The shock of being airborne and then hitting the bed like that paralyzes you for a few crucial seconds, long enough for Victor to plant his hand square between your shoulder blades and pin you there facedown on the mattress.
When he speaks, it's a low growl. "You just gonna leave me like that, without letting me do what I said I was gonna do?"
"Why not?" You snarl, finally figuring out how to make your limbs move again. It's enough to thrash around a little, but miserably inadequate for getting out from under his hand. "You do it to me all the time. Just fucking leave me like it didn't mean anything. Doesn't feel good, does it?"
Tears of despair and frustration are filling your eyes because it's all just useless. You executed everything perfectly and then just miserably failed at the last, important step, and now you know he's just going to ruin you. So you just keep your face pressed into the blanket to hide the fact that you're crying, and you begin to feel fingers sliding up between your legs and dipping into your pussy and then just… halting.
"You're not even wet," he mutters incredulously, like that's the most shocking event of the night.
"What did you fucking expec—"
"Baby." He sounds actually, truly upset and you feel his hands move to roll you over on your back.
Fuck. He's looking down at you all heartbroken like he finally gets it, and something inside you breaks. Your hands shoot up to cover your face because the tears are still squeezing out, so you try to suck them back in and not make any noise even though your chest is heaving up and down in silent sobs, and you just internally beg him to let you leave so you can have a really good cry in your room.
"Fuck, baby, please." He actually sounds anguished now, and a hand is running up and down your stomach like he can somehow soothe you with the rapid, panicky motion. It all just makes you cry harder in the privacy of your hands.
"I c—an't d-do this any— any— more," you manage to hyperventilate out.
"I know, baby, I just— fuck, I'm so sorry. I-I won't touch you again. Fuck, I'll leave you… alone. I promise, just, please, baby."
You're not really sure what he's begging you to do, but the idea of him leaving you alone forever is far more desolating than you expected and it's the opposite of comforting.
"You always d-do this," you accuse with a wet snort. "Always le-eave me, and th-then, I always think you h-hate me."
There's a long silence and it just makes you irritated with your stupid loud crying and inability to express yourself the way you want.
Finally you hear a quiet, "I've never hated you. Not once, not even for a minute."
It's strange the way that bare minimum acknowledgement makes the tears stop flowing. You just lay there still hiding your face and hope he'll keep talking because he never tells you anything.
There's a deep sigh from somewhere above you, and you're being pulled into the middle of the bed and tucked into a warm chest, still sticky with cum. Gently he pries one of your hands away and you feel fingers wiping your wet hair out of your face.
You reach your hand out, desperately feeling across the bed until the towel makes contact with your fingers, and you yank it out from under your leg to roughly wipe your face off. You lips feel all puffy but at least you don't have snot on your face when you finally find the will to look up at him.
"There's those pretty eyes."
A wall of water immediately blocks him from view again and a little sob trembles your voice. "Don't— V-Victor, you can't say shit like that t-to me, not, not anymore."
"I know, I'm just— Fuck, I did this. I fucked up. Was just trying to give you a chance to find… someone else."
You stare incredulously back at him, at the way he's avoiding your eyes like he's embarrassed, like he truly means it.
"You… fucker," you whisper. "You fucking FUCKER!"
The flat of your palm makes contact with his chest and somehow it doesn't even move. You hit him again, harder, rapidly smacking his pectoral and wordlessly shrieking and just absolutely incensed that he's still holding you after what he just said.
"FUCK, stop."
"Fuck you! Just man up and tell me you don't fucking want me, but don't give me that shit about avoiding me for my own good like some pathetic vampire… fucking… teenage story!"
"FINE," he bellows right in your face, grabbing your wrists and holding them down by your head hard enough that they'll lose circulation. "I don't want you."
You blink up at him in shock and he just breaths heavily there, glaring down at you and finally as angry as you are.
"If it's gonna be like this," he says, finding the will to calm his voice a little, "if you're just gonna be hurt all the time and hate me, then I don't want you."
A deadly stillness settles in your chest and you say, "Okay."
"Okay." He's still staring down at you, puffing air in and out through his nose, and he really doesn't need to keep holding your wrists like this because you wouldn't move if you could.
