"Are we really doing this?"
You glare up at the dark nothingness in the branches above and say, "I am doing this. You can go back whenever you want."
"You'll fall in another pond without supervision."
You roll your eyes and take a few steps forward, reaching out blindly in front of you so you don't run into any trees, and of course you manage to poke a sharp stick right in the middle of your palm. You yank your hand back and suck in a breath through gritted teeth, unwilling to give Victor the satisfaction of hearing a complaint pass your lips.
From above comes an irritating, "I could have you back in that nice, comfy bed in about five minutes. Kiss that little hand for you and make it all better."
"Five minutes is a gross exaggeration," you mutter, getting another few steps forward without hurting yourself. Why does this have to be the night with no moon?
"Is this really how you want to spend the night? It's gonna be five hours with you stumbling around in the wrong direction."
"I won't be going in the wrong direction, because you'll tell me if I do," you tell him confidently.
"So you'll let me be a compass but not carry you back? What's the difference?"
"The difference is…" you stop and decide if you're actually willing to be honest with him. "The difference is I'll be embarrassed if you have to carry me back."
There's an enormous thud on the ground right in front of you, and you squeak, jerking backwards in fright before it finally sinks into your brain that Victor has jumped down from his tree.
"It won't be embarrassing," he assures you sweetly. "It'll be warm and cozy and smell real nice."
"Oh my god." You brush past him quickly, because the fact that he landed in this spot probably means that there are feet clear up ahead. And ofcourse he does smell amazing.
"Bet I can give you a good reason," he calls from behind you.
"Can't wait to hear it."
"William hasn't had any dinner."
Fuck. This man knows exactly how to twist the knife. He capitalizes on it, too, stepping up close behind you and saying, "He hasn't been outside, either. Poor little guy, having to hold it that long."
You let out a heavy sigh, full of fake exasperation because you're actually quite relieved to have a legitimate reason to give up. "Fine. Fine, carry me back to the house like a princess."
"Mmm, pretty sure princesses say please."
Oh.
So it's going to be like that.
You close your eyes for a few seconds, taking a deep, annoyed breath, before suddenly spinning to face him. You plaster doe eyed rapture onto your face and cup your cheeks sweetly with your hands.
"Oh, can it be?" you ask in your best breathy princess voice. "A man? A real man here to save me?"
With a happy cry and an exaggerated flounce you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his middle with your face half buried in his shirt.
"Please, enormous man. Please carry me back to my room. Your gallantry has me simply aching to give you some sort of physical reward. But oh, the sensations in my body are all so new and confusing, because… Oh, it's so embarrassing to admit, but I'm still a virgin, woefully ignorant to the mysterious ways and the hard bodies of m—"
"Alright, alright."
You're effortlessly scooped up under your legs, and you just slide your arms up around his neck and laugh uproariously at your own joke.
"Glad you're feeling better," he chides, giving you a quick, fuzzy kiss to your cheek.
The journey back takes a whole lot longer than five minutes, and you suspect it's just because he enjoys carrying you. Or it could be because of your fingers lazily playing with the edge of his beard and exploring the back of his neck. It's always like this with the two of you, soaking in the moments of closeness because you never know when you'll get it again.
Logan could be waiting for you right outside your door to tell you some new, horrible thing that will ruin your evening, but somehow you doubt there is much else to reveal. At least, nothing that will curb your now frothing-at-the-mouth obsession. Your hormones have launched you into full blown puppy love, and anything less than a crater sized chunk being ripped out of your heart would have little effect.
Victor has carried you halfway across the lawn before you think to ask, "How did you know I wasn't in my room?"
"Hah," he says humorlessly. "Someone asked about you and Logan had this fuckin' look on his face. Didn't even get to eat my dinner."
This is it, the perfect opportunity to talk about what happened. But you just lay your head back on his shoulder and hope he can't hear your heart picking up. The whole situation is disgustingly stale in your mind at this point, and it would be pure torture to bring it up now. It'd be boring and hurtful and stupid.
"Fuck him," you say flatly.
"You alright, baby?"
"Yes." He's stopped because you've both made it to the front steps, and you sigh into his chest, already mourning the upcoming loss of contact. "I'm actually really, really alright."
You can tell he wants to ask what happened but he doesn't. He just lowers your legs and says, "How about this. You take care of William, and I'll scavenge some room service."
"Okay."
About a half hour later you're stretched out on your stomach across your bed, wiggling your toes into the pillows and happily packing your face full of cheese and crackers.
Victor tosses William an olive and then laughs when he spits it right out.
"You're being too obvious with it," you say. "You have to make it seem like it's forbidden."
The olive in your hand rolls out onto the carpet, and before William can even take a step forward to sniff it you snatch it up again with a, "Oops, no olives for puppies." William sits there, ears all perked up and locked onto what you're holding, and you let the olive fall once more. This time he snaps it right up, chewing slowly with a disgusted grimace like he wants to spit it out but he's too committed.
"Impressive," Victor tells you. "Explains a lot."
"Har, har. You know, you always seem to think I'm smarter than I am. Half the stuff I do is just some random, impulsive decision."
"You have good instincts. I've always thought so."
"Oh my god, you're going to give me a praise kink."
"You can't give someone a kink," he informs you, running a tickling claw down the underside of your sock and making you pull your foot away. "Either it's already there or it's not."
You can't think of any response to that which doesn't reveal too much about yourself or sound dumb, so you just continue to eat and toss William little bits of cheese.
"Do you want to find out?" Victor asks quietly.
