Hi.
Hello, there.
You here again too, hm?
Yeah... I feel ya.
Being locked inside is a bore, but hey! At least this means I've got time to write :)
I will do my absolute best to bring back som lightheaded humor in the next few chapters, because I don't want this story to become too heavy (I don't know if you guys feel like it is right now, but just in case). So, yeah. Something to look forward to, I hope. But for now, yet just another semi-intense update, about our favorite couple working things out.
[[[Also, Eric is "drunk" in this chapter but like in previous chapters, it doesn't really show through that much. I somehow feel like he's not the type of man to really stumble and slur and be silly with alcohol in his system. To me the only way he shows his inebriated state is through his logic... I suppose? If that makes any sense? Like he acts a tat more petulant, indecisive and/or aggressive when he's drunk, but otherwise, he's more or less the same. If you guys feel like something is missing BIG TIME, or you feel like he should be more obviously drunk, I could always come back and change things a bit around, but for me this not-clumsy Eric makes just way more sense. But yeah. Let me know what you guys think if it bothers you (or when it doesn't).]]]
Anyway, on with the story.
Lots of love and keep safe!
EPOV
It had taken Eric a 'slight' detour of multiple hours and via multiple other bars – of which one the Basement – before he effectively made his way home, but when he eventually did, he was baffled at his findings.
In fact, he was so stunned by the sight of finding Keena's sleeping form in his bed, Eric was sure somebody had spiked his drink somewhere along the way. Either that, or one of those arseholes in the Basement had hit him harder on the head than he'd initially imagined.
His mind must be playing tricks on him. Why would she come back here after what happened tonight?
He wanted to be angry with her – he did – because he was angry, and she should know it. And yet, finding her here in his bed, was heaven sent. All of his remaining fury resolved into thin air and there was this aching in his chest – so loud, so wild – he was sure he would die. He wanted to scream with... with... something. Not rage –especially not rage– not right now, but something equally consuming.
Perhaps it was relief.
She was wearing one of his sweaters, the hoodie pulled, covering all of that beautiful hair he so loved seeing draped over one of his cushions. She had been crying. Even in his inebriated state he could make that out from the puffiness of her eyes and the barely dried cheeks. They were shimmering softly in the yellowish hue of his bedroom light.
"Eric?" Keena blinked with her eyes, struggling to get them open.
He had no idea how long he'd been standing there, just staring at here, but her sudden movements felt like such a significant alteration – intrusion even – that Eric was pretty sure it had been a while.
"Eric, is that you? Are you alright?"
He didn't respond. He just didn't know what to say.
Was he alright? Was he alright after finding out his girl wanted to spend her fucking life away from him, at the other side of the city? Was he alright after having spend several hours hours of drinking to forget about her? Was he alright after having fought five, six, seven fights in the hope his physical pain would numb his emotional one? Was he alright after what had felt like a lifetime of thinking they were over, only to find her in his bed now?
When his silence dragged on, she sat more upright, forcing her eyes open all the way. They widened as she took in his torn up and bloodied state, and quickly got out of bed, walking over to him for a thorough assessment of his battle wounds, no doubt.
He tried to ban her bare legs from his mind.
"Oh, Eric. What did you do?" She murmured, more to herself than to him as she flipped on some extra lights in the room.
He knew he was looking like he'd just come out of a cockfight, because he was, in a way. Although, roosters had more balls than the pumped-up slackers he'd just fought down in the Basement. And regardless of his efforts to accomplish otherwise, he hadn't even lost either. What a joke. Alas, at least he'd finally looked the part of how he felt on the inside, but seeing her scrutinize him with those big worried eyes suddenly made it feel a whole lot less of an accomplishment.
He didn't want her to worry.
That was his job.
He jumped at the contact of her cold fingers on his skin and tried to shrug her off, remembering he was still angry with her. She didn't listen. She never did. And neither did he really want her to. So eventually he just gave up trying and let her tend to his wounds.
Her soft fingers intertwined with his, and she let him over to the sit at the edge of his bed, supporting him as his drunk ass tripped awkwardly over his own feet, the alcohol apparently only now giving the desired affect. Great. He watched as she disappeared and reappeared from the bathroom, retrieving this or that she supposedly found necessary to use on his wasted skin. It didn't matter. There would always be a new cut. A new wound. A new scar. But he didn't tell her that. Instead, he just watched her collect random stuff.
"Take of your shirt." She ordered softly, a whisper in the dark. Enthralled by the sound of it, Eric did as he was told.
