Oh my goodness guys, we are nearing the end of this story. There is only ONE MORE CHAPTER AFTER THIS ONE.
Thank you so much to those of you who have left me reviews. As I am towards the end I grow paranoid, hoping my readers and reviewers will follow me into the next story. Thank you to those of you who have shared this story with your friends, those of you who were patient enough to go on this journey with me through this steep build up. Thank you to those of you who take the time out of your day to tell me you enjoy this story, you guys are the best.
There is some brief non detailed sexual content in the last pov, if it makes you uncomfortable please skip to the last few paragraphs of the story! Hope you enjoy this!
The bags were packed.
Nikita sat at her desk, on her right hand she had the unsigned Eichen House papers that would admit her in. On the left was a school form informing parents that their children would be watching an R rated movie in class, Walter had signed off on it previously. Nikita looked to his signature, memorizing the curves, weights, sharp descenders of each and every letter. She picked up a pen, and did her best to replicate his signature on the Eichen House papers, forging his signature perfectly. She leaned back into her seat, proud of her work. Realization was sinking in, she was actually about to do this.
It felt like such a big step. A terrifying step.
She quickly shoved her packed bags under her bed, it wasn't time.
Not yet.
Nikita pulled down her black beanie, making sure that it covered her ears. It was especially cold tonight. It was the last lacrosse game of the season. Her and her father were standing in line to grab kettle corn. Even though Walter had to leave twenty minutes into the game, he wanted to be here to support Scott and spend time with Nikita.
It was weird being here, all the people she was supposed to trust were all present at the game. Including her father. She hadn't made up her mind about him yet, was he a liar like the rest of them?
Over her face was this thin plastic mask with a permanent etched in smile. When really she felt lost, like she wasn't standing in the dark dewy grass with half her school and her father. It was difficult attempting to emote these days when it felt like it would drain her of all her energy. She couldn't feel much, she couldn't even feel for Stiles, but her brain was screaming at her to talk to him at the end of the game. Which is why she agreed to go in the first place.
Her mind felt like mush, like static playing on repeat over the images of what had happened earlier in the day. The girl at Eichen House, her 'claims'. Nikita shuddered just thinking about it, brushing it off, for now was not the time. It was never the time.
" -And that's how they delivered four healthy girl quadruplets in the hospital today!" Walter finishing his story to which Nikita wasn't even listening to, lost in the shallows of her mind.
He put an arm around her shoulder to pull her in a side hug. "And that made me think of the day you were brought into this world. I knew I would love you forever, even though you looked like a little yellow raisin and you were supposed to be a boy, hence your name."
Nikita turned to suddenly look at him. "Wait what!?"
Walter kissed the top of her head. "I'm just kidding, making sure you're actually listening. Although you did have some mild jaundice as a baby."
She would have rolled her eyes at him, but at the instant Gerard Argent showed up, crossing the field to stand next to the bleachers. Her and the demonic geriatric prune held a cold gaze together. Circling each other, knowing the other person knew something the other didn't. In her case, her remembering the night of Winter Formal. Nikita couldn't even bare to look at him, and quickly looked away. Except this time Walter had caught the quiet and hostile interaction.
"What was that?" Walter inquired, pushing his thick rimmed glasses up with his index, his 'night glasses.'
Nikita didn't bother answering, wanting to divert his attention, so she looked around, wishing this line for kettle corn would die already.
That's when her father walked in front of her, grabbing both of her shoulders so that she was forced to look at him. It was peculiar staring into eyes that were told to be a carbon copy of hers, dark evergreens on a dismal night. They were concerned for her, they were always concerned for her. And while she wore her mask so well, there was only so much she could hold back. Her levy of emotions were riddled with cracks.
"Has Gerard Argent done something to you? Talked to you? Done anything to make you feel uncomfortable?" Her father inquiring. When did Walter's senses sharpen?
Why did this feel so humiliating? Why did he make her sound like an actual victim? She didn't want to answer him, and being here was hard enough already. Gerard had been harassing her for some time now, made it so she had another reason to dread school.
Walter's eyes searched her face for some sort of tell across her iron facade. "Alright." Was all he said.
He went marching off, right past her, and towards Gerard Argent. She shouted his name, hoping and swearing he wouldn't do anything that would cause her deep humiliation or him in handcuffs. The people around the three of them had frozen, Walter's angry strut was enough to get them to stop and watch, waiting to see what would happen next. He was an angry bull seeing red, and Gerard was a straw stuffed scarecrow about to be pulverized. Nikita and the surrounding audience let out a loud gasp when Walter's face connected to Gerard's face. Argent was looking the other way when it happened, the punch catching him by surprise and knocking him to the ground. Nikita ran over, unsure of what to do. Walter was on top of Gerard now, pulling the old man to his feet by the lapel of his coat.