Fuuuck. You don't even need to try, because the very idea of him being that sweet to you and touching you at the same time has blood rushing to embarrassing places.
"Umm," you stall, trying to get a grip on yourself before you say something foolish, like yes. "You don't have to do that. I don't need— don't want you to, like, have to think up stuff to say that don't mean anything."
"It wouldn't be hard."
Oh, god. The urge to bury your face in the bed is so strong you almost do it. Be cool, be cool.
"And just because it doesn't mean anything," he says, wrapping his hand playfully around your ankle, "doesn't mean it's not fun to hear. Or say."
"I'm…" you yank your foot away again and can't resist looking back at him to make sure he's not laughing at you.
He's not. He's sitting there all relaxed against the headboard, giving you this lazy, appraising look.
You feel so backed into a corner between your arousal and your feelings that you blurt out, "You just want to tell me how much you love me and pretend it's sex."
Victor blinks in surprise, face betraying nothing, and you inwardly give yourself a thousand hard kicks. Why did you have to let that slip out? Things were going so well, nice and casual, and then you just decide to drop the L word for no good reason.
"I'm sorry," you backpedal quickly, "I didn't mean—"
"No," he interrupts, "I don't want to pretend anything. I'm not gonna say shit I don't mean. I'm gonna sign my fuckin' name on every single thing I tell you tonight, and you're gonna have to deal with it."
"Oh," you say weakly.
"I'm still mad that you ran off. Fucking pissed that you won't tell me what Logan did that upset you. You've known the guy one day and you're already protecting him."
You frown. "It wasn't like that at all. He told me about Amelia, and… basically insinuated that you only like me because of her, and I just needed some space to think about it."
"Of course he did," Victor gruffs, "must have been eating him up inside seeing me with someone who smells like her."
"He… liked her?"
"She left me for him."
Holy fucking shit.
You're momentarily stunned, eyes frozen on the grim look on his face. Logan doesn't know you. Doesn't know anything that's happened between you and Victor, and all the selfless things he's done on your behalf. He was just projecting his own thoughts onto Victor, assuming he was possessive of you for the same reasons, and unwilling to let him have this one thing in peace.
You don't care that you're still all pond-y and probably stink from running. You push yourself up and crawl over to Victor, climbing onto his lap and wrapping yourself fully around him. You tuck your face against his and squeeze him tight. As tight as you think he could possibly find comfortable. His arms come up to hug you back, and you both just sit there for a minute, breathing.
"I didn't want to tell you about it," you explain into his neck, "because I decided it didn't matter, and I didn't want you to worry over something so stupid. It doesn't change anything for me. I still trust you, and I… still, um, love you."
A little vibration rumbles against your chest. He brings his hand up to cup the back of your head, and you feel his face turn to plant kisses along your jaw, up towards your ear. "I love you too, baby," he murmurs. "Always have, ever since I saw you try to kill that guy."
"I was not trying to kill him," you protest, pulling back to look at him. But it's a weak retort because you're smiling and warm fluff is simply filling your insides.
He's smiling back at you, eyes all warm and soft, and he runs his thumb over your lower lip. "Brave little thing."
You're not sure why he's just looking at your mouth like that, like he wants to kiss you but he's just not. It's driving you crazy.
"Are you imagining biting me?" you ask.
"Always." His claw is dragging your lip down, releasing it to slide across your chin. He's so focused on the movement that it's actually fascinating to watch his face, the way his pupils shrink and widen.
"Tell me," you whisper.
The amused set of his mouth slips away, and he's looking into your eyes like he's making sure you actually know what you're asking. Silently he taps your cheek. You open your mouth to say something, but he keeps going, flicking the tip of your nose. He runs a finger down the side of your neck, taps your shoulder, then the outer curve of your breast, the side of your waist, your ass.
"And really, especially right here," he confesses, running his palm up the inside of your thigh. "That's the one I'm always thinking about when you're sitting on the couch with your feet up."
"So basically all the major arteries," you tease, trying to hide the fact that you're getting turned on.
"Not my fault you're all soft and tasty."
"Oh my god," you groan, laying your forehead on his shoulder. "I— I need a shower."
"So shower."
"Don't want to leave," you mumble childishly.
"Want me to come with you?"
It's tempting. Shower sex isn't your favorite, but somehow you imagine anything is better with Victor.
"No," you decide, and finally drag yourself off his lap. "I'll just try to be quick."
It starts out hurried. You grab some pajamas and take a peek back towards the bed before you shut yourself in the bathroom. Victor has his eyes closed, head leaned back over the top of the headboard like he's having to meditate to get through your absence. It does something to your stomach, a little fluttering twist that pushes more fluff into your heart.
But then you're in the privacy of the cool bathroom, and the water hits your skin and grimy hair, and all thoughts of urgency melt away. You take the time to shave and moisturize everything, brush your teeth and even blow dry your hair. Eventually you're a clean, blank slate, ready to be kissed and fucked and bit and whatever else Victor wants to do to you, because you know he'll make you like it.
You're expecting him to still be there on the bed when you return, but he's not. William is curled up there on the warm spot where Victor used to be, alone. Your heart sinks with the insane thought that it was all an elaborate prank and he didn't mean any of it, but then you see the scrap of paper sitting there on the empty nightstand. It's the one you recognize instantly, but you still open it just to be sure.
Leave your door unlocked tonight
Of course, because his room has no pesky, cockblocking pitbull to deal with. And even better, he's giving you that opportunity you wanted last night. Getting to sneak into his room and kiss him the way you want to.
You hope Logan will be able to smell it on you tomorrow.
