A/N: I'm gonna be completely honest, I don't know what does and doesn't deserve a trigger warning anymore. So warning for mutual masturbation and cam sex. Enjoy! p.s. I promise they'll actually be in the same room soon.

Christine wasn't sure how she ended up on a video chat with him. Obviously she had clicked the camera button. She just wasn't sure how he managed to talk her into it.

He had asked her for a picture the night before. Nothing she was uncomfortable with, he reassured her, just a simple picture of her, right then. So he got a picture of her curled up on her couch, wrapped in a shabby blanket and wearing her pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt. It had been her dad's. Most of her pajama tops were from her dad's wardrobe. They hadn't been able to waste much. She didn't have anyone to get hand-me-downs from and so she had gotten her father's.

He hummed in that warm way that made her stomach somersault and called her beautiful.

When she asked for one in return he hadn't argued the way she expected him to. She stared at the picture for a while. It was taken in much the same way as the picture on his profile was. She began to wonder if Meg was right and he had no head. The top two buttons of his white shirt were undone and his sleeve was rolled halfway up his forearm, the lines of a tattoo peeking out from the edge of his cuff.

She asked him if he had a head at all. He chuckled.

"If I didn't then how would you hear me, sweetheart?" he answered warmly.

She had left it there. He wanted to take things slow, that was what he told her, and all things considered he honestly had been gentle with her so far. He didn't demand much. If he wouldn't show her his face there must be a reason behind it. One day she would ask, she thought, but not that night.

Vaguely, she wondered if he was ugly and that's why he wouldn't send it. Maybe his nose was too big or maybe he had acne. That's what she chose to believe. She didn't mind the thought so much. She had acne sometimes and it made her uncomfortable too. She stared at the picture while he talked to her. His voice was warm and soothing, powerful, and he certainly had a decent body. It was obvious looking at the picture that he had some muscle to him and the teasing of the tattoos only made her more curious. His body was objectively attractive and she would be patient if she needed to be.

But now she was on a video chat with him - well, alone, and she was tugging at the edges of the blanket she had wrapped around her while she stared at the big, black square where he should be.

"Are you anxious, sweetheart?" His smooth voice broke the seemingly unending silence.

She chewed on the inside of her lip and shrugged. The truth was that she was incredibly anxious. He was staring at her. She could almost feel his gaze and she couldn't see him. That was incredibly nerve wracking. Especially when she had no makeup on and her hair was still damp from a shower. She had tried to tell him that she needed fifteen minutes but he told her that there was no need, that he wanted to see her just as she was, and now she felt just a bit too vulnerable. Even Meg had hardly seen her without her makeup and she was like a sister.

"I know that you are. You're fidgeting," he murmured, pausing thoughtfully. "You don't need to be. You are stunning, princess. But if you need to disappear in that blanket it's okay."

Christine hunched over, pulling the blanket tight around her shoulders. "Daddy?"

"Hm?"

"... what color are your eyes?" she asked nervously. He wouldn't show her, for one reason or another, but surely she was allowed to ask.

He hummed thoughtfully. "Yellow," he answered eventually. "I think, at least. I've been told that they are amber."

She shifted, running the scratchy fabric of her blanket between her thumb and pointer finger. "I think I would feel a lot better if I could see you too," she tried, mumbling her request.

He was silent for a long time and just when she began to open her mouth to apologize, he sighed. "One day," he said softly. "Not yet. You've been doing very well, sweetheart, and you've been so good. How would you feel about another rule or two?"

She nodded slowly. If she had more rules, and she followed them well, maybe he would let her see him too. "I think I'd be okay with that," she said, looking down at her lap. Looking at the black screen where his image should have been staring back at her was unnerving.

"Just like last time you are allowed to tell me if you don't like one of them," he said. "In fact, I expect you to tell me if they make you uncomfortable. Will you be honest with me, princess?"

She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, letting her toes hang off of the edge of the couch cushion. "I'll be honest, Daddy," she said softly.

"Good girl," he murmured warmly. "I want you home by eight pm on school nights, nine on other nights unless work interferes or you ask permission first. How do you feel about that?"

"Sometimes I stay with Meg," she said, staring at her image in the corner of the black screen on her laptop.

"I wouldn't keep you from your friends, sweetheart. I want you to have friends. You would only have to ask."

Christine picked at the pilled fabric of her blanket. "If I can still stay with Meg sometimes then I'm okay with it."