"You stupid son of a bitch! I told you to stay away from my daughter. DID I NOT TELL YOU?"
Both of Nikita's hands came to her mouth, she had never seen her father like this before, so overprotective. Nikita wasn't sure if she found it disturbing or not, the limits her father was pushed to, acting such a way for a calm gentle dignified doctor.
Walter still had Gerard by his jacket, the old man looked like he had been hit by a bus, dazed with wide eyes. Not a sentence left mouth, not even a word could manage to escape between the stammering sounds he was making. His jowls shaking.
Security was quick to pry Walter away from Gerard. Her father's fingers outstretched, wanting to scratch off Gerard's paper thin skin. Nikita followed her father as two security guards escorted him off the premises.
"You're lucky I don't press charges, Grace!" Gerard shouting after them, regaining his confidence even though his ego was now shattered. Suddenly Nikita didn't find him so intimidating anymore.
Walter pulled his arms away from the two large school security guards, giving them both venom filled pointed glares. "I can walk to my own car, thank you."
The two of them, father and daughter, wore bright red faces. Nikita's flushed with embarrassment while Walter's was filled with pure rage.
"Did you have to do that!? Do you know how humiliating that was?" Nikita right on his tail, the dewey grass now becoming hard asphalt as they entered the parking lot.
"Never let people tread on you, Nikita." Walter fishing his car keys out, speaking through gritted teeth. "I had to leave soon anyways, i'll just get to work early."
He seated himself in the car, looking to Nikita before closing the door. "Be safe tonight, ok? I'm keeping my phone on me if you need anything. Also there's a frozen lasagna in the freezer if you decide you're hungry."
Nikita let out a puff of air which fogged into the frigid air, her hands still tucked into her coat pocket, shaking with anger and adrenaline. "Ok. Thanks." She said lamely. Not sure how she was supposed to go back to the game after what had happened.
She turned onto her heels to return back to the game. Walter watched as Nikita was out of his view. Still seated in his car, Walter fished around in his coat pocket. From there he pulled out a silver tin, holding it steady in his surgeon's hand. With his thumb he popped the lid off, admiring the white pills inside. The corner of his lips pulled into a relieved smile, his anger submerging beneath a pool of calm. He put the lid back on, and threw the tin into the backseat of his car.
"Have fun rotting, Gerard." Walter started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
-Scott's POV-
"Open your eyes, Scott." A cold and familiar voice called to him. "I know you can hear me."
It was Gerard.
Scott was here at the game, seated at the bleachers, absolutely petrified. He had run out of ideas on how to outsmart the Argent patriarch. Coach Finnstock banned Scott from playing the last game of the season due to his less than spectacular grades. So Scott sat on the lacrosse bench with his eyes closed, next to Stiles. He had to keep every bit of him as calm as he possibly could, so that he could hone in and control all of his senses, more importantly he had to figure out how to get on the field and make sure Jackson didn't hurt anybody. Scott could hear the sound of metal cleats breaking the surface of the field, the whoosh sound the ball made whenever it was tossed into the air. The rapid heartbeat belonging to Jackson as he zipped down the field. Many different scents intermingled sharply in the air. The excitement of the crowd, the smell of fear wafting off of Stiles. He had every right to be afraid, Jackson was in the game and Gerard had the upper hand, he was the shoe...And Scott was just a mere bug about to be squashed.
"I said open your eyes or else your mother gets it!" Gerard's harsh voice cut through Scott's concentration, verbally prying his eyes open.
Scott turned around to see his mother at the top of the bleachers next to Sheriff Stilinski, but Gerard was nowhere to be seen. His mother was here, he didn't expect her to show up, put herself in immediate danger for him. Scott's heart ached for her, she must have been so terrified.
"Or maybe it'll be your best friend." Gerard's voice taunting the Beta. Scott immediately looked to Stiles who shot him a quizzical stare. Stiles could read his best friend like a book, no words were needed to tell that Gerard was here, and he was messing with Scott's mind.
"Don't listen to him, he's just trying to intimidate you." Stiles trying hard to reassure Scott, but there was no sense in trying.
He couldn't shut out Gerard, his eyes darting around the field, across the bleachers, searching for him. The elder Argent's voice grew louder, angrier, full of force. "Let's make Stiles an orphan, shall we?"
