him.
"Yeah," he replies bluntly. "You're busy today, you don't have time for me. You texted me yourself."
"What the hell is wrong with you?" you yell, holding nothing back.
"What's wrong with me?" he doesn't yell, but his tone is deep, grave, with a hint of something he knows he's holding back. "You could have told me you were busy with someone."
"I don't have to tell you everything I do, Caleb." You can't keep arguing in that vulnerable position, you stand up. "You, you don't define what I do or don't do. If I want to meet someone, I'll do it. I don't need your permission or approval. Even if Dain hadn't existed in this context, I wouldn't have to tell you. I wasn't born attached to you, I don't owe you all my time."
"And you think I don't know that?" Caleb shouts,"But you know very well what's going on."
Silence. That damned silence touches every atom in the room. A time bomb you knew would explode soon, listening to the ticking that was getting closer, so soon but never. There was no longer a never, it was now. Now the bomb would explode.
Your skin tingled with something unfamiliar, a heat followed by a headache. Suddenly there was too much light, too much clarity, too much silence, too much of everything.
"Are you interested in that messenger?" he asks.
"He's a good man." You have to answer that looking away from him. You know that if you look at him, you'll betray things that didn't seem sensible.
"That's not the question I asked," Caleb spits out. Seeing your silence, he takes your chin more roughly than usual and forces you to look at him. You find in his usually purple eyes the emptiness of dark space. It's not just anger, it's desperation. "Do you like him? Yes or no?"
"So what if I like him?" you spit out the question.
Caleb's expression twists in shame. What? That's what you wanted to shout at him. What would he do if that were true? If you really wanted to hold hands, share chocolates on Valentine's Day, or receive flowers from Dain? What would he do if you truly liked Dain enough for a relationship as deep as dating?
"So you like him" Caleb finally releases your jaw, his hand falling to his hip as he sighs in defeat.
He takes a step back. The air between you loses its vibrancy, and you think perhaps it was because your Evol were roaring, holding each other back. Caleb gives no further indication; he simply accepts the conclusion he's reached, even if it isn't true.
"We've only known each other for two weeks." you cut off his farewell. You make sure he stays in the conversation. "Two weeks is enough to like someone?"
"Oh, Pips, he definitely liked you at least" Caleb replies.
"What good is that if it's not reciprocated?"
Caleb looks at you, unsure what to do. His body tenses even more than it did a moment ago; You can see it in his jaw, in the way he swallows.
"How can I think it's not reciprocated if you invite him over to your house alone, if you share stories, if you laugh with him? But hey, I guess friends do that too, right?" he says. "We do those things."
"You and I aren't just friends, Caleb."
"Then what are we if not friends?"
Neither of you says anything, neither of you takes the first step. For as long as you can remember, Caleb has always been there for you, first scolding you like a brother would, then, putting that aside, becoming more like your playmate. Children who, in their infancy, fully enjoyed an unbreakable friendship; where he was, you were, and where you were, Caleb was. Maybe it wasn't healthy, but no one could conceive of the two of you separately; you were always a duo.
And that's why it was catching up with you now. As adults, they couldn't keep up the charade of friendship, of distance, of the convoluted mess they controlled with anger, remorse, or a jealousy that boiled water faster than fire.
If you want this to end, you have to be the one to start it.
The steps Caleb took backward, you take forward. He looks at you, denying reality, denying it when your hand takes his and raises it to your cheek, the flat part warming with his unique heartbeat, playing for you.
"It's not the face of a friend you're seeing now" you say, and everything shatters.
Caleb's theater collapses, blinds, lights, the entire stage crumbling.
His other hand rushes to cradle your face, pressing hard against you as your desperate lips meet. Warm, you can only think that his lips emit a warmth so unique that even if you searched through billions of people on Earth, you wouldn't find lips like his.
"I'm a fool," he says between the kiss, between each breath. "I don't know, how could I have held this back?"
When he gives you air, you reply, "Don't, accept it, I just did."
His angelic violet color has returned, the reflection of the perfection of creation, and perfection is looking at you as if you were the most precious wonder in its life.
Caleb is desperate for more of you, to finally hold you in his arms. That man wants to possess everything, like the selfish being he is, and to do so, he won't hesitate to tear it all away if necessary. It's no longer enough, the sweet surface of your lips isn't enough, just as admiring poppy petals isn't enough. He needed more, he needed to be intoxicated by their seeds, he needed to be lifted by the taste of your tongue.
Oh, Caleb needed you like he needed to breathe.
Shamelessly, without asking, he inserted his wet tongue into your mouth with smacking sounds. You felt it rush across your tongue, sucking it in, drawing out the taste of your saliva. Caleb grazed his upper teeth against yours a couple of times, but it was because he was overwhelmed by the anxiety that seethed within him to possess you.
"I like you." His words carried a double meaning. He liked you like someone loves an impossible love, but he also wanted every cell in his body to be imprinted with yours. "Tell me you want the same, tell me and you'll make me the happiest man in the world."