"Good," he said softly. "I want you in bed by ten on school nights. Eleven other nights, unless you get permission or you are staying with Meg. Sleep is important and I know you haven't been getting enough of it."

"I try to," she argued. "Sometimes I just can't sleep…"

"You can tell me when that happens, sweetheart. I can try to help you. But I want you to at least try."

"I'll try, Daddy. That one sounds okay too."

He hummed again. He did it often. "Not all of the rules are going to work for you. Nothing is set in stone yet. Just a few weeks to try them out and if we need to we can change them. There are very few that I wouldn't be willing to compromise on."

"... Daddy?"

"What, sweetheart?"

"If I'm really good and I follow all the rules can I see you?"

He sighed. She heard him shift and she wondered if he fidgeted when he was anxious too. "When I think you are ready, and when I am ready, I will let you see me, princess. I promise that you will see me but I'm not going to promise when it will be."

She nodded slowly. "Okay," she said softly.

"It isn't normal, sweetheart," he said softly. "This part. Me not letting you see me. I don't want you to think that it is. You are allowed to question things. I'm not… conventional. That's all. I want to know that you will be okay with it when you do see me."

She worried her lip thoughtfully, staring at her image in the corner of the screen. "You have to trust me too," she said eventually.

"Exactly," he answered, and she could hear his weak smile in his voice. "I have to trust you too. I want you to know me first and know that you can trust me. That's all. I have one more request - it's not a rule and you can say no."

"What is it?"

"From now on, if you can, I want you to call me like this, princess. I want you to get used to me seeing you."

It got easier, pretending that he couldn't see her. He did a good job of distracting her and she found, as long as she minimized the video window, that it was pretty easy to pretend that they were just on a phone call.

She would put her laptop on the table and spread her homework out in front of her. She would play music and smile and laugh with him just as easily as she did on a voice call.

Besides, it was easier, when she was stumped by something, to hold the paper up to the camera instead of reading it out loud to him. She struggled, mostly in math, and he was a fantastic help. It was frustrating at first. He never gave her the answer, he only asked more questions until she found it. Ultimately, she learned more when she asked him than she did sitting in class for three hours and listening to the monotonous professor drag on and on.

The only time she was distinctly aware of the fact that he was looking at her was when he would make an off-handed comment about how pretty she was, or how he liked the top she was wearing. She didn't mind it so much.

Every so often she would find it in her to ask him for a picture. He would comply with no argument, sending her one just like all of them before. She would greedily deduce everything she could from them - when she managed to catch him in something other than what she decided must be his work clothes she got to see a bit more of the tattoos. She caught him in a loose pair of sleep pants once. Once she even managed to see him in jeans. There were still moments that she believed she was being catfished but as she flipped through the photos, one after another, she began to feel a bit better about it. The tattoos were always on his right side and they lined up the same in each picture. The backgrounds, while they changed minimally, lined up fairly well. She saw the same fancy desk chair in a few of them. Once the background was a hanging mirror on the back of a door - she couldn't see his face but she stared at the reflection of his back. The tattoos went all the way around his arm and his hair was black. His hair was black and his eyes were amber.

She built a picture of what he might look like in her head. She had the pieces to put together a vague image. He was tall, very tall. He had three-quarter sleeve of tattoos. He had black hair and amber eyes and while he wasn't overly muscular he was sturdily built. She had no doubt that he had some strength to him.

When he sent her a shirtless picture she was sure her surprise came across through her crappy webcam. He hadn't said anything when he sent it and he was silent as she stared at it. She ran her thumb over his right arm, staring at the artistic skulls there. His tattoos were done well. The three quarter sleeve melded together seamlessly and she saw the way the petals of a flower peeked over the waistband of his sleep pants. He was sculpted. While he didn't have a six pack, not in the traditional sense, she could see the lean muscles there, his defined pecs.

"What do you think, sweetheart?" he finally asked.

She chewed her lip, staring at the picture. "... I really like your tattoos, Daddy," she answered eventually. It was the most he had given her so far and she was still soaking it in.

"You do?" he asked softly. She nodded and he chuckled. "I'm glad, princess."

They carried on that way for seven days. One week of curfew and bedtime and Christine found it wasn't too bad. She was usually home early anyway and the little bit of extra sleep honestly did make her feel a lot better in general.

It was on the eighth night that she couldn't sleep. She texted him at ten thirty at night and at ten thirty five she was staring at the blank box where he should be on her laptop while he talked low and quietly to her.

