Archive of Our Own

my saccharine siren,

who slips into silk,

and when I slip,

into her, i am so.

so in love, vexingly so.

with my virgin vixen,

perhaps not for long.

— milan f. novak ❤︎

⁠in moments like these,

with the animals i find,

there’s a grand divide.

one in my mind,

another in experiences,

where you make me feel,

quite divine.

❤︎ vesper ashley —

step one.

Vesper had always tried to maintain a routine despite the many challenges she faced after moving in with Milan—and the others, for that matter—but it never really stuck long enough for it to matter. The three were spontaneous, reckless, and prone to procrastination. The kind of people with habits that became obstructions, and a lack of initiative that left her to keep the place from chaos. Utter fools in Vesper’s book, though she didn’t mind, at least she tried not to.

It was a rather warm autumn, days just after summer, when Vesper found herself constantly surrounded—if not followed around by—the three, Milan notoriously so. It was an unprecedented occurrence for Vesper; she couldn't see the logistics as to why. The three didn’t miss her, as with a remote job that’s for certain, but they sought her company regardless.

“What is it? Please, Milan, enlighten me. For what purpose do you seek my attention?”

It came to an end eventually, as Vesper coldly cut their partner off mid-ramble. Her brows furrowed as she wielded the kitchen knife, having grown tired of his interference as she prepared supper for the home.

“Ah, doll—Ves.. well, you see… I… Can’t a lover hang around her beloved for a little here and there?”

Vesper’s expression shifted, from annoyance to that of perplexity, and she shook her head. The knife-wielding hand moved, calculated enough not to harm, but it was something to be wary of as she responded, “No. In fact, my ..love, can hang the laundry instead—or perhaps put the dryer to use instead. Whichever presents the greatest efficiency,”

Just the mere drop of the word, ‘love,’ from Vesper’s lips—even in the dry tone of hers—had Milan’s eyes light up, “Oh, ..hah. Whatever you say, beautiful!” He spoke with the sort of adoration that came with a sigh, as his words then tightened with a singsong tune, like a present wrapped with a bow.

Milan then strutted off, away from the kitchen and to their newly assigned task. Leaving Vesper to her desired peace and quiet, the kind where she could optimally chop vegetables, meat, and her drifting thoughts as she followed her mental schedule. An arrangement like this wasn’t exactly what she had anticipated for a woman like herself. Vesper didn’t at all think she’d find that a (former) blazing star of an actor would fancy her. Milan was the great contrary to her every interest in daily life, yet she reciprocated the man’s feelings regardless. Vesper didn’t know how she felt about that.

For she knew she was plain, boring—like beige, as Ocho might describe it—but Vesper was content with herself. She liked her own quiet nature, though perhaps, upon further reflection, that calm may have been what drew Milan’s heart to her.

Unfortunately, that quiet came short. As Vesper put the lid on the pot to let it boil, she found herself a few inches in the air as arms tightly wrapped around her waist—whisking her up and away from the kitchen. It was completely uncalled for, something that had the air in her lungs still for just a moment.

Then she acts. She knew exactly who was behind her, with such great speed, carrying her with even greater ease. There was only one man in the whole household who’d dare to do that.

“..Ocho, please put me down.”

It almost sounds polite, but it’s too controlled—flat. She pushes a thumb between Ocho’s hands, an attempt to loosen his grip, only to be met with his boisterous laughter as he nuzzles against the back of her neck, “Oh! Vespie—you’re so funny, so funny!” His breath is hot against her skin, and she hates it, but the warm, clean, near-clinical scent of her is an experience that Ocho thinks is to die for.

“I’ve asked you not—don’t do this without warning—ah!” Vesper’s words were diced about as neatly as her own chopping skills, with Ocho’s every move to the penthouse’s couch throwing her off, making her tense even further. “Ocho, cease this at once.”

“You’re making such funny noises, Vespie, baby.”

Vesper grimaced, she didn’t like that diminutive, especially not as she could feel every syllable—straight into her ear—then Ocho backed up onto the couch, with Vesper landing squarely on Ocho’s lap, resulting in a soft grunt from the woman. “I hadn’t even set a timer for the soup,”

“Oh, you are making soup?”

A voice cuts through Vesper’s stern thought process and her attempts to escape. It’s rough, but familiar. It’s Perseid. Vesper turns her head, tilting past Ocho’s frenzied stare to affirm her expectations. Perseid did, in fact, sit by the other side of the couch, with their legs crossed as that ever-silky and lengthy hair of theirs cascaded down at a precise angle to obscure Vesper’s way to see their face. “Quite so, ..and I am anticipating complaints from our collective,”

“Guhh, yeah, I don’t like veggies, Vegsper!”

Once more, Vesper is brought back to the uncomfortable reality she’s in, besides the constant prickling she felt her skin trapped in as Ocho’s hands tightened further. She was now—practically, at least—being rattled by the man as he whined in her ear. She could see the acrylic paint specks on his arms, and she hated the idea of it sticking to her.

“..‘Cho, I do not think you are to keep …shaking Ves like that—”

“But why? She should know vegetab-os are for lame-os, I want more meat ..hah, a whole lot.”

It took all of Vesper’s will as she remained silent to gather her courage; she didn’t at all like violence, but perhaps a mere necessary evil is needed for inescapable situations like these. It was an unfortunate conclusion that Vesper had come to in the current moment. So she elbows Ocho straight in the chest, it wasn’t anything of great force, though—especially not for a woman of her weight class—yet it was enough to startle Ocho, becoming enough to free her as she stood up immediately.

“Ack! Ow… Perseid, look! She’s turning against us… What the fuck!”

“…Non, that was clearly your fault.” Perseid shook his head, his body fully turning away in disapproval, and the fact that he had to hold back laughter. Vesper, on the other hand, smoothed out her cotton shorts as she exchanged glances with the general vicinity of Ocho and Perseid.

She wasn’t the kind to stare someone down head-on, but she always made up for it with her words. “Quite frankly, with your impudent behavior, it was something highly granted to occur,” Regardless of how lengthy her verbal strings tend to be.

“Ouch! Fuck! Straight to the heart, my ice queen!”

In turn, Ocho gripped his chest as Vesper ended her sentence in a huff. He let out a small yowl of pain before flopping onto his side, his hand just barely brushing against Perseid’s thigh. It was in this melodramatic reaction that Milan came over; the situation was practically a calling for someone of her nature. Milan herself feigned an aghast expression, as if she truly was choked up at the sight of Ocho playing dead, like Vesper herself was caught red-handed in a crime like this.

“Oh! Vesp, how could you? He was so.. so young,”

Vesper found no humor in their reactions; she had already deviated so greatly from the schedule she had set up for herself that she could only rely on her silently focused mind to keep track of the passing minutes. The silence hung heavily as both Milan and Perseid themselves realized that Vesper wasn’t exactly enjoying the current situation. Her lack of and heartfelt laughter was an ever-present factor when engaging with her, but this was on a whole other level for sure.

“Ah, Doll—Vesper. I’m sure the poor guy’s just messing around—”

“That does not mean my discomfort can be the foundation for his joy.”

The room goes silent once more as Vesper swiftly walks back to the kitchen, leaving the three to dwell on her words. Eventually, though, it was broken, “Boo! What a prune!” Ocho drawled, following his words up with shaking his tousled hair excessively. “…I think the word you’re looking for is ‘prude,’ Kitt.” Ocho huffs in response, muttering how it’s all the same.

Milan rolls their eyes, taking a seat by Ocho’s feet after a quick nudge to move over. “Honestly, I’m worried for the poor gal,” Milan blurts out, resting an elbow on the couch’s armrest. “It’s not like Vesper to be so moody, I know she can’t always catch a joke, but even this is much.” Ocho’s head tilts up from the cushions, a sly grin on his face as he pushes back his hair—something rather inefficient considering his permanent cat-eared headphones prevent that—before letting the words leave his sharp teeth. “Maybe it’s that time of the month for our little lady,” Ocho cackles at the idea, morbidly so. He likes the concept of Vesper’s porcelain skin contrasting with a sliver of blood running down her thighs. Ocho then sighs as much as Milan does, though both do for starkly different reasons. “I’m trying to be serious here, Kitt!”

Ocho’s sigh grows into a groan as he stretches his legs over Milan’s lap, trapping her. “Well, I’m trying to give my two cents, not my fault you can’t take me seriously,” Ocho snakily replies, his nose scrunching up with a scowl as his heel digs into the couch’s armrest. “Ugh, ‘Cho, can you not? Your ears are digging into my leg.” Perseid tries to nudge Ocho’s head to the side, but his words wound up encouraging Ocho’s behavior.

“Waah! You’re all so mean to little helpful me!”

“In what way is talking so immaturely helpful?!”

“…Ouais, and what way is the .. agh, forget it—”

The three went back and forth for a while, with Milan’s growing irritation hitting a grave point. He eventually manages to shove Ocho off the couch with the help of Perseid, though much to their dismay, Ocho took the couch’s foam down with him. Leading to the three sliding off, landing squarely on the carpet while pushing the couch back with a slight screech. “Ow! Ocho, what’s up with you?” Milan yelped, dark brows furrowing at those feline eyes of the very man he was annoyed with. “Nothing’s wrong with me! You’re just a bunch of negative Nancies who really need to fucking let loose.” Perseid, meanwhile, tried to quietly slip the foam back onto the couch as the two were at each other’s throats.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the tension, something that makes them freeze up from the sheer volume as it’s sent down from the hall.

“I do hope you three aren’t causing that ruckus!” It’s Vesper. She spoke every bit as formally as she ever was, though her tone wasn’t quite as such, instead with a clear sting of something potent with punishment. She was always quite the traditional woman after all. Her conservative mind only knew very few ways to handle the rowdy. The three remain frozen for a little longer, as if her words stared right at them.

“Sorry, dear!” Milan called out, a frown upon her face as she dropped the subject with Ocho. Standing up and allowing Perseid to slot the foam back onto the couch’s bench, before silently pulling it entirely back into position. “Ah, Christ, what am I seriously going to do with her?” The three sat back down, properly this time, or at least as proper as they can manage. Ocho’s arms draped over the back of the couch as Milan’s posture slanted away, leaning on the armrest while Perseid slouched, eyes boring into his own phone.

“I mean… Maybe it’s the sex life?” Ocho propped up once more, drumming his fingers against Milan’s side of the couch.

“The…”

“Oh.”

“Oh my fucking Gods!”

Perseid frowned. “You both do know that… the intimacy is not always the… medicine to everything, ouais?”

Nonetheless, Milan fell for Ocho's words. “But it could be,”

Milan wrung his hands for several minutes before finally blurting out an addition to her words. “…I don’t know what to do with her.”

Ocho had perked up immediately, their purple hair falling messily across their face as they leaned forward on the couch, “No ideas? You? Sexually?” Milan draped a hand over their head, “Do not,” she warned, though her voice cracked in a way that undermined any authority she might have pretended to have.

Perseid sat to the side like a gargoyle nursing a grudge, his long dark hair continuing to obscure half his face as he stared at his untouched bottle of water. He had gone silent by this point of the conversation, but the corner of his mouth twitched when Ocho let out a delighted cackle, “Oh my gods! You do mean sexually. You’ve been dating her for what, nearly a month by now? And you haven’t—” Ocho made a vague gesture with both hands that was somehow more obscene than any explicit motion could have been: tracing the rims of his connected index and thumb with his other index and middle finger before plunging in vigorously, wriggling his digits.