Stiles' lips were moving as he spoke words to try and calm Scott down, but Scott couldn't hear any of it. Not with the blood pounding in his ears. His heart rate was starting to pick up, he could feel heat behind his eyes, they wanted to set Gerard aflame. His fingers had clenched into fists, his claws threatening to elongate any moment. Scott was at risk of exposing himself in front of everyone right here, finding it harder to control himself. Control was a lucid concept, especially when the people he cared for were being threatened.
"It seems that I have forgotten my manners!" Gerard taunted from where he hid. "let me be the first to congratulate you on your new step sister..."
Scott's head whipped to the side to look at the bleachers once more. There she was sitting amongst the crowd in an emerald green coat and a black beanie on her head. She was seated next to Lydia, both of their eyes focused on the game. Stiles' eyes followed Scott's gaze, a slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips when his eyes landed on her. But as realization hit him like a brick square in the face he paled over. The sound of Stiles' frightened beating heart seemed to drag Scott away from his blind rage. He looked to Stiles with concern.
"He's not going to do anything to her, he's bluffing." Scott said. More like he hoped, they had assumed the same from Peter Hale, and he acted opposite of his suspected intentions. Scott didn't dare tell Stiles about his father being threatened.
"She shouldn't be here." Stiles licked his bottom lip and turned around to watch the game, his fingers twitching around his lacrosse stick.
Stiles buried his head in his hands before letting out an exasperated sigh; they were already showing defeat. It was hard not to. Neither he nor Stiles had the confidence to carry on. "It's going to be bad...Isn't it? Oh god."
Scott nodded and swallowed past the dry patch building in the back of his throat.
Once more Stiles turned around to look at Nikita "I need to tell her, I need to tell her everything t-"
"BILINSKI!" Coach Finnstock shouted.
Stiles' mouth dropped open as he squinted his right eye, completely befuddled.
"I need Bilinski on the field NOW!"
Stiles jumped out of his seat and nearly fell over the bench, knocking over rows and rows of lacrosse sticks in the process. His brown eyes lit up with excitement and confusion, he looked to Scott for an answer.
"I think they need you on the field, buddy!" Scott giving his friend an encouraging smile.
Stiles wasted no time running to join his team mates, slipping across the grass in the process. Scott actually let out a chuckle, forgetting for a moment the dire situation he was in. He beamed with pride for Stiles, for his friend had wanted this for so long.
"Keep laughing Scott." Gerard's voice coming in again. Scott could feel his voice this time, like it were clawing at the back of his neck. He turned to look over his shoulder. Gerard was there, to the side of the concession stand, amongst a sea of people. The coward was holding a pack of ice to his right cheek. Scott took too much pleasure in seeing the old man in pain to stop and ask himself what happened to Gerard in the first place.
"You won't be laughing when the blood of those you love cover these fields."
- Stiles pov-
Adrenaline and excitement coursed through his veins soon after he made a second goal. A SECOND GOAL. And no it wasn't in his own team's goal net. Stiles actually scored for his own team. He finally had a chance to prove he could play lacrosse. Everyone here was a witness to that. The crowd was wild with excitement, he could hear his father cheering him on from the top of the bleachers, his father being the loudest one throughout the crowd. The sound of his ecstatic father made him beam with pride, he was tripping on pure happiness. He was hoping and praying that Nikita was screaming and cheering for him as well. He wanted to show off for her, so Stiles' feet pivoted on the slick grass as he bobbed and weaved past opposing players. With swift speed he zig zagged across the field, the players were starting to look like blurs of color to him. Stiles was in the zone, an impenetrable focus on the game. Loving the confidence that flowed so freely within him.
By chance he looked up to see her there, standing in the bleachers. But she wasn't standing to cheer him on, she was standing up to leave. Nikita was clearly upset at something, from the looks of it so was Lydia Martin. Except the redhead remained seated, watching Nikita go without attempting to stop her.
Stiles wanted to talk to Nikita at the end of the game. She was leaving and he never got to tell her the truth about werewolves and the supernatural. He never got to tell her the truth and admit that the whole time he'd done it to protect her, because he loved her.
She couldn't leave when they were so close!
Stiles came to a halt. "NIKI!" He shouted her name only for it to get drowned out by the roaring crowd. She was making her way down the bleachers.
An opposing player, twice the size of Stiles, knocked right into him. Stiles hit the ground with an audible 'oomph!'
His head rolled to the side while he cringed in pain, he was seeing tiny little red dots dancing behind his eyes. A blurry Nikita was starting to part farther from him, Stiles couldn't waste another second. He wanted to reach out to her, grab her hand and tell her everything he had kept from her. Stiles had absolutely no fear in telling her the truth, he just wanted to get everything off his chest. He didn't expect Nikita to come running back to him after telling her everything, in fact he expected the opposite. She would hate him so much for this. But at least he would never have to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders and lie to her face. Just then a curious little white ball rolled right beside his head, Stiles' eyebrows knitted together.