Somehow you feel more attracted to him now than you've ever been before, with his amber eyes burning down at you and the red marks from your slaps visible across his chest. Maybe it's the special blend of daddy issues and finally getting rejected, or maybe it's just because in the heat of the argument it feels like he's finally being a little bit vulnerable with you. But regardless of the reason, your eyes are tracing over his features and settling on the hard set of his mouth, and you're thinking that you've only ever kissed him that one ti—
"Nah, don't you fuckin' do that to me. Don't even do it." He pushes off the bed and stands up, swiping the towel across his stomach in a vain attempt to remove the half dried cum.
"Do what?" you demand, pulling yourself upright.
"You know what," he retorts, swirling his finger in the direction of your face. "That thing, with the eyes. You fuckin' know."
"I'm not doing anything with my eyes, and it's not my fault you're so self absorbed that you think I am." Though, technically, right now your eyes are wandering down lower than they should, and he continues to glare at you and roughly wrap the towel around his waist.
Aaaaand now you're the naked one, just hanging out on his bed, in his room, for absolutely no reason.
"Goodnight," you huff, getting up and glaring in his direction, making sure he'll let you leave this time.
He's got his hands on his hips and he just jerks his chin towards the door in an obvious dismissal. It makes no sense. You are the one who should be mad. He didn't do shit to earn that privilege, yet here he is ordering you out of his room and too annoyed to even say goodnight. Fine.
You close the door a little too hard on your way out and shut yourself in your own room with William. You expect him to be agitated from hearing mom and dad fight, but he's just peacefully curled up in your bed, and half asleep again by the time you slide under the covers.
At least you don't feel like crying any more. Sleep finds you easily and keeps you under all night without a single dream. When you check your phone in the morning you're braced for some form of "you're fired," staring back at you, but the text you have waiting is somehow even more shocking:
VC: Had to finish up some things from yesterday, back by 3p. Next job is Wednesday, flying without dog so make arrangements for him for a couple days
Things are different from then on. Victor keeps a carefully neutral attitude around you, but the communication - it's like night and day. He starts sharing his schedule with you, even going so far as to tell you where he's going when he takes a solo job, and when he expects to be back. You offer to help with small things, and he doesn't refuse. So you take up whatever you can, from booking hotels and flights to planning out surveillance routes.
Things go well, and you get more and more leash from him. He lets you drive sometimes, teaches you how to avoid detection while following a vehicle. You see him cleaning a gun one night and he has you go get your pistol, and he makes you practice cleaning and assembling it until well past the time he's done with his.
You use your free time decorating and painting and working on projects outside, and eventually most of the house looks just as good as the original two rooms. There's a wordless understanding between you, like you've each agreed to respect that line in the sand. Victor has kept a careful emotional distance, and over the weeks you slowly lower your guard, beginning to trust him not to hurt you again.
Still, there are these blips, little snapshots of time that burn themselves into your memory. Moments where you hurt yourself with your foolish heart and inability to move on.
Victor smoking in his rocking chair late at night, clothes still a little roughed up from a scuffle and smoke slowly curling up around his head. You're just sitting there on the wooden planks, hugging one knee and a little cold, but you can't bear to go back inside yet. You sit there running your eyes over his relaxed body and imagining how his mouth would taste after a cigarette.
Victor wearing those combat boots with black pants, shirt half untucked while he sits at your counter and looks through blueprints on a laptop, calculating the height of a jump he needs to make. His outline is so distinctive that you think you could recognize those shoulders anywhere, that sprinkling of gray hair which you can see even from the back.
Victor the first time you ever see him sleeping, stretched out on the couch with lights from the muted TV flickering across his face. William has wormed his way under that strong arm and is sprawled out across his stomach, dead asleep as well. You're able to lean against the doorframe and study the curve of each knuckle that's splayed over William's dark fur.
Victor laughing at one of your jokes from the passenger seat. How human he looks like that, happy and entertained, with a subtle dimple peeking out through the wiry texture of his beard. The way you just soak up every tiny affirmation he gives you, like you need so little to feel insanely alive.
It makes you wish things were different, if only you could make this your beginning and not all the mess that occurred before. Makes you wish you had put your foot down earlier and told him how much you could grow to care if he would only meet you halfway. But he doesn't want you any more, and things are peaceful, and it's okay. It's okay to not get everything you want in life and just enjoy what you have. And if you were a smart, good sort of woman you would do everything you could to maintain that emotional distance.