“…I’ve tried.” Milan’s voice pitched higher, her natural theatricality bleeding through despite her embarrassment. “She doesn’t like being touched. She doesn’t like touching. You know that! And every time I try to initiate anything, she gets stiff and gives me that look—you know the look—and I just… I can’t.”

“So she’s a virgin,” Ocho stated it flatly, like to him it was the most obvious and single reason too.

“She’s thirty-three.”

“Plenty of people are virgins at thirty-three, you ageist prick. I know the both of you sluts aren’t, but that doesn’t mean you can assume!” Ocho said cheerfully, swatting at his knee. “The question is whether she wants not to be one anymore.”

Milan hesitated, his fingers finding the armrest yet again, tracing in careful swirls. “Well, last week she did say she’d be willing to try. If I were patient, if I guided her. That sort of thing.”

Perseid finally stirred, shifting his weight, his voice low and rough when it came. “Putain… you are actually serious about this.”

“Yes, I’m serious! I love her, you absolute—” Milan cut himself off, taking a breath. Perseid merely huffed in response, only for Milan to continue. “We’re good together, I swear. We work. …Except for this one thing. And I guess, maybe if I could just… figure out what she’d like—”

“Have you asked her?”

The question came from Perseid, quiet and rather unexpected. Both Milan and Ocho turned to look at him. He didn’t meet their eyes, instead taking a sip from his bottle of water—just to not look in Milan’s direction.

“What?”

“Asked her. What she might be curious about, what she does not want. What does not—how do you say this—repulse her.” Perseid’s jaw tightened. “Not everyone figures it out that easy.” The silence that followed was heavy with something none of them wanted to name. Ocho’s usual manic energy dimmed for a brief moment; he considered reaching out to the Frenchman, but settled with only the semblance of a sympathetic look. Ocho then looked back at Milan, “Have you tried that?” Ocho asked, his voice a little gentler now.

Milan’s expression crumpled. “I didn’t want to pressure her.”

“Not pressuring,” Perseid said, his accent thickening slightly, the way it did when he was genuinely engaged. “Giving her the permission to want something. To admit to it.”

…

“Supper's ready!” While still monotonous as ever, Vesper's call suddenly felt a little warmer to the ears, enticing even. About as much as the wafting smell in the air of a rich broth. The three sit there for a beat, with Perseid eyeing just how dumbfounded Milan seemed at the apparent revelation that Ocho had let them in on.

“Ow! Hey!”

“C'mon, ladies! You heard the Virgin Mary.”

step two.

“Supper is at optimal temperature,” Vesper announced, straightening her shirt, her gloved hands smoothing her hair into its perfect, dark frame. She did not look at any of them as she picked up her bowl. “You have approximately twelve minutes before it becomes suboptimal.”

The three walked into a symmetrically set table for four, with bowls and their accompanying utensils, though Vesper's side had the additional chopsticks. Placed at the center of the table was a decently large bowl of noodle soup, with a steaming variety of vegetables and slices of beef, from which Vesper started to take her portion. “Twelve minutes, huh?” Milan repeated, taking their seat next to Vesper as they started to fiddle with the chopsticks given.

“Quite so, ... Eleven, now,” Vesper affirmed, before correcting.

Ocho and Perseid both quietly sat down, with Ocho merely smirking at Milan, only for that expression to shift quickly as Vesper's eyes glanced around at the three.

The silence stretched onward, even after Perseid's personal prayer; not a single quip or smart remark came out of either Ocho nor Milan. Perseid was fine with the silence, but Milan wasn't. A slight fire had lit itself inside them. It never occurred to Milan that Vesper would ever confide in the likes of Ocho, even more so on the taboo topics in life.

Hell, Milan found it shameful that they blatantly talked behind the back of their own girlfriend while in the same house. It was all an insurmountable burden on their train of thought, the kind that had Milan prod at their food instead of eating, twisting the noodles with their chopsticks. “Milan, I thought you knew better than to play with your food.” Vesper's voice, softly spoken after a sip of water, cut through their mind like a knife through butter.

“Ooh, disappointed, Vesp?” Ocho snickered.

Milan dropped the chopsticks into their soup as their other hand hit the table, “What?! No, I-I mean, I do know.” Milan then hesitated before simply using their spoon to taste the soup. “I was just... thinking.”

Vesper made a hum of acknowledgement, before furthering with words, “And what else have you done? The laundry?”

A sharp exhale escaped Milan. No, he did fucking naught, instead, he talked about why his girlfriend—the woman sitting right next to him—was being so bitchy, and about pleasing her right. That's what Milan knew, at least. So instead, the actor did what he knew best: pretend. “Ah, but of course, doll. I didn't forget.”

Just as Vesper would've pressed on, Ocho couldn't help but let out a snort, hunching over his own bowl as his claw-like fingers pressed against his face. Vesper turned to Ocho's direction, raising a brow, but not quite looking at him. 

“Is something the matter, Ocho?”

“Oh, no, no, but thank you for asking, Ves.” Ocho stared into her eyes, even as her gaze remained away from his and even Milan's. It was the kind of expression Ocho gave when there was something he really wanted, a gaze of ulterior motives, subtly low-lidded like a waning crescent, with his lips tugging into a smirk. Something Milan had grown to hate. There was so much Ocho did that Milan began to feel was wrong, and sure, maybe this was a fleeting feeling, but as of tonight, it was strong.

As Vesper and Ocho continued to talk, with Perseid even putting in their own string of words every now and then, it did nothing but make Milan's brows furrow—and with Vesper's aversive nature, she was none the wiser to Milan's growing temper—for how could a woman so distant still pull at his heartstrings.

Then, out of the blue, Milan could discern words from the clouded judgment she had. “—Hey, I think Milan's got something to say!” Ocho's piercing voice, yet again, sharp as his claws, and that smug grin.

Milan immediately switched to a much cleaner expression, softening as if she didn't think that everyone in the dining room by now had wronged her in some way, merely raising a brow the same way Vesper did as she heard Ocho's voice. “Excuse me?”

“Pardonne-moi, but you totally were, you should've seen yourself! Holding back some real words, huh?”

“I've got zero clue what you mean, Kitt.”

Vesper put down her spoon in an almost empty bowl, “Ah, but thank you for the reminder, Ocho, I did in fact have a question I was intending to ask Milan.” She turned to Milan, tilting just enough for them to see the way her midnight curls framed her face, like little points drawing attention to her eyes. And for a moment, Milan didn't feel the burning sensation in the back of their head as Vesper looked at Milan, even if it was the barest of glances, as eye contact. “To what RPM did you set the laundry’s washer to?”

Milan paused, a slight freezing tension running through them; he had not a single strand of care for the task Vesper assigned him, and the consequences of Milan’s actions had hit him.

Thankfully, Vesper always tried to keep a routine, and consistently tried in the sort of way that she never changed a detail in her ways.

“800 RPM, of course, doll! You never change it—”

“I do not recall asking you to wash the already clean laundry, Milan. I expected far better from you than to lie to me like this. I say this with even greater emphasis, as you’ve done so in front of the company we have here. You’d best consider yourself fortunate enough for it to be the kind that takes these faults lightly.”

“I—”

“Ooh, Milan! Aren’t you such a bad, naughty boy?” Ocho interrupted, letting the weight on Milan’s chest burn into him.

Milan dryly swallowed. “Why do you have to make such a big deal of things, huh? The both of you!” Their words made Milan feel heated, heavy breaths escaping through her hesitant lips as she pouted, looking away from them both, barely seeing the way Perseid remained as a bystander to it all—what a lucky guy, Milan thought—it was enough to make Milan feel that flush coming across her face yet again.

“Aww, Milly Darling’s getting bratty, whatever will you do, Vesp?”

It was at this point that even Vesper found Ocho’s incessant commentary a bit much. “My apologies, I suppose there is fault on my part too, for daring to test and reprimand you so critically.” She wasn’t at all apologetic, though, for that reason in particular, she only felt bad for all the teasing Ocho did and hoped her words were enough solace for the actor.

Milan merely grumbled in response before standing up, unable to finish their own bowl of soup. “I’m going to shower, you can put away my bowl in the fridge, just … finish your food, Vesper.” The words fell from Milan like a storm, of gloomy nature and harsh tone. Then, Milan took off in another direction, leaving the three to themselves.

A minute of silence passes, with Perseid having already finished their second serving, and Ocho now calmed down from his small fits of snickering. Vesper, on the other hand, took her time with her meal.

The silence is broken by Ocho’s prattle as he stands up to walk behind Vesper. “Uh oh, Ves, I’m pretty sure your soupie is way past the ‘optimal temperature’ for eating!” He rummages through the fridge to find something sweet, meanwhile, Vesper only hums in acknowledgement, as she takes yet another slow serving of her food. “But of course, as the recommended optimal temperature is for the likes of you three, not me.”

Ocho took out a bag of chocolate chips, open but with quite a lot left in it, he waved it in front of Perseid—who almost acted on the urge of snatching it from Ocho, but decided otherwise—before Ocho then took a handful and funneled it down his gullet.

“..Aren’t those Milan’s baking ingredients?” Vesper asked, a subtle frown upon her features as she stood to begin clearing the table.

Ocho took the moment to chew, shrugging, “Om… Num, num, mm—yum!” He made it quite the spectacle as he leaned on Perseid’s chair, who only endured it for barely a minute until standing up—making Ocho nearly lose balance and choke in the process—Vesper, on the other hand, had already gathered their bowls and was about to begin washing them.

“I can do that.” Perseid approached Vesper, gesturing to the stack of bowls piling in the sink. Vesper’s hand already turned the knob by the time Perseid spoke, and her head turned by about the same timing. All the while, Ocho’s coughs became background noise to the two’s conversation.

“You needn’t do so; this is merely routine.”

“Ouais, but I think you should rest, you are looking exhausted, more than usual.”

That’s when Ocho interjected, finally clearing his throat. “Heh, I’m sure Vesper’s just trying to stay away from Milan. It’s best we be on our way, pretty boy.” Vesper’s back was turned, so she didn’t see, but Ocho winked at the two. Perseid’s features tensed, hand rescinding as they crossed their arms. “It is the least we can do as guests, especially after you… mixing the pot like that.”

“Oh, please! I didn’t do anything; that kind of tension was already there, you know what I mean.”

After swiftly shutting the faucet, Vesper turned around to see Ocho’s comedic grin, leaning on a chair half-pushed in. It was an expression that Vesper found over time to often allude to the perverse.

A subtle frown finds its way onto her features as she spoke, “Is this a declaration that your ostentatious words and catty antics are that of a ploy to ignite Milan’s histrionics?” Ocho’s eyes merely narrowed in response, his crescent-like lids shifting to near-slits. Vesper ran a hand through her hair, taking shallow breaths as she rewound the night’s events. “Alas, who precisely is in the wrong here? With how Milan has proved himself to be rather the derelict.”

“Fuck it out and find out, babes!” Ocho lit up, bouncing on the tip of his feet with his claws now gripping the chair. Perseid, having barely understood Vesper, found Ocho’s response a little too humorous to be appropriate for the situation at hand. They held back a laugh as Vesper made a disgruntled noise towards Ocho’s profanity.

“Ah, Ves, I think it is best to drop the topic for now, you are clearly not very… in the right mind, for you should really rest. Ouais.” Perseid rubbed the back of their neck, having barely contributed to the conversation besides their own insistence. Perseid gestured to the couch for Vesper, but she merely dismissed him, resulting in Perseid leaving. Eventually, that became the two of them as Ocho kept derailing Vesper from her dishwashing.