"Oh...shit." Stiles muttered.
"Get the ball!" He heard Coach Finnstock shriek "Get the ball!" Groups of people shouted.
Stiles quickly scurried to his feet and with one swift scoop he picked up the ball. Niki was walking alongside the field now, the wind blowing through her hair with each long hurried stride. Too many times Stiles had watched her walk away, leaving him in shambles. No...He wasn't going to let her leave, not yet. Clumps of grass and loose dirt flew behind Stiles as he hit the ground running, running along the field right next to Nikita. Little did Stiles know he was actually running towards the direction of the goal.
"Niki! W-Wait!" He shouted, he knew she could hear him, but she was choosing to ignore him.
Her head was bowed down, eyes transfixed on the grass as she walked towards the parking lot. She was only nine feet away from him, but Stiles couldn't cross the chalk drawn line, otherwise he would forfeit the ball.
"I have to tell you something! Nik!" He pleaded one last time before he came to a stop. She kept walking, never turning around to look at him. "Please! Wait!"
"Throw it!"
Stiles looked to see his father jumping up and down in the bleachers "Stiles! Throw it!"
In following Nikita he had lead himself to the side of he goal.
The timer was ticking down, with only seconds left to spare. He looked to see he was only a couple feet from the goal, he was so busy chasing Nikita he didn't even noticed he outran most of the opponents. If he made this goal he would break the tie, Beacon Hills would win the CIF championship. With his eyes squeezed shut Stiles threw the ball towards the goal as hard as he could. A roar of cheers erupted into the night sky, Stiles had made the winning goal. While the crowd was cheering, Stiles could only hear dead silence, his heart beating in his ear drum; watching Nikita walk away. He didn't hear the people screaming and chanting his name, congratulating him. Nor did he feel the pats on his back, his shoulders being shaken by his elated team mates. No, once again Stiles Stilinski watched his dream girl walk away, like she did the night of Winter Formal.
But this time she stopped.
Just beneath the lamp lights. She was off in the parking lot, but Stiles could see her clearly from the field. His breath hitched to the back of his throat when she turned to look at him. Her silken brown hair blew back with the soft breeze, her pouty red lips pulled to form a small smile. Even from the distance he was at, Stiles could see her smile. Her smile was warm honey coating his soul. The gesture wasn't much, but it made his happy heart swell with pride. He shot her a smile back.
Just then a sea of hands lifted Stiles from the ground, his team mates were holding him up in celebration. Stiles couldn't help but to chuckle, his whole body shaking with laughter. He had won the game for his team, and Nikita actually smiled at him. For a moment he really did feel like he was on top of the world. Stiles threw his head back and looked to the night sky, he wanted to remember this moment and cherish it forever.
Then, the lights cut out.
-Nikita's POV-
This was so far the most bizarre night of her life, and she had seen an eternities worth of oddities.
She was here for Lydia, her best friend felt that the games were the last slice of normalcy in their messed up chaotic lives. That by showing up they were showing people that they were like everybody else. Lydia more than anything strived to fit in, Nikita noticed the whispers and rumors about them, the sad pitiful way people looked at them. Lydia turned a blind eye to all of it, she was stuck in her own dream world where she was still queen bee. Nikita knew better.
Without noticing, Nikita was playing with her necklace again, sawing the small silver heart along its chain. Lydia was the one who noticed Nikita's tense ways, even though she was basically a cold robot.
"I think it was important for me to be here tonight." Lydia confessed, her lips pressing a perfect red mark on to her coffee cup.
That got Nikita's attention. Lydia had absolutely nothing tying her to the game. She didn't need to be here, she wasn't with Jackson 'Shit-more' any longer.
"Because it's important for us to preserve our reputation." Lydia said simply, vacantly.
"Our reputation?" Nikita actually let out a laugh, unconvinced with Lydia's burn and crash mission of preserving her name. "Our reputation is shit."
"What does that mean!?" It was news to Lydia.
Nikita buried her face in her hands, covering her chuckle, incredulous as to how deluded Lydia had become. "Everyone thinks we're freaks! Why do you think people have left us? Why do you think people are keeping secrets from us? Jesus, Lydia, get your head out of your ass."
"Maybe if you didn't act so miserable and sad all the time we would still have friends!" Lydia shot back.
"I'm not the one screaming bloody murder in the middle of class!" Nikita pointing out. "And while we're on the topic of people keeping secrets from us, what the hell was up with that punch at your party?"
