Skyline Prelude
A/N: Happy New Year everyone! Even though ya girl rang in the New Year with the flu, I've still been working diligently up until the very last minute on this work. Here's the long awaited Prequel and story of how John and the OC's relationship began. Just to prevent any confusion, the progression of their relationship is depicted over the course of a few weeks before gradually shifting to months. Writing this actually took longer than I anticipated but I wanted to make sure I covered all the bases before I released it. Hopefully, it provides some much needed insight and everyone enjoys it. Who doesn't love a good romantic/hookup origin story?
Part I
Thursday - September 23rd, 11:07 p.m.
By sheer chance or tremendous luck, you make it home in record time. You couldn't recall most of the journey since it was done in a thoughtless daze. After a few failed attempts to unlock the apartment door, you stumbled through the living room narrowly avoiding tripping the furniture on the path towards the bathroom.
As you rounded the corner, you practically fell onto the sink, gripping the edge of the porcelain tightly. You glanced at your appearance in the mirror above the sink, the look in your eyes of one of disquieted shock.
It's only through extensive observation of your person did you finally notice the few specks of blood littering random places on your skin and clothes. That realization was enough to prompt you to turn the taps to fill your bathtub full of water.
The silence within your apartment seemed louder than normal.
As you stepped back into the mirror, you switched on the sink taps, specifically the cold water over hot. You needed something to bring you back to life and water just might do the trick. The state of shock you were currently trapped in was way too disturbing; you absently thought as you threw lukewarm water over your face - the feel of it having the mollifying effect you were hoping for.
From being accosted, to having a gun being pointed directly in your face, to witnessing a literal shootout. The whole thing was such a surreal experience.
While the entire night's events seemed imprinted on your psyche, at the moment you're eerily calm. Or at least, you're too busy processing so many emotions at once that you can't settle on one. The idea was disorienting. Perhaps the most prominent emotion you can feel above the others is genuine relief - relief that you managed to survive at all. And while you weren't hurt in any way, you're relatively distressed by what happened - distressed at the thought of what could've happened.
Despite the fact that it wasn't your first time witnessing a shootout, it was definitely your first time being directly in the middle of one, especially one so lethal and intense. You lived in New York - where it was considered totally normal to witness crazy things and sometimes that craziness was on level beyond comprehension. Most of the citizens have grown used to it after having lived in the massive city for years, whether it be on the subway, on the street, or even within their own homes. Regardless, it wasn't how you expected your night to go.
By now, the establishment had to be littered with police and a forensic team. Frankly, it can be expected that there will be a full fledged investigation regarding the incident and a big part of you worried that you will somehow be implicated. Or at least questioned as a witness.
For now, your mind was alight with many thoughts regarding the incident and the sharply dressed gunman who randomly came into the fold. In spite of the fact that he just managed to show up at the right time, it was very likely that if not for his interference you would've taken a bullet to the face.
Not only that but there were a number of traits about the mystery shooter but the most distinguishable aspect about him was his eyes - you can't forget the lack of indistinguishable emotion in them when. Only in that brief moment when he wiped blood from your face were you able to perceive any sort of human emotion in them.
Strangely, even after the chaos erupted and subsequently ended, the unknown man had generously allowed you to leave the scene unscathed. The decision could be considered a bizarre one since you were technically a witness to his murderous actions. Evidently, the man didn't seem all that concerned about it if he let you go unharmed. Still a small gaggle of worry circulated within your mind.
Never in all your life had you seen someone wield a gun so proficiently. From everything you'd seen so far, you're almost certain that the gunman hadn't missed a single shot.
Compared to the man, the others didn't stand a single chance.
Even watching the act take place on a tv screen was different than seeing it in real life brought a surreal element. It was shocking - watching a bullet pass through the head of another person. You'll never be able to get over the image of seeing bodies drop and blown across the bar in the manner they had.
For whatever reason unbeknownst to you, the man appeared to have pre-existing beef with the gang of men that frequented the bar that night. Whatever brought on the murky circumstances, it had nothing to do with you and you shouldn't have been caught in the crossfire.
In the distance, you could hear your phone chiming with notifications. As you walked over to retrieve the device, the screen was littered with various messages both your companions expressing concern and wanting to know if you were okay.
From the frantic tone of the texts, you knew you and about ten minutes to answer before they went full panic mode and alerted your parents. It was one thing for your friends to know but it was another story altogether for your parents to find out. Having the friends inform them was the last thing you needed, they would absolutely flip and you probably wouldn't be allowed to get another job for a while.
By this time of night, your parents would almost certainly be in bed and you'd rather not have them woken out of your sleep by giving them a heart attack. You weren't equipped to handle this and them simultaneously. Besides, you'd rather deal with that can of worms in the morning.
After sending a short text confirming that you were fine and would talk to them the next morning, you sat the phone aside and casually began shedding your clothing. Shortly afterwards, you slipped into the bathtub, the water temperature was near scalding but that was how you liked it. The heat would ease away the tension in your limbs and hopefully do the same to your muddled thoughts.
An entire week had passed by much quicker than it usually would and you've managed to about life surprisingly normal.