But you're not.
You think about him when you're naked in the bath or when you wake up in the morning. You're touching yourself one night and you can hear his feet climbing the stairs and passing by your bedroom door, and the thought of him walking in on you makes you clamp your teeth together, because you're suddenly cumming hard under your hand. It's alright, you decide. As long as it stays like that, just a stupid little fantasy, it's okay. It takes the edge off. Fortifies you to avoid riskier options. Yeah, you're jerking off more than usual, but that's just a safety net to make sure you don't do anything stupid.
And that's exactly why it's so surprising that one night, when you're curled up on opposite ends of the couch, watching a show with Victor that you both actually like, you have a brand new realization. Your sock covered toes are selfishly tucked under the warmth of his leg, but it's slight enough that you pretend you're not doing it and he pretends not to notice. It's the third night in a row that he's been home, and you finally comprehend that he's not seeing anyone else, either.
Well, he could be, you suppose, when he travels without you. Could be here, too, if he pretends to have a job when really he's just meeting up with someone, but somehow you don't think so. For starters, there's no need to hide it. You're not dating, not even close. The only reason you can think of that he'd hide a hookup is just to spare your feelings, and it seems like an incredibly elaborate undertaking just for that.
You know exactly why you're not moving on, but why isn't he moving on? He seems to be local more and more, and now that you really think about it, your fifteen percent bonus has been getting smaller and smaller lately, like he's taking cheaper jobs just to have a reason to be in the area. Could it be for… William? Okay, that's a weak conclusion, even for your idiot brain. Your foot pulls away from his heat, and you're foolishly still studying the side of his face instead of watching TV, so of course he glances over at you, and all the orgasms in the world can't prevent the way your heart dips into your belly.
"Everything… um… good?" you ask. "With work lately?"
"Yeah." He sighs, running fingers through his beard. "Just trying to figure out if I should take you… somewhere."
Fuck. "Take me where?"
"Not a job, exactly. Just a… meeting… with some– ah, old friends."
"I'll do it," you declare instantly. "It's okay if there's no bonus."
"Yeah, I thought you might. It's just that it's a little dangerous. More than usual, and I hate to–"
"I'll go," you interrupt. "If you need me, I'll go. Don't even worry about it."
He's staring down at your foot that's still a few inches from his leg, and you quickly shift to sit up and tuck it under you.
"Alright," he says finally. "It's next week, in New York. Just a day's drive."
"Okay."
You have every appearance of watching TV, but you're not taking in any of it. He doesn't expose you to anything like this, never even asks. So what about this meeting makes him feel the need to have you along? What could you possibly do to help with… danger?
You don't get an answer to that until you're on the road several days later, finally brave enough to ask.
"Victor, what's my job exactly for this 'meeting?"'
"Make me look good," he says, but the definite lack of a smirk has you narrowing your eyes with suspicion.
"Like a… plus one?"
"Nah," he quickly clarifies. "Just my assistant. More than anything I just want you there to make sure…"
He drops off, not finishing the sentence and you prod, "Make sure what?"
"If something happens to me, it would be nice to have one person who knows where I am. Someone normal. Innocent enough that they wouldn't hold you accountable for what I've done."
You frown in surprise. "Why would you willingly go somewhere like that? Where you're worried they'll… do something to you? Let's just turn around."
He's keeping his eyes diligently on the road. "I don't think anything's going to happen. These fuckers invited me, and they like to keep their hands clean. But I'm glad you're here. It'll complicate things and throw them off."
Okay, now you're really nervous. "What do I need to know about where we're going?"
"I think the less you know the better. It'll help if you seem clueless about them. One rule, though." He glances over to you, eyes sliding quickly over the jeans and blouse you're wearing. "Don't fuck any of them, no matter how nice they ask."
"Pfft, I would never—"
"Except the skinny redhead. You can fuck her if you want." His mouth is quirking up at the way you've got your arms folded in outrage. "Just not the short guy with the weird sideburns. That's an absolute no."
"You don't even have to say that. Of course I won't."
He nods, looking in the rear view mirror at William who's panting, still a little nervous about riding in the car. "This is gonna be interesting."