Lydia suddenly looked away, her eyes back on the field, looking for Jackson. "I don't know what you're insinuating, Nikita, and I don't like it."
Nikita could feel paranoia creeping up on her, she was always paranoid these days. Questioning her father, questioning those who called themselves her friends, her family. No one could be trusted, not even Lydia, who had already betrayed her trust once before. Why wouldn't Lydia betray her again?
"You know what i'm talking about." Nikita's voice growing impatient, Lydia trying to play stupid wasn't going to work with her. "Did you, or did you not drug everyone, including me, at your party?"
"You have no clue what you're talking about, Nikita!" Lydia was refusing to even look at her, the lack of eye contact had Nikita beyond peeved. She at least deserved that much.
"You're just like the rest of them!" Nikita snapped. Being here was tough enough, she wanted to go home, grab her bags, and drive straight to Eichen House.
One by one she descended down the steps, leaving Lydia completely crushed.
She walked alongside the field, towards the parking lot. It was when she heard Stiles' voice she picked up the pace. She wanted to tell Stiles everything, she did, but if she looked to him as he ran beside her, calling out her name with a sad desperation, she would break down in tears in front of half the town.
Nikita made it past the goal and could see her mini cooper waiting for her in the parking lot. And escape, right there. Her feat treaded hurriedly across the asphalt, but before she could go any further she came to a stop. An internal battle racked at her brain, for she had promised herself she would at least talk to Stiles. Maybe it was best to talk to him after her stay at Eichen House. Nikita turned to see Stiles had made the winning goal, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, at least things were going well for one of them, when everything else seemed to be going to shit. He looked to her and flashed a smile back, but not before being picked up by his team. Nikita covered her mouth to hide her even wider smile. He looked terrified being that high up, a frightened cat, until he finally relaxed and allowed himself to enjoy his victory.
"Congrats Stilinski." Nikita said to herself, rocking back and forth for it was cold out, and it was time for her to head home.
Just then the lights went out. Nikita let out a gasp as shrill screams filled the night. It must have been a power outage that startled the crowd, nothing more. Paranoia was still clung to her back, she knew something was wrong right then.
Nikita heard him crying out her name!
"Stiles." She whispered. For a moment she stood, paralyzed by fear. A chill of terror rolled down her back.
She had to get to him.
Nikita hit the slick grass running, the wind blew past her as she picked up speed. The cold air whipped at her face, bringing all her senses to life. A resurgence of energy, the last bit in the barrel coursing through her now. She hadn't run this fast since...since that fateful night.
Her combat boots dug into the soft earth as she ran towards Stiles. Towards where she had seen him last, before the lights went out, celebrating with his team. That's when all chaos broke loose. Howls and wails were heard as Nikita pushed past frantic bodies. She used her elbows to clear the way through the thick frenzied crowd to get to him. Nikita let out a yelp as the lights were turned back on, the harsh white lights skewed her vision, but she kept blindly pushing through the crowd.
Nikita rubbed at her eyes to see a small crowd forming, someone was on the ground.
"No!" She choked out as she literally yanked people back by their collars, upsetting people nearby her.
But she didn't care, she had to make sure Stiles was okay. Her eyes widened at the sight of Jackson limply strewn across the floor, immediately her hand covered her gaping mouth. Melissa was knelt next to him, checking his vitals. Lydia on the other hand was sobbing uncontrollably as she stood above her ex-boyfriend. Jackson was in terrible shape, but he was being tended to by a nurse. Nikita's eyes squinted and scanned across the field, there was no sign of Stiles. He would have rushed by Nikita's side by now.
"Stiles!" She called his name.
Sherriff Stilinski heard her, his head whipped side to side looking for his son.
"Where is my son?" He asked a frightened Nikita.
"I don't, I don-" Was all she could say as she yanked off her beanie so her fingers raked through her hair and gripped at the roots.
Her mouth hung open with no answer. He was here only a moment ago.
Sherriff Stilinski frantically looked around him one more time "Where is my son!?" He shouted out.
- Alex's POV-
Indecisiveness would be his downfall.
One of his many flaws upon his ego and bitterness.
He used to be so self-assured as a teenager. Then the big life decisions started, every decision leading him to a different path that would either enrich or ruin his life. A town elected "child prodigy" could only do right for so long before the bad choices began to take over. He never liked making decisions, not one to enjoy the pressures of being a twenty-something year old, a 'young adult'. Even now, when he was at the bottom of the well trying to climb out in hopes of restoring his life, Alex feared responsibilities.
The quarter danced across the sticky bar surface, spinning in rapid circles.