"What's on your mind, princess?" he murmured.

She shrugged, tugging at the hem of her shirt anxiously.

"You have something going on in that head of yours," he said softly. "I can see it. You always do. Do you want to know what I think?"

She nodded slowly, avoiding looking at the camera.

"I think that you have a lot of stress," he said softly. "I think that you have a lot of anxiety that you don't really know what to do with. That's why you have those scars, isn't it, sweetheart?"

Christine knew that he had seen them. It was hard not to see them when they criss-crossed her forearms and webbed along her hips. She hated the scars. She hated that he knew exactly what they were. She wrapped her arms around herself. "Yeah," she admitted, her voice shaking. "I think - I think it could be."

He was quiet for a long moment. "I can help you sleep, princess," he said eventually, his voice soft. "But just like last time you have to trust me. You have to listen. You have to let me turn off all that noise in your head."

She was silent for a moment. She knew exactly what he was proposing and even though the idea of it - him seeing her, watching her do it - made her nervous, she still felt that same flutter of excitement in her stomach. He had listened to her already. "I trust you, Daddy," she mumbled nervously. "I - I want to try."

"Take off your shirt," he instructed softly.

Her fingers shook but she did it anyway, hunching over slightly.

"Good girl," he murmured, ignoring the way she hid. "Your pajama pants too, princess."

She shimmied them down her hips, letting them fall to the floor.

"Spread your legs, sweetheart," he breathed.

The only coherent thought Christine had as she set one heel on each side of the laptop on the coffee table was that she needed to remember to wear matching bras and panties when they video chatted from now on.

"Look at you," he said softly, his voice warm and gentle. "You're already wet for me, sweetheart. You know, if you ever want this you are allowed to ask for it. You have such a pretty moan, princess."

She ran her already sweaty palms over her hips with a trembling "Daddy…"

"Touch yourself, princess," he instructed calmly. "Through your panties. I want to see just how wet you can get for me."

She heard the rustle of fabric when her fingers found the damp fabric that he could see. She couldn't help the way her hips rolled against her hand when she brushed against her already sensitive clit. She gave a breathy moan and he hummed in that warm way that she had become so familiar with.

"Such a good, good girl," he mumbled.

"Daddy…" she moaned out, her finger circling faster.

"Slow down princess. Take your time, draw it out just like I would," he whispered. She slowed her pace, allowing herself to have coherent thoughts for a moment and then she heard the rasp of clothing.

"Daddy?" she asked in a whimper.

"What princess?" he asked melodiously.

"Are you - are you touching yourself?"

"... perhaps I am. How does that make you feel little one?"

"Daddy, I- I want to see you," she heard the words leave her mouth but couldn't believe she said it.

"... Princess, I told you, not yet-"

"Daddy, not like that…" she whimpered,

"... Does my naughty girl want to see Daddy's throbbing cock? To see now hard I am for you?"

"Mhmm" she mewled, making the circles faster again.

"Do not stop touching yourself," he said. She could hear the rustle of clothing, and then the shuffling around of his laptop being maneuvered, no doubt so she couldn't see him from the neck up how he did when he sent her the only picture of him she had.

She kept rubbing slow circles, staring at the box where he should be as there was a momentary flash of light. A lean, bare torso filled her screen. He was there. The camera angled to cut off just above his collar bone. He was was clad in dress pants, the silver of his belt buckle was the only color. He was… not just skinny but lean muscle was obvious. His chest and abdomen rising and falling with his deep breaths. A thin line of hair down his stomach, and patchy hair on his chest. The most eye catching thing was the black ink on his right side, arm, and hand that now rested over the large bulge, straining through his pants.

"Why are you staring, Princess?"

" I- I like your tattoos, Daddy," she said, momentarily stopping touching herself, so she could focus on ogling at him.

"Did I say you could stop touching yourself little one?" he growled at her. She shook her head while biting her lip, returning her hand to her now drenched underwear, and rubbing herself teasingly slowly. She kept her eyes trained on the screen the whole time, watching the way his palm keep rubbing over where the head of his erection would be on his thigh. He certainly was not small in the slightest…

"Good girl. You are being so good. You can take off your panties, sweetheart."

She shed them as soon as his permission was given, kicking them off her ankles, and returning her legs to the spreading position.

"Oh god, you're dripping babygirl," he murmured, looking at the slick lips of her sex. "I'm so hard for you Princess, do you want to see?"