The plea echoed in your ears. He looked miserably in love with the idea.
"I like you more than anything in this life, Caleb."
That was all it took for the brunette to sweep you off your feet, as if you were nothing but a feather. He didn't even need his Evol, because what was moving him was the pure desire to have you there already. With his hands on your waist, he didn't stop kissing you as he walked to your private room, one that Caleb recognized from spending occasional time with you.
Only the wet sound of your mouths stopped when, with the gentleness of someone handling porcelain, he laid you down on your bedspread. The pale sheets embraced you, sinking the mattress beneath you, then the weight of the man who supported himself with both hands on either side of your head.
Caleb settled into you, his pelvis fitting between your legs like a lock and key, and you would have felt more if it weren't for the denim shorts that blocked all external sensation, but such thoughts didn't seem to cross Caleb's mind; he was absorbed in the position he had finally put you in.
"Still hesitating?" you ask.
"Now that I have you like this, never again, Pipsqueak." The nickname eases the tension. Caleb runs his hands up your bare thighs to where your shorts end, feeling your skin as if he can't believe it.
"You can take them off" you say, referring to your shorts. Caleb's palms emanate an unmistakable warmth.
Caleb unbuttons the metal button of your shorts, then you hear the characteristic sound of the zipper being lowered. Caleb does it slowly, as if that might scare you. But nerves can't be controlled so easily. When you know he's going to pull them down, leaving you naked from the waist down, you avoid eye contact. The ceiling is your friend now that nerves are running imperceptibly through your gut. You hear the sharp sound of your pants hitting the floor, then a breath that grows steadily in the silence. Caleb doesn't say anything, so you look at him, and just as you do, his hands slide down the parts your shorts were covering.
"Say something." You don't know where to hold on, to the sheets or your shirt.
"What could I say now?" He laughs, his finger tracing the elastic of your underwear, a pair you know isn't the prettiest, or the newest, a pair that's even faded from so many washes. I thought Caleb might not find it appealing. "Half my mind is just thinking about how I want to take this thing off you, and the other half is terrified of messing something up."
"Better focus on the first half."
"That would be the best way to start, but—"
Caleb pauses and positions his left hand on your right thigh, opening your legs slightly. His right hand, which was on the elastic, extends all its fingers, some of which you feel brush against the abdomen that was peeking out from the way your shirt was positioned a while ago.
"The second half gives me ideas about how to make all this feel good for you." He continues. It's not long before you feel his right hand decide to work, sliding down the mound of your intimate area. His thumb gets dangerously close to the center, right in the middle, when he presses down, and you know what he's going to do. He lowers it over your underwear, his finger sinking into the position of your clitoris. "Did I get it right?"
It's not shame you feel, it's something deeper than even the nervousness that still lingers in your veins. It's heat, a pure need for him to continue but also to stop. Caleb moves his thumb gently up and down, not enough pressure to fully awaken you, but just enough to begin what you were about to do. You lower your hand onto his, specifically onto his thumb, and guide it to the angle you like to pleasure yourself in solitude.
Caleb chuckles as you show him how you want his thumb to move on you, and he presses hard until sighs can no longer be contained, until you close your eyes and let him do all the work.
You couldn't look him directly in the eyes at this moment, not when you were biting your lip, thinking about not letting the obscenity consume you so early, when his thicker hand was not only exploring your clitoris, but also raising your temperature with his left hand, which was playing right at the intersection of your leg and your intimate area.
The man hadn't even taken off your panties or your shirt yet, but he already had you.
"Faster? Harder? How do you want it, Pips?" Caleb asks.
"Rougher" you request, a smile spreading across the lips of the one you're addressing.
He obeys, and you're sure he understood perfectly. The murmur of your breath can no longer be contained. You decide it's a matter of time; Caleb would hear your shy moans at his foolish act.
When he's rough, as you'd asked, you've had to push yourself up with the tips of your toes on the mattress to push against his thumb, which was squeezing that bell between your legs. It was delicious, and insufficient. You needed more, not just a measly thumb.
"It's starting to spill." Caleb's confession pulls you out of your trance. "All your underwear is soaked."
The heat rises to your ears. You can't tell if Caleb is laughing nervously or because he genuinely finds the situation funny. He admits he's had enough of these games and tosses aside your wet panties, holding them with his right hand and letting his left hand explore your entrance. You don't even feel the first finger slide in, only the warmth already inside you. Your eyes widen like two wild moons. You stifle an exclamation as Caleb continues moving, on your clitoris, and inside you with his finger.
"You took it well..." he says. You feel the second finger probing, splashing a couple of times before pushing. This one you feel in its full glory, when it opens you, when it presses firmly against the other. You shudder. Foreign fingers feel different from your own. "See, my fingers are inside you."
Caleb pushes them in, gently but trying to go deep. You know they're touching places you've only ever been able to graze. You have no idea if you should think about anything specific, but they feel so present that you seek his gaze. Caleb catches it and lowers one hand to lean more firmly, higher up. You don't expect it and you kiss him.