Alex told himself that by the time it stopped spinning, he would make up his mind. That was a lie he would tell himself constantly for years now. It's how it always went, he would tell himself he would make a concrete decision when the quarter stopped its dance. Except that he would keep flicking at it, spinning it faster so that the momentum would never die. The dance would be everlasting and his decision would never be made. He would never be faced with the pressures of making a choice.
"Here's the whiskey you ordered."
The cup came down on the quarter with enough force to slosh the alcohol over the rim. Outside forces disrupting the quarter didn't count, a penalty, his decision would be made another day.
Alex looked up, disappointed to see his favorite leggy bartender wasn't here. In her place was some hipster Brooklynite Waldo looking fuck. The bartender was in a red and white striped sweater, his thick black rimmed glasses got on Alex's nerves, but it was the black Dhali-esque twisty mustache of his that really escalated Alex's annoyance.
'Where is Waldo' was now giving Alex a sharp look, who was openly staring at him, trying to burn the mustache off with his heated glare.
Dear god, it was so ugly.
"Why are you always here by yourself?" The Bartender inquired, thinking he could open Alex up to conversation. An amature mistake.
"How do you convince girls to sit on your face?" Alex's curious glance never leaving the greasy twisty mustache on his bartender's face.
The bartender was absolutely mortified, having stopped drying a beer mug with a rag. A woman next to Alex let out a laugh. Forcing the offended member to go hide out in the back, avoiding the two of them.
Alex turned to look at the woman sitting on the stool beside him. All the stools were empty, she could have sat anywhere, but chose to sit right beside him.
She was older, gorgeous, just his type exactly. Her high cheek bones caused the shape of her dark velvety eyes to look like two crescents. Upon those cheeks was a smattering of delicate freckles. She was professionally dressed with a deep cobalt suit and pants, and a high collared white blouse. Whisps of raven glossed hair framed her face, the rest of her hair tied neatly in a tight bun. She had a whole 'fuck me in the autobiography section of the library' look going for her. Alex recognized her right away, he had seen her face all over the media.
A woman such as her enticed him deeply. He knew what she was, one of those dominant types who got off on power and control. Hence her job, of course. She could sniff out weakness within moments, pick men from boys.
Alex smiled.
Power and control were two of his favorite things.
"Someone had to tell him." Hirst said, taking a sip of her gin and tonic and throwing Alex a wink.
"I take pleasure in being a considerable sort of man. A rarity amongst sheep." Alex's eyes drinking her in while his own lips tasted the honey whisky.
"How noble of you." Her body starting to lean towards his, his natural magnetism drawing her in. This was far too easy. She was starting to pick up on his attraction towards her.
"I try." Alex's voice low, causing her to lean in even more.
Her hand shot out for him to shake it, Alex took it gingerly, noticing how she had to assert a strong grip over him. "I'm Detective Hirst."
Before he could say anything, she interrupted. "And you're Alex Vincent Jones. You have a reputation around town you know."
"Uhoh." Alex mused, his dimples appearing with his devilish smile.
"Uhoh is right." She leaned in even closer to Alex so that her lips were just brushing against the shell of his ear. Her hot breath which smelled of alcohol beating against his skin, stirring the insatiable sexual fiend in him.
"I am a detective after all." Hirst whispered.
" Doesn't seem that hard of a job really." Alex's dimples still on his face. Him insulting her profession would only make her want to work hard to prove him wrong. "I could do what you do right here."
"Is that so? You think you can assess me?" Hirst's dark eyes narrowing on him, unsure if she was peeved or turned on by his arrogant demeanor. "You hardly graduated High School." Her brows cocking up as a sign of a challenge.
" It doesn't take a Detective to see how you're wriggling in your seat. You're wondering if I can fuck you until you're raw, aren't you?"
Hirst spat out her drink back into her cup, shocked and appalled by Alex, and his possible ability to read her mind. She looked to him to see if he were joking, his dimples however had vanished. He was serious. Those bright Arctic eyes of his looking her up and down. Just being held in his enchanting gaze was like being wrapped tight in silk to the point of constriction. She found it intimidating looking into his wintermist eyes, finding herself looking off to the side instead.
Where do you want to go? Behind the alley so I can have you against the wall?"
His dagger sharp smile came back when he heard Hirst swallow thickly.
"In your car?" Alex carried on. He could see a pink flush working its way across her cheeks.
Alex's finger traced her collarbone ever so gently, a feather light touch that brought goosebumps to the surface of her skin. His hand then went to grasp around her throat, the size of his hand dwarfing her slender neck. Her mouth hung open, unsure what to say or how to react. Alex was only giving her a taste of what's to come, should she choose it. He didn't seem to care if people saw them, the obvious sexual attraction flowing over so thickly.