…

All the while, Milan himself had taken their sweet time in the bathtub, she really needed to cool off, so she saw it fit to take a steaming hot one. Just not enough to seriously boil him.

“Ugh, I’ve seriously fucked up this time. Haven’t I…”

Milan sighed, taking a scoop of water into both hands and pouring it over her head, dampening her hair fully. She let out another groan, stretching and letting the water splash about as she continued to mope in the steaming water. Her thoughts felt about as narrow as any roadway’s tunnel—carrying as much of a mountain too, though for Milan it was more of a mountain of guilt—Milan could only think about how she treated the three, let alone Vesper, even if it was mentally. Milan often hated how she let her thoughts get the better of her; she wished someone could just give her the script to act out every day. It’s why she loved Vesper; that woman gave Milan something to do, but even now, he failed to follow through. Milan supposed he missed acting the parts people loved, and he wasn’t sure if Vesper loved him at all.

All these thoughts swimming through Milan’s head made them sink lower and lower into the water, until they bubbled and rippled it with every breath and huff. It was at this point that Milan came to the conclusion that they believed they had no other choice. Maybe Ocho was right, “sex life,” that dirty fucker. Besides, what other convenient way could prove to Milan that she truly held interest in them?

“It’d be pretty hot too,” Milan said aloud, agreeing with himself, his train of thought beginning to switch tracks.

Milan couldn’t help but giggle at their own words, regardless, feeling like a giddy bachelor about to rouse the fancy from a fine maiden. They sank deeper into the water, sighing before fully submerging themselves in it with a sense of relief embedded in them. It’d be easier taking this route, anyway, that’s what Milan thought. They assumed Vesper couldn’t be that tough a shell to crack. Eventually, Milan decided to put a plan into motion, to really set the mood with a much-needed ambiance that’d ignite everything into a real kind of heat.

As she got out of the bath, changing into a soft and pure cottony red bathrobe, Milan’s deft hands fumbled through the bathroom shelves from her assortment of what she’d describe as “romantic paraphernalia,” as it was an array of candles, jars of dried rose petals, and a couple of other more intrepidly daring things, like silken blindfolds and the kind of toys one would rather not admit to owning. Vesper never saw the latter stash, so all she thought of Milan’s little collection was something rather endearing.

Milan thought over what exactly they wanted to bring out from the rack—after all, Milan didn’t tend to think about Vesper along the more taboo lines of nature—it’d be in poor taste to be too forward for one’s first time.

Eventually, Milan settled on the more simpler side, only taking a candle—one set in a pitcher-like container—to …set the mood before strutting out of the bathroom and onto the hardwood tiles of the host’s bedroom. Wide and spacious, the bed is centered against a wall and accented by two bedside tables and their respective night lamps. The bed’s duvet was as comfortable and soft, about as factually proven by the way it gently draped itself over the bed foam. Milan let the candles rest on one of the bedside tables before letting themselves relax on the bed itself. “Fuuck me, God, I love this bed.” Milan shifted about—kicking off their slippers (as had become a habit ever since dating Vesper)—before fully settling in to posing on the bed. Now all Milan needed to do was wait, and that she did, by scrolling her life away as she took her phone away from charging on the other nightstand.

…

Vesper had just finished drying the dishes, stowing away a kitchen towel back onto the dish-rack before taking her leave. By the usual routine she tried to manage, she took a small glass of water with her—the kind at room temp with a simplistic geometric design—before making her way to the bedroom she and Milan shared. She never found herself the type to be cuddling in a California King-sized bed with anyone, let alone the kind of person Milan was: rich, famous, and a little too clingy. The thought lingers in her head on occasion, though, with the feeling of Milan’s hands often threading their way past her arms and around her waist, pulling her close as he’d burrow his face into her chest. She found the ritual odd, but it was the only semblance of routine that she’d often have, so a part of her couldn’t help but feel some semblance of gratitude towards the act.

Soon, she passed by Ocho and Perseid, who hadn’t retired to the guest rooms Milan offered yet, still lounging in the living room with the television on at a low volume. The two were having a lax back-and-forth talk on the latest runway walk by some brand Vesper couldn’t be bothered to learn the pronunciation of, though that came to a slow halt as they took notice of Vesper’s passing.

“Heyy, Vespie, what’s up?”

“You needn’t halt your conversation for the trivial passing talk, Ocho. I’m merely headed to retire for the night.”

“Ooh! Hear that, Seidi? Vesper’s headed for Milan’s bedchambers… How scandalous!” Ocho elbowed Perseid’s sides, whose features wrinkled at the jest, with Perseid’s brows furrowing. Perseid wasn’t the first at all to notice it, but Ocho’s tone that often hinted towards the raunchier side of things was greatly bothersome to him. Perseid shoved back, Ocho barely moved then, but practically doubled over from laughter. On the contrary, Perseid and Vesper herself remained sullen. Vesper’s eyes met Perseid; they were wistful, of course he was. For Perseid had always believed they could treat Vesper better than Milan, that Perseid knew what was right for a woman like her. Vesper pitied the way Perseid looked at her, greatly so, but it felt good in a way; it was like cradling a small beetle up close by two fingers, so easy to crush. She wouldn’t ever want to, though; it’d be unkind and far too much clean up for Vesper to think it to be worthwhile.

She broke eye contact quickly, before excusing herself with hushed words, leaving the two to themselves as she focused back on completing the day.

It was a surprise by the time Vesper got to the room, she slowly opened the door, fully expecting Milan to be either half asleep or still on his phone. Instead, she came face-to-face with Milan reclining on their side, elbow propped up as he grinned at her in the most sly sense. Vesper stood still for a moment that seemingly stretched onward, her eyes darting about, barely crossing Milan’s face twice. She noticed their attire, quite unlike the silken sleeping clothes that she assumed Milan preferred, then the colored jug—an oddity at best, but upon further inspection, a candle, which seemed entirely unprecedented for Vesper. As she had begun to recognize it, the same one from the bathroom they shared.

Thoughts riddled through Vesper’s mind, for what on Earth was Milan all prepared for?

step three

Vesper was about to part her lips to question Milan’s precise moments, but she was stopped by Milan’s own.

“Doll—Vesper, I must ask you something. Something… Rather important, to put it briefly.”

Vesper hesitated entirely to answer; she didn’t like the sudden turn in routine, she thought that today was going so close to near-perfection, it pained her entirely to even push forward with the conversation. So she answered as briefly as Milan would’ve put it, “…And.. that is?”

“Are you the type to wait for marriage?”

If Vesper was stunned the first time, she was wholeheartedly gobsmacked by the second. She didn’t at all even comprehend what Milan could be referring to, for why must anything be barred by the absence of the event that is marriage?

“Pardon?”

It was all Vesper could utter; she dryly swallowed. Only now, finally walking forward to place down the cup of water by the candle-jug.

Milan didn’t want to start beating around the bush now; it was one of the things they hated—even if they weren’t the type to always be clean-shaven in execution, either—so he put it out honestly.

“Did I stutter? Look at me, darling, and tell me what you see.”

Milan remained lying on his side, head tilting as his eyes followed Vesper’s movements. Vesper herself still remained perplexed by it all, beginning to fidget as she softly frowned at Milan, yet it wasn’t at all out of any negative sort. In fact, Vesper’s curiosity was piqued by what could possibly be Milan’s motives and—through her perspective—winding, incomprehensible verbiage.

It was in this intimate moment, when Vesper’s eyes trailed Milan’s body, that she noticed the subtle movements he made. A hand tugging down at the lush, silken red robes he wore to reveal more of that tanned skin, dotted with beauty marks, with the other hand propped up and still pressed against his smirking face, he gave her a sultry gaze through low-lidded eyes that almost resembled Ocho’s baiting taunts in a way.

Then, it truly was in this moment that it all clicked into place. Vesper, inferring the carnal need that Milan held towards her, the purest form of intimacy a couple could have towards one another.

“You?”

Vesper first answered the question; she didn’t want to leave her lover hanging. Unfortunately, this was an answer too literal for Milan’s taste, the kind met with a sigh and sag into the soft mattress of the bed.

“Dear, that’s—”

“You, referring to …consummation?”

“…Ah! Um, I think so?”

Vesper straightened up, still in her office blouse, coat, and knee-length pencil skirt, before sitting down in front of Milan. It took the actor a moment, but eventually they sat up as well. “See…I know that there’s a whole lot of people who take this sort of thing seriously, and I couldn’t help but think you were one of them,” Milan earnestly said, rubbing the back of his neck as the robe began to cascade down his shoulder. Vesper tilted her head subtly. On the other hand, her hair cascaded down and curtained over her chest. She couldn’t help but frown. Regardless of how softly her expression shifted, it was something that caught Milan’s eye, leading the actor to straighten up completely, fixing his bathrobe. “There’s nothing wrong with saying no, Ves.” He threw his hands up in the air a slight bit, as if to back away from Vesper, too.

“No, that’s not it. I simply… find it rather crude, mind you, I’ve no particular experience with the matter.”

“What? So… are you saying no because you find it’s gross then? Because that’s… also.. perfectly fine.”

“..Not quite, …In fact, I’m not saying no at all.”

“Oh—but—but it sounded like you don’t want to.”

Vesper took off her coat, not responding just yet, she folded it neatly and let it rest on her lap before looking to Milan. Just barely, she was never the best at eye contact, but in that moment where she saw the honest glint in those doe-like sea blue eyes, she felt something. Vesper never liked how the effervescent and momentary always got to her in all sorts of ways. This wasn’t the first time a mere moment felt so vulnerable to her, nor was it the first time that she hated it so intensely. Regardless, when the two made subtle eye contact—with Vesper searching Milan’s face for anywhere she felt comfortable enough to gaze into as she thought through this moment that felt longer than it really stretched on for—she didn’t feel the boiling vitriol that burned all the tracks of her train of thought like all the effervescent moments before this one, but a divide. The kind that had her torn between the temptation that Milan posed towards her.

“I want to.”

It came out suddenly, like Vesper herself didn’t at all expect it to; she looked away, her hair sweeping further. Her midnight waves draped over her arm as she cut that eye contact soon enough. “I just—I’d rather you not make it so messy, I believe it naturally is so.” Milan couldn’t help but stare, dumbfounded for a moment before launching herself back into laughter, her head hit the plush pillows that let themselves sink down as Milan’s weight pressed on with every hollering ache that riddled her body. “Oh, dear, you… You really are something. Hah! I’ll try, but that’s no guarantee.”

Vesper sighed, but shuffled in closer to Milan, turning once more to almost meet their face. She towered over them rather easily in this circumstance, and Milan got the full view of a woman that they were starting to really adore. Gone were the fuels of rage that Milan held against Vesper; instead, Milan felt a coiling heat pooling from below. For Vesper wasn’t just wearing any kind of office blouse, but something that Milan had bought for her when the other two and they decided Milan’s woman desperately needed a wardrobe overhaul. It was a silken fabric. Something that clung to the small of her waist and the heft of her chest—not that there was much of it, but it was something that Milan appreciated nonetheless.

Milan’s eyes trailed Vesper’s figure, a smirk being the remainder of her fits of laughter, but also the side effect as her gaze lingered on the buttons of her blouse—how badly she wanted to tear it off of Vesper—her eyes narrowing into near slits as a flush tinted her tanned skin.