She worked in silence for the rest of it, and watched in equal stillness. The only sound that escaped him was a hiss of when she disinfected a particularly nasty cut on his upper am. One of his fights had been with knifes. The other guy would have to spend some more nights in the infirmary.
Eric's gaze altered between her frowning face and efficient hands, wondering what he'd done to deserve her soothing touch, her worry, her care, even now. Failing to come up with a proper answer, Eric concluded he simply didn't. He didn't deserve this, and yet she did it anyway. Like the spineless Amity or push-over Abnegation he'd once thought her to be. Sometimes still did.
He was about to tell her off. Tell her that he wasn't her charity case, that he didn't like to be smothered and cared for and that he didn't want her empathy. But for some reason the words didn't come out. Because for some reason, they weren't true. They were for any other. But not for her.
He wanted to lean into it. Bask it in.
He wanted her small tentative hands all over him, cleaning and soothing his wounds.
He liked her touch. Her concern. Her care.
That is to say... he had liked it, when he'd thought she actually cared. Before he knew she was taking a piss at him. She didn't care. She was leaving him.
His bile started rise again. His blood boiling just beneath the surface, right underneath her touch. But just when his anger threatened to take over, Keena's hoodie fell off, exposing her beautiful blonde curls and delicate creamy neck. Or at least, that's the color it should've been.
Eric had already been silent, but if he hadn't, he was sure he would've been stunned to silence anyway. His gaze trailed the red outlines of his handprint on her neck, her throat, all the way round.
Had he really been that rough? He could hardly remember. All he remembered was being so-so angry, and so-so relieved he hadn't been forced to fight her. For fuck's sake! Had he really done that?! How was that any better than fighting?!
Keena was busy cleaning some shallow wound on his upper arm and didn't notice his stare. So when Eric lifted his hand to trail a single finger over the outlines of her bruising neck, it was Keena's turn to jump away from his unexpected touch.
"Did I do this?" It was a futile question. He knew he did. Her eyes told him too.
"It doesn't matter–"
"How can you say that!" He snapt, angry again. But this time his anger was directed at himself and himself alone. Eric shot away from her, crawling further up his bed until he was resting his back against his headboard. He crossed his arms over his bare chest stubbornly, ignoring the protests of his wounds and cuts in his arms and chest at him doing so. "You should go." He told her with a nasty snarl in his voice.
He should've known she would do the complete opposite.
"Eric, look at me." She told him softly, walking around the bed. "I'm fine. I'm here. I'm fine."
"You're throat..." He pointed out, like she didn't already know how not fine it was.
"Will survive." She finished for him, smiling slightly as she sat down on the bed next to him.
"It's your throat." Eric stated sternly, his stare on her severe. How could she be so relaxed about this? Had she put up her icy wall again? It didn't look like it. Her green eyes were swirling with warm emotions. She was still herself. Still feeling. Still open.
"Eric, I'm fine." She repeated, crawling over to him, until she was seated right beside him, her hand resting on his thigh. "I know you didn't meant to hurt me. I shouldn't have come there."
"No, shouldn't have!" Eric bellowed, getting out of bed again, rolling to the other side of where she was seated. "Do you have any idea what kind of people come to that bar, Keena?! If I hadn't been there, and you'd walked in, you wouldn't have made it in one piece!"
"I can hold my own, Eric." Came her soft reply.
"No you can't! Not in there!" Eric snapped back. "Most people listen to me because they are fucking shitting their pants when they see me, Keena. Those people in there? They only listen because they respect me for my violence. There's a difference. They are just as ruthless, understood?!"
"Understood." Again with that sweet soft voice of hers. So warm. So delicate. Like a warm ray of sunshine in spring.
Why wasn't she getting angry?
"If I hadn't been there..." He trailed off. She could've been death right now. Or raped. Or bleeding out somewhere in an alley. There really was no way of knowing what could've happened.
"You were there."
"That's not the point!" Eric bellowed, happy to have his feet firmly on the ground again. Being angry was so much more easy when you were standing. "You don't go wondering into random bars you don't know! Especially not when you're all alone and a tiny little female!"
"Alright, Eric." Keena relented softly, a small chuckle escaping her throat. "I won't go in there ever again. Not by my tiny little lonesome. Not without a chaperone."
He'd expected her to start yelling back by now, but she hadn't. Instead she just sat there, calmly on her knees on his bed, watching him with amused eyes. Fucking laughing at his insult!
"But this is not why you're really mad, Eric." She continued and Eric shuddered with rage.
She wanted to talk about the reasons he was mad?! Did she enjoy him all riled up again?! He wanted to shout at her, tell her to shut up and leave it alone. He wanted to throw her out of his apartment so he could finally be alone – without a babysitter that tended to his wounds as if he was precious – as if this wasn't all just a big fat joke to her.