Time abandons space, something that seems impossible in the four dimensions where what you know as reality coexists. Caleb devours your mouth as if his life depended on it, with no intention of lowering the modesty that never existed. His fingers don't abandon their mission: one, two, three in quick succession, three thrusts of his palm against your lips as they collide, trying to push his fingers deeper. Officially, you've lost yourself.
And more. You want to scream at him that you could never forgive him, but his kisses silence your thoughts. His kisses soothe that desperate beast that had already forgotten that just a moment ago you were fighting.
Now you were completely at his mercy.
"Ugh, fuck." Caleb's weight fell onto the mattress, pressing down on half of your body. It only took him a few seconds to unbutton his black pants and pull out what you now saw was a massive erection. "Forgive me, Pips, I can't take it anymore."
Caleb jumps up, pulls you down with absurd force, and makes you slide down the mattress until your lower body is almost hanging off the end of the bed. With his pants half-up, he decides it's more important to get rid of your underwear, and his hands are quick to move.
Caleb can see your pussy clearly now.
He kneels down, leaving no time for embarrassment, his mouth perfectly positioned over your lips, but not over your face.
Caleb gives the first lick, and you shudder so hard you slip out of his grasp. You know his hands are busy unzipping his pants and pulling his cock out. He wants to touch himself, to let the pleasure engulf him while he has you the way he could only allow himself in twisted fantasies that left him feeling dirty afterward.
Finally, he can give free rein to taste you. Nothing will stop him, not even the overwhelming need to relieve the pain in his hot length.
That's why he doesn't hesitate for a second to position your legs as wide open as possible, and use that unique force of his upon you. Mysterious, almost invisible, his Evol acts by pressing beyond the almost tenth of the true gravity of this planet. You quickly realize there's no escape; he will fulfill the silent command you've been thinking of.
When he continues his work, he doesn't rest. On your clitoris, between your folds, he superficially penetrates your entrance with his tongue, slippery as if bathed in oil, not giving himself time to breathe as it turns red.
In the background, you hear flesh bouncing against his surface. He's pleasuring himself as he kisses every part of you. Impure. There's no censorship, only the truth of the heat he feels for you. Caleb is desperate for you, desperate for you to give him everything, and you're going to give it to him.
When a series of cramps swirl in your abdomen, moving in front, behind, beneath the skin, they raise goosebumps all over your body. You know it's coming, you know there's no way to hold back or make the brunette stop.
"Caleb!" The voice doesn't stop. You reach out and grab his hair in one last desperate attempt. Your legs can't be closed, so your last option is to use your arms.
You mercilessly push his face against your cunt, letting him kiss that vulgar longing one last time. He's yours, this man is completely yours, the pleasure he gives you is yours. You scream, letting the pressure burst forth in convulsions, your breath falters, you thrust, seeking double the pleasure. There is no more, yet at the same time, it is so much more than more. You explode on his lips and can finally say you are defeated.
You collapse, but Caleb doesn't. A while ago, as you came, you felt his voice trying to be heard like vibrations in those sensitive areas. You thought how selfish of you not to let him express himself.
But Caleb wasn't seeking to express himself in words; he was seeking to let his moans announce that he, too, was experiencing unparalleled pleasure.
You look at him fully clothed, but with his pants askew, his hand moving up and down his length. Your vision is still blurred from the intensity of your orgasm, but it's enough to know that Caleb's naked cock is lascivious, and when he notices you watching him, biting your lip, he breaks down, ceasing to function, only to cry out your name as the first thick, molasses-like, milky-white spurts fall onto your mound, onto part of your exposed abdomen, onto your shirt.
You don't mind; in fact, you enjoy seeing him so ravaged by something that hadn't even involved penetration. With just his hands, he'd already made him the only one your body would respond to.
"Shit, sorry," he says when he's finally finished coming. He reaches over the shirt and tries to wipe it off, but the fabric has already absorbed some of it. "I'll wash it for you later, I promise."
"It's fine, don't worry." You hold out your hands so he understands he should hug you; his Evol has worn off. Caleb obeys, falling on top of you and quickly burying his face in your neck, his body still warm.
In a couple of seconds, you're both laughing, not out loud, but from the bottom of your hearts.
"Did you like it?" he asks.
"Does it seem like I didn't?"
"I want to hear it from you," he says.
This moment, after so many emotions and hormones in the air, fills your heart. You can't see Caleb's face, but you can feel his hair tickling your face. You tilt your head slightly and whisper.
"Caleb, I liked him" you say. "And I like you too."
Finally, everything is yours. All these years underground have given birth to their first offspring. Your love transcends the limitations of your past, transcends your childhood and upbringing.
You like Caleb, there's no doubt about it. You wouldn't know what world he couldn't exist in; you'd be empty without your other half.
It was okay to accept it. In the end, you and Caleb were made of the same stuff, and two sides of the same coin, though different, will always be the same.
The end.