“Vesper, darling?”

“…Yes, Milan?”

Vesper leaned forward, her hair falling, curtaining her figure once more. Milan took the opportunity and pushed himself up, hands pressing down against the mattress to meet Vesper’s face, their breaths mingling as Milan’s lips ghosted against Vesper’s. Vesper flinched, trembling for a mere moment with hesitance, she considered pulling away, but decided against it. She wanted to know this side of Milan, the side that brought out a divide in her mind, the temptress that they were. Milan, on the other hand, slowly made their way to Vesper’s blouse, fingers hovering over the buttons. Milan tilted their head, breathing in Vesper’s scent as their gaze darted from her chest to her face.

“May I?”

Vesper’s breath came in short gasps; she wasn’t used to such close proximity, let alone something as scandalous as foreplay, and Milan took note of this, trying not to overstep boundaries too much, shifting back enough to let her breathe. Still, that unique scent of a creamy vanilla, powdery, with a little bit of that city smoke—and the aromatic hints from tonight’s soup—was wholeheartedly captivating to Milan.

“Ah, um, …to undress?”

“Well, what else are we here for, doll?”

Milan’s hands subtly twitched with impatience, but that all subsided once Vesper smiled, finding humor in Milan’s words. It was like she praised him without even speaking, and that was all it took for the actor to plead. “Please, dear? You’re in desperate need of unwinding. This is how we start it.”

Milan’s hands were warm, his knuckles brushed against the silk of her blouse, and Vesper shivered under the subtle weight. Her gaze narrowed, and her smile pressed thin as she thought it over. It was unclear if she just wasn’t coaxed out of her professional mind or if she enjoyed hearing the actor beg. Milan persisted, “Oh, doll, please, I’m begging you, let me feel you.”

Milan’s knuckles grazed along the rim of her buttons yet again. He wanted to cup the heft of her breasts, run his hands along the curve of her back. For Vesper had an unnatural kind of beauty, the kind that you’d think even Ocho was right for appointing her as a so-called "Mother Mary," she had the smoothest skin he’d ever seen and felt—from brief kisses on the cheek before work—and a slender stature, though at times Milan couldn’t help but worry whether Vesper was the kind to overthink her calorie intake. Nevertheless, she had a gorgeous set of features, from her naturally narrow eyes with glimmering amber irises, to her high cheekbones, even if they were less than rosy, more so pale as snow.

“I’d rather we take it.. slower,”

And her voice, if her bird-like features weren’t enough, she sounded just like a birdsong to Milan now. If a bird’s song was low and monotone at least. Still, Milan frowned; he had a bad time taking things at such a slow crawl, and his hands were itching to cop a feel of her.

“If I may, I’d like to take the upper hand here for a moment,”

Milan blinked, lowering his hands, “Really now?” Vesper nodded, her gloves digging into the comforter as she just barely closed in the distance between them, gaze darting off to the side as her eyes nearly went shut.

“Or do you not want me at all..” For once, Vesper had a teasing lilt to her words, yet this was a daring sentence that almost made Milan’s heart drop—he wouldn’t at all want to back out now, not when he was so close to tasting her—so he obliged, leaning back and almost lying down against the pillows once more for her.

“Very good.”

Milan’s breath was caught in his throat before finding release in a shudder as Vesper’s leather-gloved hands reached out to cup Milan’s face. They could feel the hesitation in each other, even if Vesper couldn’t look Milan in the eye once more. He was starting to love the direction this was heading into.

And love it, Milan certainly did when Vesper’s lips pressed—ever hesitantly so—against theirs, gently nipping at the skin, before bordering on a French kiss, yet before it even could, Vesper pulled away.

“Aht, not too much now.” A thin string of drool stretched its way between the two as Vesper leaned back, her cold gloves brushing against Milan’s features, tan like the setting sun. Milan whined, kneeling before Vesper with pleading eyes—yet that gaze was not met with hers—she avoided his on purpose, not wanting to be tempted once more. “Darling, please, don’t torture me like this.”

And Vesper smiled, so soft and gentle, like the holy virgin Milan was honestly starting to see her as.

“Very well then.”

“..Now, Ves, I know this is your first time, but I really do want to try something. …Do you trust me?”

Vesper’s eyes followed Milan’s gaze, landing on the colored jug from before. She raised a brow, head tilted, yet caught between Milan’s hands.

“Perhaps, if you were to inform me of what precisely this entails.”

“Aw, but not knowing is half the fun, doll.”

“Knowing is an essential kind of safety, …love.”

Vesper’s words held a little more weight than intended, catching Milan off guard. Vesper wasn’t ever the type to throw nicknames so casually, and it tended to sound unnatural on her tongue. Still, that just gave it all the more allure; it made Milan feel different, special.

“...Hmm, well,” Milan paused, hesitant to speak any further. They could feel the heat rush to their cheeks—and that wasn’t just because they were staring down at their girlfriend. Milan dryly swallowed, decidedly continuing.

“I, uh, wanted to pour… candle wax on your body.”

“Pardon?”

Vesper’s voice wavered with slight worry and perhaps a twinge of judgment. She didn’t realize sex could get this messy.

“I mean, it’s fine—we don’t have to—I just… kinda wanted to,” Milan looked off to the side, as if the bedsheets had something else to contribute to the conversation. Meanwhile, Vesper thought it over, her gaze lingering on Milan’s sheepish expression. There was certainly something attractive about the way Milan was so pliant to her, each and every word, his submissiveness, so to speak, yet didn’t want to back away so easily from any challenge, either, not when she was the one who wanted this experience.

“No, I believe it’s fine. as long as you assure me it shall not burn.”

“I’ve done this before.” Milan turned to face her, softening his voice. “I’ll test every temperature on my own skin first, promise. Every drop. If it’s too hot, I’ll blow out the candle, and we’ll stop. Tout de suite.”

Vesper’s pale throat moved as she swallowed. “And if I wish to stop at any point?”

“Then we stop.” He reached up slowly towards her face, giving her time to flinch away. She didn’t. His fingers brushed her jaw, featherlight, and her eyes widened subtly. “I’m going to make you feel good tonight, darling. …Or I’m going to try—and if I fail—I’ll try something else tomorrow, and the day after. For as long as you’ll let me.”

Vesper merely nodded, letting out a quiet gasp as Milan’s hands moved up from her face to her nipples—the rough, constricting fabrics of her blouse and bra only intensified the sensations—pushing and massaging at her sensitive peaks. She tried to formulate a string of words, but found herself relaxing greatly in Milan’s gentle grasp. “A-Ah…” Just as she was so close to speaking, the words would die in her throat, about as constricted by her breathlessness as Milan’s waist around her legs. Her breath caught for the second time. Something flickered in her light eyes—fear, maybe, or hope, or a mixture so tangled she couldn’t separate them.

“…Why?”

“Because I love you.” He said it simply, without fanfare, the way he’d learn she preferred things. “And because I think you deserve to know what it feels like. To be wanted. To want.”

Milan liked praise, in both ways; he liked receiving more often than giving, but that didn’t stop him from taking his time worshiping Vesper—she truly was divine, conflictingly so. It became a thought that looped in upon itself in Milan’s mind; she was vexingly gorgeous, and Milan’s hands began to feel every inch of her tall, pale beauty.

Vesper didn’t respond, but she didn’t pull away when he leaned in to kiss her forehead either.

let it slowly melt.

Milan undressed her himself, piece by piece, narrating every movement before he made it, “I’m going to unbutton your blouse now. I’m going to slide it off your shoulders. Tell me if you want to stop.” Vesper herself, meanwhile, sat rigid as ice; she didn’t say a word. Her breath came shallow and quick as the fabric fell away, revealing collarbones as sharp as blades, ribs visible beneath pale skin. Milan’s chest ached at the sight of her; this strange, brittle woman, who had somehow trusted him enough to let him see her like this. When Milan’s gaze fell onto the laced bra Vesper wore—another one of their gifts—he let out a soft moan, the black lingerie pushing up her chest to create a perfect crest between her two breasts. Milan’s hands soon started to roam, feeling at Vesper’s arching back.

“…The prettiest candle I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t care for the confused expression Vesper gave him through low-lidded eyes and parted lips, for Milan was too captivated to even think right. He wanted to drink her wholly, no number of tender kisses—the playful exchange and tempting feel of his tongue brushing against her thin lips—satisfied his desires.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and meant it. Vesper was different; she wasn’t like all the one-night stands he had, not like the escorts he’d pay a couple hundred just to feel something.

Vesper, all the while, had her breath growing shakier and shakier; her body trembled under Milan’s weight, even more so as Milan pressed closer to take a deep breath of her addicting scent of warm vanilla. “I look like a famine victim,” she uttered monotonously.

“No, dear, you’re more than that. You look like a goddess carved from bone and marble.” He brushed a thumb across her shoulder, and she shivered. “May I touch you?”

“You already are.”

“May I touch you more?”

Vesper paused. Then, quietly, “Yes.”

They pressed kisses against the top of her chest, all the way up to her neck. They were light presses, not quite yet bites—that was for later—Milan didn’t want to overwhelm her too far. “Fuck, Ves, you’re divine,” Milan whined, envious of how pristine Vesper kept herself, untainted by drugs nor alcohol, carrying a scent so pure it made him jealous even if he took the honor of taking her virginity. “Ah—is that so?” Vesper spoke between breaths, shifting closer, letting Milan pull her onto his lap, and even tangling her fingers into the gentle curls of his salt and pepper hair.

Eventually, Milan had taken off Vesper’s blouse off the bed—along with her coat and eventually her skirt—tossing it to the floor much to her displeasure, but that was soon abated as Milan continued, guiding her to lie back against the pillows, positioning her carefully, making sure she was comfortable. Her hair spread in rivulets across the soft pillows. It was Milan’s turn to tower over her, positioning her legs to wrap around his waist, focusing solely on her beauty

Now, Vesper had love bites and bruises littering her neck. “I… was hoping you wouldn’t be so brutish.” Her gloves dug into the soft comfort of the mattress below them as Milan pressed on. “Sorry, darling, but you know how love is..” he cooed breathlessly, pressing his fingers against a hickey on the side of her neck.

“Messy,” She continued off of Milan’s words, earning herself a smile from the actor.

“Exactly, such a clever girl.” Milan nodded, more so to himself. Vesper merely hummed in response.

Milan needed to show Vesper just how much he loved her. He couldn’t wait any longer.

“Are you ready to learn, darling?”

“…I’ve.. been ready.”

Milan then reached for the candle, lighting it with the flick of their lighter. They let it burn for a moment, then tilted the jug over their own forearm. The wax fell in a thin ribbon, pooling warm against their skin. Not hot enough to hurt, simply perfect.

“Alright, I’m going to start with your stomach. If it’s too much, tell me.”

Vesper's hands gripped the sheets, her knuckles white beneath her gloves. But she nodded. The first drop landed just below her navel. She gasped—a sharp, startled sound—and her whole body went taut. But she didn't tell him to stop.

“Good,” Milan murmured. “That's good. Breathe through it. Tell me what you feel.”

“…Warm.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “It's… warm.”

He dripped another line, tracing a slow path up her sternum. Each drop made her twitch, her breath hitching, but her eyes were fixed on his face with an intensity that made his heart race. “You're doing so well, mon cœur.” He set the candle aside, carefully, and brought his hand to hover over the wax on her skin. “May I touch it?”

“Ah… Yes.”