But her next words rendered him silent. The storm in his head disappeared.
"I'm not leaving you, Eric." She admitted in a whisper. Her green beautiful eyes staring up at him. "I'm not taking a job outside of this compound."
Eric didn't reply – at total loss for words to say – and just stared at her for the longest of times. Eventually, she crawled over the bed until she was right in front of him and stood up. Still on the bed. She had several inches over him from where he stood on the ground. Her hands came up to cup his face, her thumbs softly stroking his cheeks. But he couldn't look at her. Not yet.
"Eric, I'm not leaving you." She whispered again. "I'm not."
The sound of her voice was more soothing to him, than her touch could ever be. So warm. So sweet. So rich with emotion. He wanted to believe her. Her words were pulling him in. But she couldn't just decide this now. She already took the job.
Seemingly reading his mind, she started to explain.
"They offered me a job as interrogator for the Special Forces. My job is in the compound."
Finally, Eric fixed his gaze upon her face, seeking out her bottle green eyes and finding only truth in them.
"They – you what?" It didn't make sense.
Keena smiled down on the still stoic mask he knew his face to be, strictly intended for gloomy and dark expressions only, but she wasn't paying attention to it. She was looking into his eyes instead. And Eric was all too sure those were just shining with hope.
"During the interview they were quite pleased with my ability to read people. They wanted me as a spy initially – because of the way I look, no doubt – but after I turned down that first offer, they quickly offered me a job as interrogator instead."
"You turned them down?" Eric couldn't help the small twitch of his lips from showing on his face. This was his girl, casually turning down the second-best workplace in the compound, like it meant nothing to her.
"Well. I told them I didn't want to be a spy, because I was quite content living my life in the faction of my choosing. They told me I would change my mind once I've heard about all the exciting missions out there and I told them I wouldn't. I think they offered me this job as an interrogator with the hope I might still change my mind one day, but I won't Eric. I won't."
Silence between them seemed to drag on forever, his more than little inebriated mind slow to catch up with everything she'd just said. He still didn't think this job was meant for her – the interrogating tactics of the Special Forces were far beyond what she would want – but she was strong and determined. If she really wanted this, there was no doubt she could make it.
And more importantly – albeit selfish – she would be working from out of the compound, within his reach to intervene may the need arise, and at an arm's length distance at night. Hopefully less.
There was just one other issue bothering him...
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried. But you jumped to conclusions and by the time I understood what the miscommunication was all about, you'd already stormed out the door."
"Yeah, that's not what I meant." Eric told her icily. "Why didn't you tell me about the interview? Why didn't you tell me about the offer."
"Oh. Well." Keena blushed, hopping of the bed and moving away from him. He followed her into the kitchen. For what purpose, he did not know. "They kind of jumped it onto me too. I was just walking the hallways this afternoon and they told me to 'come along', so I did. I had the interview and it was kind of obvious they expected an immediate answer. I could hardly tell them I wanted to 'think about it' when it's already such an honor to be asked. I was afraid they wouldn't want me anymore once I turned them down –"
Keena was rambling and Eric couldn't help but interrupt her with an amused sort of snort.
"They would be idiots not to want you." Eric told her calmly.
She spun around on her bare feet, eyes shooting up at his. "Does this mean you're okay with it?" She asked hopefully.
No. It didn't mean that. He wasn't okay with her working for such a shady organization. He was sure they were still trying to trick her into becoming a spy for them. She'd been right; her appearance worked in her favor for a job like that – so small and innocent looking – she didn't look at all like a rough Dauntless agent.
Eric couldn't blame the Special Forces for wanting her to be a spy. People would be sure to trust her quickly. Her appearance was treacherous, her mind intelligent. She could connect with people easily and yet stay on the background for those she wished not to be seen by. She was a chameleon. Always had been, always would be. Eric still often wondered if she was, in fact, a Divergent. Hell, he had long since reached a point where he'd be more surprised if she wasn't.
Either way. She would be sure to succeed in her job at the Special Forces – whether it was as interrogator or spy – but she lacked a certain aspect for this line of work as well: Deviousness.
Keena wasn't the person to hurt people for the fun of it. Not like Eric himself, for example. Yes, Keena could be though as nails and was a real fighter, but she only ever did it in order to protect. She protected herself by becoming icy and distant. She protected others by becoming fierce and fiery. She wouldn't be able to stomach hurting people just to get some intel. She didn't enjoy hurting others. She wouldn't enjoy the power it would gave her, having them scream out in pain, all because of her doing.