Alex's confidence unmatched by no other.
"Or I could fuck you right here, I don't mind an audience."
His dark brows lifted, this time it was him lobbying a clear challenge on her end of the court.
"Well?"
Her moan was caught in her mouth, teeth clenched onto her bunched up blouse to hold back her screams, not caring if she got her lipstick all over it. She had driven them back to the police precinct, literally throwing her cash at the bartender and dragging Alex out by his belt loop. The few officers that were in today exchanged glances as she hastily lead him into her private office and slammed the door shut. Before Alex could even say a word she was already on her knees, unbuttoning his pants and taking his member into her hungry mouth. And now Alex had her seated on top her work desk, her papers and folders carelessly shoved onto the floor. He pounded fiercely into her, his heavy rhythm had Hirst literally shaking. His cock felt so good inside of her, enveloped in her heat.
Alex used his hands to pry her thighs open, she was finding it hard not to collapse inwards, using her knees to squeeze him. Hirst let out a long 'fuuuuuuckk' which was muffled into her blouse. He gently bit down on her collar bone, where the arousing taste of the salt on her skin and oils of her perfume intermingled perfectly on the tip of his tongue. His soft lips grazed to her shoulder across her beating pulse, licking, sucking and nibbling on the crook of her neck. Teeth grazing across the delicate flesh. Her breathing quick and ragged, small supple breasts bouncing with the motion.
Her hand came up to stroke the side of his face, the back of her hand caressing across his smooth cleanly shaven jaw. It caught him off guard to the point where the fluidity in his body turned sharp and mechanical. The feel of the tender touch singed at his skin, like she were pure battery acid. Alex immediately caught her hand by the wrist, and roughly pinned it to the desk. The blouse had fallen out of her mouth with her soft mewlings, her whispering his name over and over like it were part of her daily affirmations.
Alex decided he was annoyed by her and her tantric facial expressions. The muscles in her face twisting and contorting to create the most off putting looks, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He tried closing his eyes, but upon that he decided he didn't like how vulnerable that felt. So he pulled out of her and flipped her so that he had her bent over the desk.
With his feet he kicked her feet apart to widen her stance. His hand gripped tightly in her sweat dampened hair, pulling her head back, so that her neck was elongated, the back of her head resting against his shoulder. Alex quickened his pace sending hard jolts of pleasure raking throughout her body. He loved holding her there, literally caught in his grasp, no escape unless he were to will it. The pleasure which she felt was his doing, he could give it to her, he could take it away. He was depleting her strength and energy and filling her with life all at once with just the mere movements of his hips. More importantly, he was asserting dominance over someone who had thought themselves to be on top.
He was literally on top.
And he refused to have it any other way.
"Your father is a great man." She moaned as he pumped in and out of her. "Mmm, he raised you right."
Alex's face scrunched in distaste and general disgust, the conversation was wrong on so many levels. He could have sworn he went limp inside her right there. The subject of his father being interjected mid sex was far from arousing, in fact he preferred there was minimal conversation.
"Can we not talk about my father? Or talk at all?"
"I'm praising you!" She managed to speak between her moans.
"If you want, you can praise my dick with your mouth a different way. Either shut up, or get back down on your knees." Alex commanding.
It didn't do much to pacify her talking, even when he pushed her back down so that her face was hovering just above the desk.
"I need to take you to New York with me. Fuck! You fuck me so good!"
Alex's brows pressed together. Not understanding how a small town detective could make it in New York. She had piqued his curiosity. "What's in New York?
He drove in, long and sharp this time, his movement turning into a staccato rhythm that elicited a loud gasp from her. Surely those outside her office could hear them now.
"My meal ticket Nikita Grace giving me all the celebrity credit I need to get me out of here. I'll be starting with the NYPD in a few short months. And she'll be getting the professional help she needs. And that Deahler kid's death is like a goldmine."
Alex's rhythm began to slow down, his grip in her hair opening to release her. "What does that mean? About Nikita?"
Hirst was too lost in her rigorous climb of pleasure, her teeth grinding back onto her blouse. So Alex pulled out completely, he heard Hirst give out an annoyed groan before looking at him over her shoulder. Her onyx eyes boring a hole into Alex's chest, she had yet to get off.
"Are you withholding your dick from me now?"
"Answer my question." Alex said sternly, finger pinching the base of his condom, threatening to take it off and walk away.
Hirst turned around to face him, leaning on her desk, not one to swallow an ultimatum like a handful of dry uncoated pills.