His fingertips grazed the cooled wax, smoothing over it, feeling the slight tackiness against her skin, and her stomach fluttered beneath his touch.

“I'm going to warm it up again,” he said. “With my fingers. And then I'm going to move lower.”

He did. His hand traced downward, past her navel, to the waistband of her underwear. He paused there, looking up at her for permission.

Vesper's face was flushed—a rare, subtle pink spreading across her pale cheeks. She nodded.

He slid the fabric down her thighs, slow and deliberate, and she let him. Her legs fell open, just slightly, and the sight of her—exposed, open, and wholeheartedly trusting of him—made Milan's throat tight. “Beautiful,” he repeated, softer this time. “So fucking beautiful, darling.”

She made a sound that might have been a protest, but she didn't close her legs.

He took up the candle again, dribbling wax along her inner thigh. She gasped, her hips jerking, and he caught the motion with his free hand, pressing gently to stabilize her.

“Easy. Easy. Just feel it.”

“I am feeling it.” Her voice had gone strained, almost petulant. “It's strange.”

“Strange good, or strange bad?”

“Strange... good.”

Milan smiled and leaned down to press his lips to the inside of her knee, where the skin was still untouched. “I'm going to touch you now. Here.” His fingers brushed her cunt, light as a whisper. “Is that alright?” She was wet. He could feel it through his fingertips, slick and warm, and the discovery made him groan softly against her skin. She wanted this. Even if she couldn't say it, her body was telling him everything he needed to know.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, just—don't stop.”

“I won't.”

He slid one finger inside her, slow, careful, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting, and he took that as encouragement. A second finger followed after some feeling around, stretching her gently, and she gasped—a broken, desperate sound that went straight to his hardening groin.

“Fuck, Vesper. You're so tight. So perfect.”

Milan crooked his fingers, searching, and when he found the spot that made her cry out—a sharp, bitten-off noise that was almost a moan—he focused his attention there, pressing, circling, and plunging his fingers in and out of her heat with steady, rhythmic precision.

“The wax,” she gasped. “More. I want—”

He didn't make her finish the sentence. He tilted the candle again, letting a stream of warm amber liquid fall across her hip, her stomach, the curve of her breast. She bucked beneath him, her inner walls clenching around his fingers, and he matched her rhythm, fucking her with his hand while the wax cooled against her flushed skin. She was starting to get wetter by the second; her expression seemed pained, but every mewling noise that escaped her begged to differ. Vesper easily reached her first-ever peak of ecstasy.

“Let go. I’ve got you,” Milan urged, their voice rough.

Vesper shook her head, a wild, frantic motion, resulting in the mattress shifting with every movement. “I can't—I can't—”

“You can.” They pressed deeper, their digits brushing against the bottom of her cervix, harder, their thumb finding her clit and rubbing in tight circles. “You're so close. I can feel it. Let go, Vesper. Please. I need to see you cum.”

The word—please—broke something in her. Her back arched, a raw, guttural sound tearing from her throat, and her orgasm ripped through her in waves, her body shuddering and spasming around his fingers in wet spurts. He kept moving through it, gentling his touch as she came down, until she collapsed against the mattress, breathless and trembling.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hip. “My perfect, beautiful mademoiselle.”

Her hand found their hair, tugging weakly. “Don't stop.”

“I wasn't planning to.” He eased his fingers out of her, slowly, savoring the way she whimpered at the loss. “But I want to be inside you properly. Is that okay?”

Her eyes met his, dark and dazed and wanting. “Yes. Yes.”

Milan let Vesper turn herself around, her back facing the ceiling. They positioned themself behind her legs, their cock—small, as always, a fact that had once shamed them but now seemed irrelevant—pressing against her entrance. They paused, combing a hand through the roots of her hair, softly pressing a kiss on her shoulder as they caught her natural scent, mingled with sweat, something that made Milan shudder with pleasure.

“Ready?”

“Make me feel it,” she said. “Make me feel everything.”

Milan swallowed dryly, hoping that for a moment her previous orgasm would render her sensitive enough to feel him. Then, he pushed inside her in one slow, smooth motion, and the sound she made—a broken, desperate cry—would haunt him in the best possible way for the rest of his life. She was tight. So tight. He had to stop halfway, breathing hard, letting her adjust. Her nails—or rather, her gloves—dug into the pillowcase, and he could feel her trembling beneath him.

“Okay?” he managed.

“…Yes.” Her voice was thin, reedy. “Don't stop.”

He didn't. He rocked into her, slow and deep, each thrust pressing against that spot inside her that made her gasp and clench. He closed in the distance between them, his hand roaming her body with small pinches, before finding her clit again, rubbing in time with his movements.

“You feel incredible, darling,” he breathed against her back. “So perfect. So good.”

She was crying. They realized it suddenly—tears streaming down her temples, yet her face contorted with something that wasn't quite pain. She wasn't telling them to stop either. Instead, her hips were rising to meet theirs, her body chasing its own pleasure with an instinct she'd never known she had. Milan straightened up yet again before grabbing the candle once more, they smoothed out her back, pushing aside her hair to make way for the view of her arching spine as she desperately moved, slamming her ass against their hips. It was a beautiful sight to Milan, while he (once again) oftentimes preferred the receiving end, there was nothing more pleasurable than seeing the effect Milan had on a lover. The way tears streaked Vesper’s face like the candle wax they soon poured over her back, and how she whined and moaned in shallow breaths. Milan just loved pulling at the strings, entertaining her body like this. Seeing a side of her that Milan hoped no one else would.

He put down the jar soon after and focused back on driving his cock into her with punishing force. For an amateur like Vesper, he was the perfect size; his tip brushing against her sensitive walls made her dizzy. She gasped into the pillow, drool staining the casing as she arched her back further for Milan. Her train of thought was derailing in real time, but she realized something in the fogging stimulation. While she sees human beings dedicating an alarming percentage of their lives towards seeking physical intimacy despite the associated vulnerabilities as irrational, she was beginning to understand why it was so sought after.

As Milan continued penetrating her sopping wet cunt, cooing in her ear sweet nothings as they kissed and nipped at her neck, she realized that the overstimulation of it all provided a silencer to the noise in one’s life, her anxieties were washing away and all she could feel was her throat aching from all her whimpers as Milan grew more and more passionate with his rhythm, biting her to the point of leaving deep marks.

She wondered why people treated intimacy with alarming casualness. Not merely the act itself, though that remained difficult enough to rationalize cleanly, but the sheer degree of unpredictability involved. Entire social structures appeared built around encouraging individuals to place themselves willingly into states of compromised judgment and heightened emotional vulnerability with remarkably little guarantee of positive outcome. It was statistically irrational, and yet culturally normalized to the point of expectation.

She recalled the times Milan led her and the other two to grand events in nightclubs where “party favors,” were passed around just like the very women and men that moved from lap to lap, proximities being so close you could feel their every shift. Strangely the thought made an increasing heat pool in her wetness as Milan continued stimulating her.

Vesper did not understand how most people tolerated the absence of structure surrounding it. There appeared to be no universal script. No reliable sequence of behaviors ensuring mutual understanding before physical escalation occurred. Instead individuals relied upon implication, assumption, body language, fluctuating emotional states, and countless invisible social cues that seemed catastrophically easy to misinterpret. She was thankful enough that throughout every pounding Milan gave her, that when she was close to crying aloud, Milan gave her reassurance—slowing just a tad bit—which, still, left her sensitive.

She heard the average person reportedly engaged in physical intimacy for reasons ranging from affection to boredom to loneliness to stress relief to simple convenience. That some even appeared to pursue it recreationally despite the associated emotional complications, health risks, and interpersonal instability. Vesper struggled particularly with the spontaneity expected of it. The notion of another person initiating physical closeness without procedural discussion first felt almost neurologically offensive to her. Milan must consider himself lucky that Vesper even gave him the permission to fuck her brains out. Humans seemed bizarrely comfortable navigating touch through instinct alone, whereas Vesper required conscious mental processing for even minor contact. Unexpected physical interaction triggered immediate physiological alertness before emotional interpretation could even occur.

And yet,

…

Vesper’s orgasm crashed into her like a wave, pulling her under with an arch, as she felt herself tighten and spasm. The heat that coiled within herself had squirted out once more, leaving a slow creamy slick dripping from her hole, and Milan followed moments later, spilling inside her with a groan that was half-relief, half-reverence. Milan would consider buying a plan B later, but for now they were both satisfied. Vesper’s anxieties seemed to have abated, and Milan believed they did in fact make her feel good for the better.

remember to clean up.

Vesper and Milan lay breathlessly on the bed; the sheets were a mess, Vesper was lying down on her chest, still clenching the pillowcase with wrinkled gloves as she shuddered.

“Oh—my mind, such adverse effects, I still feel it ..fogging?”

Her voice was somewhat muffled by the pillow, drool making its way down her damp, subtly swollen lips, pink from their passionate intimacy.

“…It’s what you call unwinding, doll, hah! I’m not surprised a workaholic like you hasn’t heard of the heaven it is.” Milan laughs, following it up with a deep exhale as their fingers find Vesper’s gloved hand.

Vesper started once more, “..I—I don’t quite ..comprehend what …precisely you..” before trailing off—slurring, still catching her breath.

“I..? Actually! No, don’t.. don’t finish that, …Just, um, take another deep breath—just exhale. Yes!”

Vesper filled her lungs with air, shutting her eyes for a moment, and grounding herself. “..Okay.” She let herself fall into the affection Milan offered up to her, enveloping their fingers with her own.

“Feel better yet?” Milan asked, throwing a glance in her direction, he smirked even if she didn’t see. Regardless of who he was with, it was always a fun time to see what remains after they’ve been unwoven by his tenderness.

Vesper rolled onto her side—yet didn’t quite face him—thighs layered atop one another as she spoke, “More so battered, I fear.” She pushed aside several loose strands, her hushed words being the only thing that met Milan’s face.

Their coveted candle knew just how to tug at their heartstrings, even if she didn’t realize it. The longer Milan stared at her distant expression, the more it urged them on to just spill out, and that they did. “Pfft—right, whatever you think makes sense, … I know you’ve been sorta.. losing your marbles over us fools, ..And I was hoping this could brighten you up, but, um.. It’d be real appreciated if you could just.. tell me already if this was a—”

“…No. It was efficient.”

Vesper cut them off, turning to Milan, just barely looking at them. She merely made a passing glance, but even that was enough for them. “Really? Oh, you better not be pulling my leg, doll—Ves, I mean, after all. ..Honesty’s the best policy, ..or whatever literary quote fits,” Milan shifted closer, holding her hand to their lean, fuzzy chest, one of the closest semblances to masculinity that the actor had.

Vesper huffed, a quiet sort of laughter, and the closest Milan could get from her.

“I think I should run that question right by, again.” Milan looked down at their interlinked hands before continuing. “…Ma chérie, how are you?” Milan was so caught up in the what-ifs and other assumptions about his own partner that he never even considered genuinely asking the woman.

“… Haven’t I.. explained to you already? I am fine, albeit rather… tired,” Yet it seemed all too late, for Vesper persisted with her own methods, pushing back Milan’s more personal advances—the kind of intimacy that Vesper truly wasn’t ready for. “…With full credit to you, tonight.” A kind of intimacy that felt too vulnerable with the state that she was in.

Still, Milan wanted to make things right. “You know that’s not what I meant, darling.” They were starting to recall that sex wasn’t the only way to feel good.