She would hate this job.
But he wouldn't tell her that.
This was something she would have to find out for herself.
So, staring into her hopeful eyes, the moon illuminating her sparkly white skin, Eric couldn't help but nod.
"Yeah." He said, a tentative smile playing on his lips. "I'm okay with it."
She rushed to him –two, three, four steps– and then her face collided with his chest, her arms encircling him into a tight embrace.
"I'm sorry I challenged you." She breathed against his skin. "Back in the bar. I shouldn't have."
"I shouldn't have touched your throat." He said, kissing the top of her head. He didn't say the actual words, but it was implied and she knew. Her arms briefly flexing around him, hugging him even tighter.
They stood like that for quite a while. Eric's intoxication slowly making way for exhaustion. His eyes started to close as he buried his nose into her hair, breathing in the smell that was so ultimately her.
Crisp mandarin, freshly cut iris, patchouli and musk. Not too sweet, a bit of an edge to it and yet so, so feminine.
"Do you want some tea?" Keena asked, breaking the silence. "I was going to make some."
"No." Eric breathed, clearing his throat when he found it all hoarse and breathy. "And neither do you."
He lifted her up in his arms then, her legs quick to clam around his waist for support while her arms hugged him tightly around his neck. He had simply meant to carry them both to bed, holding her in his warm embrace as they would fall asleep, but when she started bestowing sweet kisses on his jaw – the one heavily bruised from one of the fights – his fatigue slowly fade away. The murmur agains his skin, made his member come to life, and her next words had him throwing all resolve overboard:
"I'm not leaving you, Eric." She whispered in his ear as he bend over to toss the duvet out of their way. "I might've taken a damn long time to come to this point, and go after what makes me happy in life, but I'm not going to ever give it up now. I'm not going to give you up."
Eric shuddered as he laid her down onto the mattress, her words warming him to his core. He hadn't realized he'd been wanting to hear those words, but now he did he was craving them again. And Keena – his beautiful, sweet and tempting Keena – was granting him his every wish.
"I won't ever give up on you, Eric. No matter how much you push me away."
Her words were god-sent, her lips forbidden fruit. He shouldn't be allowed to touch her. To taint her. She was too good for him. Way too good. Too pure. Too sweet. Too everything he wasn't and could never be.
He shouldn't touch her.
But he did it anyway.
He lied down onto her, his heavy weight pressing into her, his clothed hips rolling into hers. Her bare legs opened up for him, inviting him in. His mouth swallowing up the gasp threatening to escape her lips. He sallowed it up and kept it inside, desperate to own every little thing she had to give. Every whine. Every breath. Every plea... Every grunt. Every moan. Every touch.
They moved in unison against each other. Him, still with his trousers still on. Her, still with his sweater on. Until they suddenly weren't and all there was left was naked sinful skin.
She broke the kiss as he pushed into her, her lips dragging along his jaw and further down his neck until she found that pulsing vein. Suckled this patch of skin like her life depended on it, she moaned against it with every thrust he gave.
Their breaths were labored, their touches sweet as his muscles flexed underneath her tentative fingertips, exploring every inch of his shoulders. Of his back. Of his arse.
She grasped him there – for the first time, he thought – her fingers digging holes into his flesh there, trying to press him further into her. He roared her name as he glided over her sleek and sweaty body, pushing the duvet further away from him.
"Say it again." It wasn't an order – not really – more of a request. A plea. It was stupid but he wanted to hear her say it just one more time.
He had never had someone that was his before. Someone who looked at him as if he were the greatest person in the world. Someone he felt comfortable with to open-up to in the way he could with Keena. He'd always been so full of anger and rage. Always been so full of hurt and sadness. Sadness because his parents hadn't seen him – cared about him – like they ought. There was always something more important. There was always someone more important.
He had never mattered –not really– not to anybody. Not until he had joined Dauntless. At least here he'd been a leader, but even all of the fame and importance that came with the job, Eric had still felt empty. He had figured that feeling important would fill that hole inside of him. That hollow feeling of miserable emptiness. But it never had.
For years he'd pushed on, hoping that one day he might find a cure. Perhaps one day he would feel valued like he craved to. And now he did. Keena made him whole. Every touch, every smile, every jest - all of it would help filling up that hole.
He just needed to hear her say it, one more time. At least for now. And she granted him his wishes like the magical creature she was.
"I won't ever leave you." She wheezed, staring into his eyes in earnest. "I'm yours, Eric. Forever yours."