"A source who works front desk at Eichen House spotted Nikita earlier today. Nikita will probably be checking in tomorrow." She said with a shrug of her shoulders like it were nothing. Like a teenage girl wasn't thrust into the spotlight, made believed to have attempted suicide in order for Hirst to gain her fifteen seconds of fame.
Alex stood perplexed for a moment, blinking hard as the information started to seep into his brain. He then took off his condom anyways, tying the end and throwing it in the trash next to Hirst, who looked completely offended now.
She let out a victimized scoff, mouth hanging open, her pinkish lipstick smeared down to her chin. Alex picked up his denims off the ground and fished in his back pocket, pulling out his phone. Hirst began to elongate her body on the desk, craning her neck back to give him the most lewd and provocative pose. She was under the impression Alex had stopped the fuck-fest midway to take photos to save in his spank bank.
"Why?" Alex muttered, judging her with a strong side eye glare and turning around so his back was to her.
"If you're not taking photos, what the fuck are you doing?" Hirst sitting like a normal person now.
Alex put the phone back into his pocket and hopped into his pants. "Not you, that's for certain."
That got Hirst to snap, she was so used to being the face of authority that it frazzled her when someone else stepped up, or brushed off any power she thought to have possessed. He was rude and brash.
He quickly opened the door to her mini fridge, helping himself to a replenishing drink. Upon seeing the contents in there he shook his head, judging what was present. A jar of almond butter, a few twinkies, a few tall cans of energy drinks, and a Sunny Delight orange juice.
Alex grabbed at the orange juice. "Sunny D? What are you ten?"
"Oh i'm sorry is your blood sugar low?" Hirst barked back, struggling to put her bra back on, coming down from the high Alex had just snuffed out. "By all means, go right through my shit. You earned it, thanks for not making me cum."
"Couldn't be bothered to." Alex going back to his phone and scrolling through his contacts.
His head tilted quickly to the right, a pair of black chunky high heels narrowly missing his face, Alex's reflexes much too sharp for her.
"You're a piece of shit!" Hirst shouted at him.
"Rub one out, you'll feel better." Alex not giving into her frustrations. "Or better yet, find another kid to profit off of and maybe you can buy yourself the most the most expensive toy to fuck yourself with."
"I'm desirable, you fucker! I don't need you!" Hirst screamed, throwing her second shoe right at him like a well polished ninja star. Alex caught it in his hand, and threw it directly into the trash, where frankly, she belonged. This time she picked up her desk lamp.
"Time to go," he said, shrugging into his shirt but leaving the front unbuttoned. Taunting her with glimpses of his toned stomach. He was ripped and he knew it, and so did she. Their sweat had dried, but there was still the slightest sheen glistening on his skin and the crisp hairs there, and he wanted her to see it. Just so she had an idea of what she lost out on.
It worked. Hirst hesitated, the lamp limply dangling from suddenly numb fingers where only a moment ago she'd meant to fling it at his head. Alex smirked as she swallowed her suddenly dry throat, a fresh need of desire resurfacing.
Alex was about to make his way out the door, phone and Sunny Delight in hand, but of course had to leave with one last longing impression.
"And uh, Hirst. You're like the last donut in the box. Jelly filled. Everybody touches you but let's be real...nobody actually wants you."
She stood up, lamp back in her clutches!
Alex quickly ducked out the door, her shrill scream following him out, the loud bang and shatter of the lamp hitting the door. All eyes in the precinct were on Alex now, it wasn't that hard to figure out that he and Hirst had been fooling around in there. His sandy hair a mess, his shirt completely unbuttoned.
"Gentleman." Alex said with his impish smile at the few astonished faces around him.
He pressed his ear to the phone and made his way outside, seating himself at the front steps of the precinct. The night air cool against his skin.
Alex waited for his little brother to pick up the phone, taking a sip of the much too artificial orange juice. His fingers raked through his damp sandy hair, it took him everything not to yank it out. Alex was frustrated, fed up, and more importantly...
He was out of time...
Jonesy finally picked up, Alex not allowing his brother a single word. "Look. You were right."
Mighty big of him to admit, because Alex was almost always never wrong. But he was in this case, terribly, absolutely, god awfully wrong. Just saying those words left a foul taste in his mouth, he hoped to never say it again.
"I'm not the dick you think I am. And if I'd known things would get so out of hand . . .So insanely bat shit crazy and damaging..."
If he had known, would he have dealt with things differently? Would he have acted on his responsibilities sooner? No. Because no matter how much time he had given himself, he would have never been ready. The fear was gripping, but there was no other choice.
"It happens tonight Jonesy. You hear me?" Alex licking the sugar and citrus off his bottom lip.
"Tonight."
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