Alas, Vesper’s rebuttal, “I have to disagree, as it seems, ..I’m unsure what you mean,” made them double down another alleyway.

“Oh, pulling this card again?” Milan knew by the third date that Vesper was a peculiar type, a person with rather special needs, so to speak, so he tried to quiet any semblance of another raging fire within himself, just to have some patience for his lover. He was starting to think it’d prove well to do so, too, in this manner. Milan let go of Vesper’s hand for a moment, facing her with the wax-stained robe draped over his lower half. He gestured about, “Well, alright, hold my hand, and I’ll guide you through it, doll—…Vesp.”

Vesper’s gaze—now set with a new burst of energy from Milan’s movement—followed his every move, before grasping Milan’s hand with her gloves like a pestering fly. The sound of leather, wet, onto skin made Milan’s face go flush. “I didn’t mean it literally, but sure, I appreciate it—you, …too. So, you see—”

“I don’t.” Once again, Vesper remained blunt, having been worn out to the end of her wick.

“OK, I get it. I just… I wanted to understand how you’ve been doing, ‘cause all you gave me was just some status report on the… you of right now,” Milan leaned back, folding his fingers and cupping Vesper’s, “And I wanted to know something beyond that.” He hoped Vesper would look at him once more, like she did before, but her eyes continued to avert his.

“As I have stated before, I am merely… fatigued, rather simple, really,” Vesper flatly said, no hint of it being a retort.

Milan frowned, his head shifted just to get a better look at Vesper, to parse through her disheveled hair as she looked down at their hands, avoiding Milan’s face altogether. “Mm. You do this too often,” Milan teased, speaking with enough lilt to mask his concern for Vesper.

This was something that caught Vesper’s attention, her brows subtly furrowing as she turned—but not quite moving her gaze, like the wall behind them seemed more interesting—to Milan, “Do… what, ..precisely?” She muttered, chest still heaving with each deep breath she took. Milan rolled his eyes before resuming a more neutral expression. “Redirect, neatly,” Milan said it simply, before continuing further, “Like if you package it right, with a ‘prim and proper’ bow, it stops being a problem.” He then tousled his hair with a free hand. He hated that part of Vesper; it was why she was so infuriatingly beautiful and maddeningly loved by him.

Vesper went silent.

Only to deny this entirely, “…It is not a problem, I am not suffering from any problems.”

Milan stared at Vesper for a good, long moment. Their lover wasn’t the type to lie after all. So, clearly, she was just proving their point. “See! That’s what I mean,” Milan laughed—startling Vesper—only for Milan to carry on, “…OK, I’m—I’m not… good at this part, alright?” They were never the type to comfort or assist others. Oftentimes, it was the other way around, especially when Milan was an avid club-goer. “Usually, I just—do something else. Distract. Make it fun. Make it—whatever we... whatever that was.” Milan sighed, sinking into the mattress with a deep exhale. Vesper merely hummed in response, “…Quite apparent.”

The two fell into a set of back-and-forths, with Vesper responding in a series of clipped words.

“—But I don’t think that.. actually works on you.”

“It doesn’t, no.”

“Yeah, figured, …So—what do you want me to do?”

“…Pardon?”

Vesper finally took the time to look at Milan, seriously paying attention. His eyes were wide, like a fawn, and his features were crestfallen—she knew that part was another element of the act Milan often put up—still, she couldn’t help but feel that sickly sweet sensation yet again, the kind that must be the root cause of her side in the love of this relationship. She was startled—though the actor often found his ways to do so—but this was a different kind of surprise. Milan was taking the time to be gentle with her, in his own way at least.

Milan kept their eyes on her the entire time, not wanting to look away. They needed to show her, really show her, just how much they loved her. “When you get like this, a little like last week… Sorta distant, quiet, like …you’re about to disappear on us.” They combed a discouraged hand through their own hair, “Hah.. Seriously, I—What am I supposed to do?” A sheepish smile came to replace what ego Milan might’ve presented. This made Vesper go quiet once more; she wasn’t at all sure. This was an uncertainty that annoyed Vesper greatly, like many things that Milan tended to distress Vesper with—even if lightheartedly so. Her deep breaths got a little shaky, and she tightened her grip subtly on Milan’s hands as she thought with brows furrowing further, “N-Nothing.” She stumbled on her words, biting the inside of her cheek. “Nothing is required.”

“Don’t give me that,” Milan managed to piece it together in their own way; she was anxious. All the times where Vesper had gone quiet were merely the curtains shielding the nervous wreck she was internally. Still, Vesper spoke sharply through her teeth, her gaze dropping to the way her gloves enveloped Milan’s hand, “It is the truth.”

“It’s not helpful!” Milan persisted, a little too loudly, causing Vesper to slink away. Her hands moved away as she covered her chest with her arm, tugging up the stained covers with a free hand—she made a mental note to wash them later—for now, it would do. “Sorry, I… I didn’t mean to shout. Milan immediately apologized, feeling the guilt seep in as Vesper looked up at the ceiling, entirely away from Milan.

The silence stretched on, and Milan even considered calling it a night, but Vesper soon spoke, “I am… not accustomed to being helped.” She tidied her hair meanwhile, blankly staring up at the ceiling, plain except for the centered light fixture.

“…Right,” Milan mumbled, eyes still transfixed on Vesper, and the way she’d casually drop such heartbreaking words. Milan couldn’t at all relate, but he was desperate to try something that’d make her feel better; anything to make her truly loved. “Yeah, I can… tell.” He wracked his brain for anything of use, only to find nothing, save for the simplest of solutions. “Then, can I take care of you? I won’t do anything… stupid, just a bath.” Milan finally decided. Surely she’d be sore enough to need someone to take care of her, Milan thought.

Hesitation overtook Vesper’s mind. She was a woman of routine; she had one too many steps for Milan to follow, that’s for sure, but she knew Milan was trying. She couldn’t figure out what precisely Milan was trying to do, but it was something. Perhaps just another quality that relationships tended to hold, something that confused her. She didn’t think it necessary to understand at the moment; instead considered Milan’s gesture first, “That would be… acceptable.” Vesper’s eyes darted towards Milan’s direction for a moment before looking back up at the ceiling. He said he’d take care of her through this act, so surely it wouldn’t be something to regret. Milan smiled earnestly, but couldn’t help echoing her words with a slight taunt, “Acceptable, ..high praise.”

“It is sufficient.” Vesper nodded with a subtle tug upwards at her lips, a smile. Milan merely huffed in response, still glad that she was starting to come around, “Yeah. Alright, I’ll take sufficient.”

The two settled into silence for a moment, nothing but the hum of air conditioning circulating throughout the room as they finally came to a mutual understanding. Eventually, though, Milan broke that silence; he just wanted to make a few more clarifications. Just to be sure. “…Hey.” Milan started, quickly meeting a response from Vesper. “Hm?” She turned towards him, just barely enough to see his expression. It was neutral, but that just meant he was seeking reassurance himself. “We’re not—just... using you, you know that, right?” Milan whispered, blinking at her with doting eyes.

Vesper sighed, looking away almost immediately, back to the ceiling. “…You are inefficient. All of you.” Her words were flat, stiff like the stick she was, and that made Milan snort, “Wow, thanks.” he rolled his eyes with sarcasm, but still managed to smirk despite such. Still, He was met with yet another bout of words from Vesper, “Yet, you do realize I remain, despite such.”

It was Milan’s turn to go quiet; he didn’t know how to respond, so Vesper resumed for him, “So I suppose that… should be indicative enough.” She spoke softly, as gentle as a caress. It was as gentle as Vesper could be, and for Milan’s standards.

“Yeah.” It was enough. “It is.”

The two contemplated breaking the silence that they eventually slipped into, with Milan silently moving closer and closer to Vesper. She’d throw them a glance or two on occasion, but didn’t say much about it. Instead, she merely nodded with her eyes shifting to a close once Milan’s hand hovered over her waist. They discarded their draping robe, slipping into the covers with Vesper, and held her close to their body. Milan’s breath ghosted at her marked neck, tempted to taste her divinity once more. Vesper’s gloves slithered up to entangle in Milan’s hair, pressing the actor’s lips against her neck, allowing them to take a bite. As Milan’s teeth pressed into the side of her neck, oddly enough, they could feel her relax. Milan took note of this. She must be quite the sadomasochist in disguise, Milan thought.

The couple stayed like this for a while; Milan occasionally moved places, clamping down with increasing pressure, from her shoulder to her collarbone. He quietly praised her, thanked her, and whispered many other sweet things into her ear every now and then; he loved this part, it was the first few steps of the kind of aftercare Milan thought Vesper needed. It elicited small whines from Vesper; she felt vulnerable again—in that other way—and rested her head on Milan’s, occasionally tugging at his hair to move elsewhere. Eventually, though, Milan pulled away. Vesper looked off to the side, embarrassment subtly tinting her cheeks pink.

“Do you want to take a bath now?” Milan prompted, his hand moving up to cup the side of her face, even as she turned away. Vesper nodded quietly, and the two slowly sat up. Flakes of candle wax fell from Vesper’s back, and Milan shifted closer just to remove them, though it appeared more like a hug. “Sorry, hold on—I just need to get rid of these first—don’t want the tub clogging up.” Milan chuckled, more so to himself than anything.

Soon, the two made their way to the bathroom. Milan wasn’t the kind of lover who could carry their partner, so Vesper had to lean on Milan’s shoulder just to keep the balance of her sore legs. Once Vesper managed to sit inside the tub, Milan turned on the tap, letting the water run onto their hand as they felt the water heat just right. Vesper cupped some water and let it dampen her hair meanwhile, only to be stopped by Milan, “Hey now, doll—Ves! I’m the one supposed to take care of you. You did so well tonight—I just want to reward you—please, let me,” Milan spoke earnestly, but there was a sly smirk on their face as he closed in the proximity between them. Vesper stared quietly before resigning, allowing them to continue. “Thank you, darling.” Milan then climbed into the bath with her, the warm water sloshing slightly against their bodies. Vesper let out a hum of disproval, but Milan merely snickered.

Now, Milan and Vesper sat in the tub, facing one another. Vesper tilted her head, small droplets of water running down the sides of her face; her hair was slick and stuck to her. “So, what do you propose next?” Milan mimicked Vesper, tilting their head too, before silently cupping water and quickly pouring it onto her head, surprising Vesper. She almost pulled back, but Milan’s warm smile made her feel an irregularity once more, another uncertainty, leaving her with needing to hope that Milan wouldn’t push their luck too far. Before she could really say anything, though, Milan’s hands threaded through her hair, giving her a much-needed massage. “Ah, …okay,” Vesper breathed, letting herself slip into the water as Milan shifted closer.

It felt almost natural to be in such close contact with him now. Vesper was starting to adapt to this; she felt rather proud of herself, too. Milan continued to comb through Vesper’s scalp, kneading at her joints and stretching them to make sure she didn’t cramp. He even checked for any burns. All before eventually lathering her with soap, of course, this meant Milan had to take another bath, too, but he didn’t mind. Not when he got to spend some quality time with his lover.

The fresh scent of body wash carried throughout the room. Milan neared Vesper’s neck, almost tempted to bury his face into her side, but he resisted. A slight blush was the only evidence of Milan’s remaining need for her. Vesper was addicted in her own unique way. “Are you alright?” Vesper noticed Milan’s hesitation to move any further; the utterance left her lips in hushed syllables. Milan’s gaze flicked up to Vesper’s, though neither met the other’s, “Oh, yeah…just wanted to check on the marks. They’re pretty dark, might need some touching up in the morning,” Milan lied through grinning teeth. In reality, he was considering round two. Vesper prodded no further, though, accepting the answer almost immediately. Milan let out a sigh of relief, though it sounded more like a chuckle to Vesper.