"Yes Daddy…" she breathed. He slowly unlatched his belt, the sound of the metal making goosebumps appear on her skin. He popped the button open, and brought the zipper down. She could see the black boxer briefs he wore peeking through, as well as another tattoo on his right hip bone. He lifted his hips up shimmying his pants down, kicking them off somewhere on the floor. The only barrier was his boxers. He ran his palm over the covered shaft, letting out a small groan,

"One finger in, princess," he rasped. She did as she was told, pressing her middle finger inside of herself while letting out a shy moan. "Good girl."

He reached into the slit cut into the front of his boxers, running his fingers over his now throbbing cock that was begging for attention. He began to pull himself out slowly. She watched at full attention while slowly dragging her finger in and out of herself.

He pulled himself out, standing fully erect. She could see the tease of a few curls of hair that escaped the confines of his boxers. Thick veins ran along the shaft, the lines defined up to the perfect sculpt of the head. A single bead of precum glistened in the dull yellow light and when his hand closed around the base of his cock it hardly covered him. He ran his hand up once slowly, teasingly, following the slight upward curve. He began to stroke himself, low groans from deep in his chest coming through the speakers of her computer.

"Do you see how hard Daddy is for you, princess?" he moaned out, his thumb rubbing over the drips of precum from the head of cock.

"Daddy please…" she moaned, picking up speed and moving her other hand to caress herself through her bra.

"Take that off princess, let me see your beautiful body," he growled, stroking himself a bit faster. She sat up, not even unhooking it but just pulling it over her head, "You're so beautiful," he said almost breathlessly. She pinched and twisted at her rosy nipple, moaning softly. Erik grasped himself tighter,

"Two fingers princess," he instructed breathlessly, sighing as she followed his instruction and slid her ring finger inside of herself. "You are such a good girl," he moaned.

"I wish you were here, Daddy," she whimpered, watching the mesmerizing movement of his hand along his shaft, attempting to match his pace with the drag of her fingers.

"Oh princess," he groaned. She watched his chest tremble with the struggling breath that he took, the clench of the muscles of his stomach. "I do too, babygirl."

Her head fell back against the couch, tilted forward so that she could continue to watch him. Her toes curled against the edge of the coffee table as her eyes traced over the the tattoo on his right hip, trying to finish the image in her mind that was cut short by the elastic band of his boxers. "Daddy," she breathed. "Daddy, will you please take off your boxers?"

His hand twisted on the shaft of his cock and he groaned, leaning forward the slightest bit. "If you are good," he rasped. "If you are a good girl, then maybe next time princess."

"Daddy, please!" she cried out, her breaths rasping as her fingers picked up speed again, thrusting in time with his strokes. That seemed to be all it took; he stood up rapidly and yanked the boxers down with haste, his hand still wrapped around his cock, his grip tightening slightly.

She opened her hazy eyes as he sat down, and she was able to see the rose that took up most of his right hip bone. In the petals, music notes were woven in. It was beautiful.

"Thank you, Daddy," she gasped as she was able to hit the spot that brought that familiar feeling of edging closer to the brink of finishing.

His breath caught and he groaned, leaning back in his chair and affording her the opportunity to see just a sliver of the skin of his throat. "Did that feel good, princess?" he whispered, his voice rough. She nodded and he twisted his hand again, groaning. "Do it again."

She dragged her fingers along the spot again, feeling a tingle go up her spine as she whimpered.

"Again, princess."

"Oh," she breathed as she caught against that spot again. She felt her thighs tremble. "Daddy, please," she whimpered.

"Not yet," he rasped, his right hand resting on his knee. "Again, babygirl."

All of her might was concentrated on fighting off the hazy pleasure as she dragged against that spot inside of herself again. She groaned in frustration, shifting her hips slightly in an effort to ease the building pressure. "Please, daddy," she begged desperately, hardly able to catch her breath.

His fingers curled tightly around his knee, his other hand tugging himself just a bit more quickly. "Again. Don't stop, princess," he instructed breathlessly. "Please what?"

"Please Daddy, can I cum?" she whimpered, her hips now bucking almost against her will.

"Not yet, princess," he rasped, tugging himself firmly. "You are being such a good girl - so patient. You are my little girl, my princess, aren't you?"

She could feel the frustrated tears prick at her eyes and she bit her lip as she nodded, holding her breath to stave off the terrible burning pleasure as she dragged her fingers again and again against that spot inside of herself, trembling under the weight of the orgasm that she fought off desperately.