He growled and attacked her mouth, lapping at her tongue with such vigor and ruthlessness, he was drawing blood. Neither seemed to care. Because she was his, and he could claim her as thoroughly as he pleased. And he would never be fully satisfied. Even now, when he was buried deep – so deep – inside of her, he wanted more of her still. He didn't think he would ever be completely done with claiming her – taking her – having her as his. Not when their bodies fucking melted together into one. Not when she screamed his name for the world to hear. Not when he'd filled her up with his strong spurts of vital seed, impregnating her with his baby.
Wait what?!
No time to think about it now, his hips snapped into her with more force and she was moaning his name out loud. His pace quickened even more, his hands groping her hips forcefully, holding her hips flat onto the mattress as he felt both of their orgasms approach.
"Oh, yes Eric! Yes-yes. God, yes!" She cried into his mouth and he swallowed up all of her words, just like she would be swallowing up all of him.
His mouth left her mouth and instead opted to – for the first time – kiss her raw and swollen throat. Soothing the burning pain she must still feel with his tongue, she cried out his name as he hit a spot deep inside of her. Her fingers were pulling at his hear and pressing her further into her neck at the same time.
Their bodies such a perfect fit.
"Oh, Keena." He breathed against her neck as he pistoled himself into her time and again. He could feel her walls begin to flutter around him, his had throbbing everytime he reached that sweet spot deep inside. His balls were tightening, desperate for release and the feeling was just too damn overwhelming to focus on anything else. He let his lips dance across her throat on their own accord, panting into the crook of her neck, and moaning her name in soft grunts of unrestrained passion.
"Oh, yes, Keena. That's it." He edged on. "Let me feel what you can do."
She was only whimpering now, trying to gasp out his name, but not being able to focus on any other sound but the smacking of their bodies coming together, over and over again. She was close. So close. And so was he. But he bit through his carnal needs, bringing his head up to face her, forehead to forehead, gazes locked. She was panting with her mouth slightly open, little whines coming out of her, as he slowed down his thrusts.
He packed her lips, murmuring sweet nicknames against her soft pillows as he let his heavy body slither and slide over her small one. He was caging her, crushing into her, squeezing shut between his body and the mattress. She was his, and his alone. No matter what all those little wankers outside tried to accomplish with her, it wouldn't work. She was his. Nobody else would ever see her like this. So full of emotion. So full of awe. So full of him.
She was trembling now. As was he. Just one more push.
Sliding his hand between their sweaty salty bodies, he found her soaking clit, covered in her lavish juices. The first flick of his fingers had her biting his shoulder. The second flick had her moaning against it. The third flick and press of them onto her swollen pearl had her screaming out loud.
"Eric!" She cried at last, her walls fluttering all around him.
Now it was his turn too. He quickened his pace, forcefully fucking her through her orgasm. His shaft was pumping into her relentlessly, his words barked into the damp evening air:
"Yes, Keena. That's it! That's my good little girl! Scream for me, my little Dauntless! Let them know who owns your cunt!" His breaths were short. His voice raspy and hoarse. Four, five, six more of his thrusts and then he came inside of her with forceful spurts, his seed as deep as he'd wanted it to come. And what was best? He felt her eager cunt swallow it all. He didn't want a baby. Not yet. Not really, and he was pretty sure she was on the pill. Still, some part of him suddenly dreamt of having a baby with her, while he'd been sure he didn't want to have any kids at all.
Later. He would think about this later.
Focussing his attention back on Keena, who was still repeating his name, over and over again – although her cries had turned into soft sweet whispers by now.
He continued to pump his softening shaft into her for a little while longer, just enjoying the feel of it before he was totally spend and collided on top of her. It was a fucking cliché, especially with all the inventive and creative positions they usually tried out, but ending like this – in the fucking missionary stand – was completely different and infinitely more intimate than all the other positions. Better. More satisfying.
After a while of just laying there in silence, he finally pulled out of her, and pulled her back against his chest with one arm while his other reached for the duvet and threw it over them. And as they drifted off to sleep, Eric couldn't help but revel in the fact that he would have her there – in his arms – for a lifetime to come.
She was his.
And he was not going to fuck that up.
Alright, that was it for now! Hope you enjoyed!
I still have to start with the next two chapters (I'm quite indecisive about those), but for chapters thereafter I have stuff laying ready so we'll see how long it's going to take me to update.
Perhaps a little wait is better, anyway. Fancy this: First you guys beg me for updates, and now I'm updating so much I'm overdoing it and you're all gonna hate me for spamming you (haha, I dearly hope not!).
Either way, thanks for reading! And special thanks for reviewing! You guys make my day :)