“Can I dress you up too?” Milan asked, washing the back of Vesper’s hair as she moved onto his lap. Vesper thought it over, considering how this would be yet another deviation from her routine. Her shoulders sagged as Milan’s hands scrubbed and stroked at her scalp, “Please? I’d love to make a lovely lady like you a sleeping beauty.” He washed out the suds from Vesper’s hair and kissed the back of her neck. “…Very well then,” Vesper permitted, and soon the two left the shower. Milan dried both of them off with a towel, peppering Vesper with featherlight kisses, much to her annoyance—though, not that she was complaining aloud.

Vesper sat on the vanity stool, wrapped in a towel as Milan walked about, fetching a nightgown, Vesper’s pill box, and her skincare routine. Milan doted on her every detail, brushing through her smooth hair and letting it dry enough before helping her put on her nightgown. It was a short, warm gray, velvety fabric that hung on her shoulders by thin straps with a low plunging neckline that exposed her sternum.

“Thank you, …Milou,” Vesper meekly said. It was a nickname Vesper knew of but didn’t often use, and it was something that resulted in Milan crooning back with a sly smirk, “Aw, please, it’s nothing, darling.” He pressed another kiss, this time on her cheek. Before quickly scrubbing it off with a hand in advance, so Vesper wouldn’t complain during skincare. Milan also took the time to apply moisturizer on her back, just to soothe her skin from all the candle wax that had dripped from before. “I must say, you should’ve done this before letting me put on my nightly clothing,” Vesper commented, holding her hair back as Milan kneaded at some red splotches from the heat of the wax on her back. “So what? I forgot… OK?” Milan groaned, rolling his eyes behind her back.

Vesper then took the time to take her pills, opening a single compartment of the pill box, dumping the contents into her hand, before dryly swallowing them. Milan stared at the way her throat bobbed, and an obscene thought came to mind. They looked away but threw an offhanded comment, “You know, you don’t have to be all badass and can literally just—take it with water.” Vesper scoffed; she didn’t see the difference.

The two eventually made their way back to the bed. Vesper and Milan stared at the assortment of stains: fluids, waxes, and the like. Milan looked to Vesper, who was fidgeting with the ends of her hair. She seemed to shrink in on herself, not quite like her usual put-together poise. “…Let me handle this, dear.” Milan put a hand around her waist and led her to the chaise—of course, Milan’s penthouse would be wide enough for the bedroom to have one—for her to settle down as Milan changed the sheets and covers. In all honesty, this part was reluctantly done, for Milan didn’t care about cleanliness as much as Vesper did, and wouldn’t have minded if the change could wait a day, but he knew Vesper wasn’t the same, and his care for her outweighed himself. Vesper thanked him again, and Milan stepped back to let her do her thing—that being tucking in the corners four times, folding back the duvet the same amount, and fluffing up the pillows twice—it was a routine that Vesper tried her hardest not to deviate from, something so simple that seemed to mean the most to her. Milan found it interesting; she was a self-assured woman; hell, she loved certainty more than him—at least that’s what he figured—and she, evidently, can’t live without a single detail out of place.

Soon, the two slipped into bed, with Milan wearing nothing but another replica of the robe from before their satisfactory session, and Milan pulled Vesper in for another light kiss.

He ran his fingers through her hair, studying her narrow eyes, filled with amber irises that fluttered about anxiously. She was still fidgeting with the ends of her hair, her breathing shallow. “Is this too much?” Milan asked, ready to back away—hand freezing in place—about to recede. Vesper went quiet again, before slowly reaching up with clean leather gloves to wrap around Milan’s wrist. Her fingers were thin, almost spindly in comparison to Milan’s fitness. As she did all this, she still didn’t utter a word.

“Vesper?” Milan called out, her silent trance disconcerting him.

Vesper froze, snapping back to reality as her gaze flit towards Milan’s—just barely so—she parted her lips to speak, but no words fell besides an incoherent stutter. Eventually, though, she manages to put together her words, “My apologies. I’m not quite sure what got into me.” Vesper sighed, putting Milan’s hand down in the space between them. Milan doesn’t push any further, his hands curling in on themselves, just to make sure he doesn’t break any of her boundaries. She seemed so fragile in this state, and it was starting to stir his emotions.

“You should get some sleep,” Milan started, pausing just to take in another scan of Vesper’s face, “I know you must be, well, sore… and you deserve rest—especially after what I’ve, uh, put you through,” Milan chuckled, though it sounded hollow to himself. Even if they made her feel good tonight, Milan couldn’t help but feel a weight on his heart regardless.

They were a burden to her.

All those thoughts came flooding back, about how irresponsible Milan was, and how he talked about her to the others like she was just another skank—Milan knew she wasn’t—but that didn’t at all absolve his guilt.

He hated this vicious cycle.

This wasn’t the first time Milan found themselves trapped in self-loathing, with the day starting with a series of inconveniences and mean-spirited slights that ticked them off, before the night sank their heart and circled their mind with the very words that struck a chord in them.

Vesper was oblivious to all this, for Milan put up a convincing poker face. “Very well then,” Vesper replied quietly. Her voice retained that same restrained politeness she used for nearly everything, though now it sounded thinner somehow, softened at the edges by exhaustion. The words came automatically polished regardless, as though she had retrieved them from a shelf rather than formed them herself. Milan watched her for a moment as she settled back against the pillows with visible care, uncertain whether to say more or leave the silence untouched before it became too much. In the dim light, she looked unusually small beneath the blankets, shoulders drawn inwards as though attempting to physically reduce the amount of space she occupied beside him. She maintained distance with unconscious precision, not rejection exactly, more like another calibration of hers.

Milan swallowed, trying not to let it sting.

The room had gone soft around them. Warm. Heavy with the smell of clean sheets, sweat, and the lingering static of closeness. The bedside lamp cast weak amber light across Vesper’s face, catching the sharp angles beneath her eyes, and the slight redness creeping along the tips of her ears. She still hadn’t removed her gloves. That detail often sat strangely in Milan’s chest. Regardless, they’d take their chances. “…Did I hurt you?” they asked finally, the question escaping before they could stop it.

Vesper blinked once at the ceiling, going completely still as her breathing slowed, and that brought along a pause lethal enough to remind Milan of her punishing tone. “Not intentionally,” she answered.

The response struck Milan harder than outright cruelty would have. Milan laughed weakly through their nose, though the sound collapsed halfway out, rubbing tiredly at their face, “Christ. That’s not exactly reassuring.”

Vesper’s eyes shifted towards them briefly, “I was not attempting reassurance, I was answering your question.”

“No, I know.” Milan smiled faintly despite himself, studying her blank expression. “You’re honest to a fault.” As Vesper averted her gaze, meanwhile, Milan rubbed a hand over his mouth and looked away. Shame arrived with familiar efficiency, curling low beneath their ribs before they could even stop it. It always happened after moments like this—after parties, after affection, after intimacy—after any fleeting stretch of feeling wanted. The high dissolved, and left only the unbearable awareness of himself afterward. Too loud, careless, and just too much.

Another silence followed, though this one sat differently between them now—less sharp, more tired—Milan adjusted, careful not to crowd her space any further. They noticed the way Vesper continued keeping a precise distance between their bodies despite sharing the same bed, as though an invisible line had been measured and maintained with exact calculation.

Milan’s thoughts spiraled automatically toward every ugly thing they had said in the past weeks in the quiet they settled into. The jokes, comments, all tossed around Ocho too casually, too performatively, as if reducing everything to humor made it light enough to carry. They had spoken about Vesper carelessly before understanding the shape of her own silence. Carelessly, before realizing how literal she was with trust.

And now she had let him touch her. The realization made Milan feel vaguely ill.

They glanced back towards her carefully. Vesper looked exhausted in a way that transcended simple sleepiness. Her body seemed held together by concentration alone, shoulders tight beneath the blankets—still—fingers repeatedly smoothing invisible wrinkles into the sheets beside her. She was regulating, even now. It made Milan’s chest tighten. “You should sleep,” they murmured. “Really,” Vesper said nothing, only giving a small nod in return. Milan became acutely aware of the space separating their bodies beneath the blankets, not large, just deliberately enough. They wondered if she realized how carefully she maintained it, even unconsciously. Maybe she did. Maybe she needed to, like all things, their lover did. Milan suddenly understood that if they crossed that invisible line now—even accidentally—she might never let this happen again. Oddly, the thought did not frustrate them. Instead, it frightened them because, for once, Milan wanted to protect something rather than consume it.

“Goodnight, Vesper,” Milan said quietly after a while. The words felt more sincere than they intended, for she often—rather easily so—wove her way straight to their heart.

Vesper hesitated before answering, as though the words required more consideration than they should have.

“Goodnight, Milan.”

The lamp clicked off shortly after. Darkness settled over the room in gradual layers, interrupted only by diluted city lights bleeding faintly through the curtains, accompanied by the distant hum of the penthouse’s ventilation system and the faint sounds of traffic far below the windows. Milan stared upward for several long seconds after that, listening to Vesper breathe beside them. Not asleep. Neither of them was asleep.

Milan’s body ached pleasurably in some places and miserably in others, but beneath the physical exhaustion sat something more difficult and complicated to name. Usually, intimacy made Milan feel briefly euphoric before collapsing into emptiness afterward, a familiar pendulum swing between craving affection and resenting themself for needing it so badly, but tonight felt different. Not better, almost worse. Because Vesper had treated the entire experience with such sincerity, Milan felt almost bad that it was just another fuck to him. Sure, he praised and worshiped her body, but that was just part of the package deal. To her, there was no performance, no manipulation, no flirtatious games; she even cried. Her uncertainty had been genuine in a way Milan wasn’t used to. She had approached intimacy the way she approached everything else: cautiously, analytically, and trying so very hard to do it correctly despite clearly not understanding how to inhabit it naturally. Somehow, that honesty made Milan feel monstrous.

Beside them, Vesper shifted slightly beneath the blankets before going rigid again almost immediately.

Pain.

Milan recognized the tiny involuntary stiffness for what it was and felt guilt flare hot beneath their skin. God. Their eyes burned suddenly with exhaustion.

People always became harder to love once Milan got what he wanted from them. That had been true for years now. Familiarity stripped novelty away until affection curdled into irritation, or boredom, or guilt. But looking at Vesper now—silent in the dark, carefully preserving the distance between them as though it were structurally necessary—Milan only felt an awful tenderness creeping in around the edges of his self-loathing. That terrified them more than detachment would have.

Meanwhile, Vesper remained perfectly still beside them, staring into the darkness. Her body felt unfamiliar. Not fundamentally altered per se, merely over-perceived. It dawned upon her that it was her body aching. Not severely, merely enough to remain perceptible beneath every small movement: the soreness in her legs, the dull overstimulation lingering across her pale skin, the uncomfortable awareness of her own heartbeat. She focused on cataloguing the sensations rather than interpreting them emotionally. Muscular fatigue, for example, after unfamiliar physical exertion was statistically expected; Elevated heart rate after prolonged intimacy was similarly unremarkable; and the human body frequently responded to novelty with temporary hypersensitivity.