"Tell me, princess. Tell me that you're mine."

"I'm yours, Daddy," she groaned, her voice tight and strained.

"Good girl," he rasped, his hand moving quickly and desperately now. She watched as the muscles in his thighs tensed, the knuckles of the hand on his knee going white. "Good girl - cum, princess. You can cum but do not stop."

Relieved, she gasped, dragging her fingers against that spot inside of herself again and again. "Thank you, Daddy," she whimpered, feeling her own lip tremble with the powerful build-up and the relief of no longer trying to hold it back.

"Mm, good girl, you're welcome," he breathed, his hand tightening around himself. "Say my name, babygirl. I want to hear you cry my name in pleasure."

Her head fell back as her fingers worked inside of her, again and again she brushed against that spot until even her toes trembled. She gasped, lifting her hips slightly.

"Good girl," he groaned through clenched teeth. "Cum for me, princess. Let go."

When she came the pleasure was so great it was nearly pain, scorching and hot. "Erik," she sobbed, her hips stuttering against her fingers out of natural instinct. Don't stop, he had said. Despite the tender, heightened sensations in that time just afterwards she continued to touch herself, allowing her fingers to move gently and lazily as she coaxed herself through the orgasm.

She heard the way that he groaned and she forced her eyes onto the screen, biting her lip as she watched the uncontrolled way that he breathed, his chest tight. He leaned just a bit too far forward and that - oh, it was his chin!

He dipped just a bit lower and she saw it - the perfect shape of his bottom lip. She stared, entranced. Her eyes followed along the curve of the lip and over to - what was that? A thin plastic edge of white on the right side - the left only showed smooth, slightly tanned skin. Did he wear a mask?

"Princess," he groaned breathlessly. She watched his lip move with the word and oh, it was really him. She knew that it was but still - there was always a burning doubt in the back of her mind. "Keep going, babygirl. Don't stop until I tell you to."

She nodded, following his instructions as she stared at the sliver of his face that she was allowed to see. He leaned back, moving out of the camera and she whimpered, sore and exhausted.

When he came it was with a groan, his hand tight around himself as he spilled over his fingers. One, two, three more slow strokes and he leaned back, his chest heaving. "Stop, princess. You can stop now babygirl."

She rested her slick fingers on the inside of her thigh, sliding back on the cushion of the couch and finally letting her bare feet find the floor again. "Daddy?"

"What babygirl?"

There were so many questions she wanted to ask him in that moment - did he wear a mask? Why couldn't she see him? Why did he wear a mask? Instead she sighed, worrying her lip. "Thank you for letting me see you," she murmured, pulling her knees up on the couch as she stared at his body on her screen.

He hummed, leaned forward just the slightest bit and then suddenly the place where she had just seen him was nothing but a big black box again. "You're welcome, princess," he said softly. "How do you feel?"

She pulled the blanket off of the back of the couch and wrapped it around herself just like she had the first time he got her on a video chat. "Exposed," she murmured, smiling weakly. "But I do feel tired now."

"You can put your pajamas back on if you want to," he said softly. "You can turn off the camera while you do it if it helps."

She did exactly that, clicking the camera button and waiting until she saw her image disappear before she unwrapped the blanket from around her.

"I want you to take your laptop to bed with you," he murmured. She could hear him moving in the background. "I'm going to stay on with you until you fall asleep."

He knew that she wasn't well off. She knew that. If she was she wouldn't be using such an old, scratchy blanket. She would have pajamas that fit and tops that didn't have holes in the collar. She was still embarrassed by it. She did her best to hide it. "Thank you, Daddy," she mumbled sleepily. In all honesty, it had worked. She feel utterly exhausted.

She didn't want him to see her room. She didn't want him to see the plain dresser with the chipping paint or the mirror that hung crookedly because one of the fastenings on the back had broken off. She didn't want him to see that her bed wasn't really a bed but was instead just a mattress and a box spring that rested directly on the floor. She left the camera off until she got the laptop into her bedroom. She dragged one of the boxes that held her makeup over to the edge of the bed and put the laptop on it. It would look enough like a bedside table instead of the floor.

She didn't click the camera back on until she was in bed, wrapped up in her blankets to her chin.

He talked mindlessly to her with his warm, soothing voice and she let herself listen, she let herself close her heavy eyelids and when she drifted off to sleep it was only just after eleven thirty.