Still, that did not explain the rest.

Vesper continued to stare into the darkness, her eyes unfocused. Her mind kept returning unwillingly to fragments of the evening: the warmth of another person’s hands, the pressure of eye contact held too long, the unbearable vulnerability of being observed so closely while remaining unable to predict every reaction correctly.

It had not been unpleasant. That was the problem.

Vesper shifted slightly beneath the blankets and immediately regretted it as another wave of soreness pulsed through her hips, and her jaw tightened instinctively. Approximately 70% of first experiences are reported as awkward or emotionally confusing. She wondered briefly where she would fall statistically; regret did not arrive cleanly enough to identify. Neither did satisfaction. Instead, there was only a strange internal disorganization she could not fully sort into categories. Her routines had remained disrupted for weeks now, steadily eroding beneath accumulated exhaustion, proximity, and late nights that bled into the morning. Yet this felt different from the other compromises somehow. More permanent, less reversible. The thought unsettled her. People often confuse adaptation with comfort. The sentence surfaced automatically in her mind.

Vesper’s gaze followed the dark outline of the ceiling. Would this alter her permanently? The answer felt statistically obvious. Human beings are materially altered by intimacy regardless of whether attachment develops. It’s an easy source of trauma for a reason. Her throat tightened faintly at the thought. The memory of Milan kissing her surfaced, unwanted and vivid. Not the act itself, but the unbearable closeness of it—the prolonged eye contact, the warmth of another person breathing against her mouth, the horrifying vulnerability of being observed while physically unable to retreat into composure completely. Vesper had anticipated disgust, or panic, or a regret clear enough to categorize; instead, she felt disorganized.

She became suddenly aware that Milan was still awake, too. Their breathing had not settled fully into a sleep rhythm yet. Vesper considered saying something else, if only to resolve the lingering tension in the room into a more manageable shape, but no appropriate sentence presented itself.

What exactly was one meant to say after voluntarily allowing another person that close?

The question irritated her.

People often confuse emotional intimacy with physical proximity.

Another useless factoid surfaces automatically through the haze of exhaustion. Vesper shifted again, slower this time. A realization arrived quietly enough to frighten her. She did not regret trying. And as she didn’t regret it now, there existed a measurable probability that she would permit it again. The thought sat heavily in her chest.

Beside her, Milan finally exhaled long and slow, exhaustion beginning to pull them under at last. Vesper listened to the sound in silence, eyes still fixed towards the dark ceiling above them.

There are forms of deterioration that resemble adaptation from the outside.

And for the first time in a long while, Vesper could not determine which this was becoming.

ravage me, you did,

satisfied, I am.

thankful, too,

for the rest you’ve guided me to.

unbelievably so, I have to say it,

I love you.

❤︎ vesper ashley —

darling in the flesh,

you are divine.

oh, my darling, blessed,

you are mine.

forevermore,

I love you too.

— milan f. novak ❤︎

the way the wax flakes.

Morning arrived slowly in the penthouse, filtered through the thin curtains and the weak gray-gold light of an overcast sky. The room remained warm from the night before, blankets tangled loosely around two bodies that had, at some point during sleep, drifted far closer than either of them would have consciously permitted awake. Vesper woke up first. She always did, even without an alarm. For several long seconds, she remained completely motionless, eyes open but unfocused, her mind slowly orienting itself through layers of unfamiliar sensory information. Warmth against her shoulder: another person breathing nearby. Her body registered the situation before her thoughts fully caught up. Then came the realization.

Ah, right.

Vesper stared at the ceiling in silence. For Milan had somehow shifted close during the night without either of them noticing. One arm rested loosely around her waist—not tightly, nor possessively—merely there with the unconscious carelessness of sleeping people. Their face was half-buried against the pillow beside her shoulder, hair thoroughly ruined from sleep and spread in dark and gray curls across the sheets. Vesper did not move immediately, not because she particularly enjoyed the contact, nor because she disliked it either. Mostly because she was trying to determine whether extracting herself from the situation would wake Milan, and if waking Milan would require conversation before she even had tea.

The answer to both probabilities appeared, unfortunately, high. Human beings demonstrate reduced spatial awareness during unconscious states, a deeply inconvenient evolutionary trait. Carefully, Vesper attempted to shift one leg beneath the blankets. Pain immediately pulsed through her hips, and she froze. It wasn’t a severe kind of pain, merely enough to remind her body of every decision made last night with startling clarity. Her expression flattened in mild irritation. The human body retained memory through sensation far longer than she personally considered necessary.

Beside her, Milan stirred faintly at the movement, brow twitching before slowly blinking awake. For several hazy seconds, they simply stared at her with the profoundly disoriented expression of someone surfacing from unusually deep sleep. Then memory returned all at once. “Oh,” Milan croaked, their voice still laced with sleep. Their arm immediately jerked away from her waist so fast it nearly tangled in the blankets. “Sorry—sorry, Christ, I didn’t—”

“It is acceptable. I, too, apologize—for awakening you,” Vesper interrupted, plain as ever.

Milan stopped mid-panic, and the silence that followed felt oddly soft. Morning light caught faintly against the dark circles beneath Vesper’s eyes as she pushed herself upright, slowly, with visible care. Milan noticed the slight stiffness in her movements instantly, and guilt hit them with fresh efficiency. “You okay?” they asked before they could stop themself. Vesper paused, throwing him a momentary glance,

“I am operational.”

“That is the most concerning answer you could’ve given me.”

“It is accurate.”

Milan snorted despite themself, rubbing both hands down their face as they groaned, “Jesus. You really do talk like somebody filing a workplace incident report.” They clearly weren’t just yet in the headspace to deal with Vesper. She, meanwhile, adjusted one of her gloves methodically. “Would you have preferred dishonesty?” Milan laughed softly, tucking back a couple of curls behind their ear. “No, no.” They shook their head, “Just maybe less terrifying professionalism after sex.” Vesper looked at them blankly for a moment, then, unexpectedly: “…I will attempt to schedule emotional informality more appropriately in the future.” Milan stared back at her, and the way her gaze—while not quite meeting theirs—held so much sincerity. Then Milan burst into helpless laughter, so suddenly they nearly fell back against the pillows. “Oh my God,” they wheezed. “Vesper, darling, you crack me up, funniest shit of the hour.”

Vesper frowned slightly, clearly uncertain whether she had been mocked or complimented. Still, Milan’s laughter softened into something warmer after a moment. Affectionate, almost painfully so. God. She was trying. That realization hit Milan all over again with awful tenderness.

Vesper eventually escaped the bed first, disappearing into the bathroom to freshen up while Milan remained sprawled, dramatically so, across the mattress, staring at the ceiling.

Their body felt pleasantly ruined. Their emotions, less so. Still, beneath the usual low-grade shame and confusion that followed intimacy, there remained an unfamiliar flicker of satisfaction. Not ego exactly. Something quieter. The knowledge that Vesper had stayed, that she hadn’t recoiled from them afterward. That she had even attempted humor in her own strange, rigid way.

Milan smiled tiredly into the sheets.

Maybe that meant something. Maybe it didn’t.

…

By the time he wandered into the kitchen twenty minutes later—wearing his robe, half-tied, and his hair still damp from a rushed bath—Vesper was already preparing breakfast with military precision. The kitchen smelled pleasantly of tea and butter. Vesper stood at the stove in one of her long, dark skirts and a buttoned blouse, sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows, while she cooked eggs with exacting concentration. The sight itself felt bizarrely domestic. Milan leaned against the doorway for a moment, simply watching her move through the kitchen with quiet efficiency.

There was something deeply intimate about witnessing Vesper exist comfortably in a space. Even now, she barely occupied the room unnecessarily. Every motion remained controlled, economical, carefully measured. Yet there was still softness to the scene somehow. The quiet hiss of the pan, steam curling from her teacup, her hair still slightly damp near the ends.

Milan suddenly had the horrifying thought that they could get used to this. A dangerous feeling.

“Morning, housewife,” they teased lightly.

Vesper didn’t look up from the stove. “I am making breakfast because all three of you would otherwise subsist entirely on nicotine, alcohol, and poorly made decisions.” She chided back. “Ah,” Milan nodded solemnly. “Love you too.” Before Vesper could respond, footsteps echoed loudly down the hallway, then: “God-fucking-damn, Milan!” Ocho entered the kitchen wearing sweatpants and absolutely no shame whatsoever. Perseid followed behind him, looking half-dead, a lit cigarette already hanging from his mouth despite the early hour. Ocho looked between the couple once, then he grinned, wide as a Cheshire cat. “You filthy fuckers,” he laughed. “You actually managed to make the bed hit the wall!”

Milan nearly choked as they stuttered, Vesper froze so abruptly, the spatula in her hand stopped mid-motion—egg sliding off quietly. Perseid immediately looked like he wanted to walk directly out of the penthouse. “What?!” Milan spluttered. “No, we did not!”

“You absolutely did,” Ocho said cheerfully. “Thought some bloodshed and murder was going on—though, then again—I’m sure the room was wet in all sorts of ways.”

Vesper visibly grimaced, but remained silent, plating the food as the exchange continued. “We were trying to be quiet!” Milan retorted.

Ocho purred, “You failed spectacularly, Milly. Both of you.”

“I can not lie, ‘Cho has a point, ouais. I did not think we would… hear Vesper like that,” Perseid said, taking a drag from his cigarette before letting the ashes drop under Milan’s rug.

Vesper’s face went from pale to a shade of subtle pink as she stared at the stove with the rigid focus of someone attempting psychological evacuation—astral projection, maybe—from the current conversation.

Perseid, meanwhile, looked actively miserable. Not disgusted, something worse. Jealousy sat bitter and silent behind his exhausted expression as he watched Milan drift naturally towards Vesper’s side in the kitchen. He watched the tiny adjustments between them already beginning to form: Milan reaching automatically for the plates while Vesper moved aside just enough to allow it. Small, unconscious coordination. Domesticity. Something ugly twisted in Perseid’s chest all the while.

Because Vesper looked tired this morning, yes, but also strangely lighter around the edges in a way he had rarely seen. And despite all his distrust towards the penthouse, towards Ocho, towards the way boundaries here dissolved into blurred, unhealthy shapes. Some part of him still wanted that softness of hers directed at him instead. Which was pathetic. Pathetically dangerous.

Ocho wandered closer to inspect the food. Eggs and toast, equal servings made precisely just for four. Something Vesper would tend to do. “So,” he said casually, stealing a piece of toast directly from a plate before taking a crunching bite, then started speaking with a mouthful. “How was your first time, Vespie, baby?” Vesper made a soft, horrified noise under her breath. Milan, on the other hand, burst into embarrassed laughter immediately. Perseid simply closed his eyes like a man enduring divine punishment.

“Ocho,’ Milan cried, “for once in your life, shut the fuck up!”

“But I’m asking super politely, though…”

“You’re asking like an invasive fucking species!”

“Oh, I’m sure you know all about a ‘fucking species,’ hah!”

Vesper abruptly shoved the accompanying plate and egg—from which Ocho snagged the toast off of—into Ocho’s hands, hard enough to interrupt him. “Consume this silently, will you?” she said with unnerving calm. Ocho grinned so brightly it became obvious he considered this a victory.

Perseid watched the entire exchange with aching resignation. And despite himself—despite the envy crawling unpleasantly beneath his ribs—a small, exhausted smile pulled itself at the corners of his lips anyway.

Written by a human in Ellipsus. ;)