It's now a long awaited Friday evening and you're lounging on the couch after a particularly chaotic day. Throughout the day, you attended your five classes and spent a few hours with your friends before returning home. The second you made it home, you began the long, tedious process of washing and detangling your hair which took an additional four hours in itself. It was well after dark by the time you finished.
Not to mention that there's three assignments for you to do over the weekend but you'd worry about those when the time comes. At the moment, you just wanted to decompress.
But even as you lay sprawled across the couch, you couldn't stop your restless mind from wandering. Particularly, back to that night in question and how it all played out over the course of the next few days.
The following morning, when you awoke, you were stunned to find your phone was bombarded with calls and texts from your parents. Immediately, your first thought was that news of what transpired at the bar must've reached someone you knew. Presumably, the nosey friends of your parents who regularly keep their ears to the streets. As was expected, they both expressed both relief that you were okay and anger that you were even in the situation to begin with.
From the beginning, they'd expressed their reservations about their only child choosing to work nights in a sleazy bar. They feared something happening to you while you worked. While you can't exactly say you weren't anticipating it, you weren't ready to hear the 'I told you so' lectures but you heard the pair out regardless.
Your father went on and on about you moving back to their house as if that would suddenly protect you from all the dangers of the outside world. He'd already expressed wanting you to come back since you'd made the executive decision to move out some time ago and you realized that he'd continue to reiterate that point for any reason.
There were so many things about that night's events that you had yet to process. The growing list of questions continued to pile on top of one another in the aftermath and you hadn't received one single answer.
But even after monitoring the news, you were positive that not much had been broadcast about the incident. Strangely, you hadn't seen much about it on the news as well as no word of any arrests made in relation.
Apparently, the police had quietly ruled it a possible rival, gang-related shooting but after everything you'd seen it didn't seem accurate at all. Especially when you consider the circumstances surrounding it - a lone man going against at least twenty other armed men in a deadly shootout and coming out victorious. It would appear that the suited gunman had gotten off scot free with his murderous exploits.
The bar owner, Rob, had actually had the nerve to reach out to ask you when you'd be returning to work your weekly shift. Not once had he asked if you were okay or offered any emotional support - he just wanted to know you were going to come back to work. Where the hell was he when those bullets rang out and were flying through the air. If you had to guess, either locked in the office in the back or gone out the exit door next to it.
After typing out a scathing, curse-riddled text that would put the devil himself to shame, you ended the message by informing him that you would never come back to work for him. Blocking him directly afterwards was just the cherry on the top. He was an inconsiderate asshole that didn't deserve you and you can't believe you put up with his shit for so long. Truth be told, your parents weren't all that fond of it in the first place and had already offered you support should you need it.
Frankly, you're positive that you can find a better job with a boss that actually cares about your well being. As of now, it was the least of your concerns.
Aside from attending school and being with Alexis and Jasmine, you had no other reason to leave your apartment. Under the threat of encountering any further danger, you opted to simply not go out after dark.
You'd convinced yourself that it was more a matter of safety than a genuine fear after what happened at the bar.
That is until a reminder text from your braider, Shannon, caused you to suddenly remember that you had yet to actually buy the hair for the appointment which was set the following morning. Considering that your hair appointment was set early in the morning hours and you had to wake up earlier just to commute there, you had a massive problem on your hands.
Shannon might be understanding but it would be incompetent of you to not have the most essential item you needed to get your hair done. All of that detangling you did a few short hours ago would not be for nothing.
The closest hair store wasn't that far from the apartment, so you should be able to make it even if you walked the block and a half. You also know that it was set to close at eight-thirty, glancing at the time, it was currently seven-forty-five. The realization causes you to leap from the couch so quickly that you nearly fall into the small coffee table. You race to the bedroom to grab your coat and shoes and hurriedly put them on before heading out the door.
You walk down the hall with urgency hoping you don't run into your landlord who always manages to walk out conveniently whenever you leave your apartment. It's not something you want to deal with right now.
The outside winds are considerably crisp with it technically being springtime in the month of March. It's cold enough that your breath comes out in plumes of smoke when it leaves your mouth.
Most of the time, the weather in March is unpredictable and people never know what they're going to get yearly. The city should start getting slightly warmer by the end of April. The amber glow of the street lamps illuminated most of the way as you followed the familiar path towards the store. It wasn't exactly safe to be out walking the streets after dark especially as a woman and you would never contemplate going through with it if your hair appointment wasn't at stake.
You probably spent less than five minutes in the store ignoring the shop owner before you were walking out with the purchased bags of hair.
Predictably, on the way back to the apartment, you found yourself cornered by five unknown assailants who'd come to question you about your involvement regarding the bar shooting that left many dead. Regardless of how hard you plead your case to them, the men clearly planned to kill you either way. Nothing you did or said could change that.
Frankly, you were puzzled by the entire thing. Were these the type of things happening in New York on a daily basis? You've been in a number of unexplainable situations before but nothing like this.
A stark reminder that you don't need this kind of shit in your life.
Just as one of the assailants began to aim his weapon at you, the deafening sound of gunshots rang out into the air. By that point, you just closed your eyes and waited for an even deeper darkness than the one behind your eyelids to envelop you. Long moments pass and you register the deepening silence in your mind as the inevitable. The first thought when you finally opened your eyes was that you were dead, that you'd been shot and were currently in the afterlife.
As your mind whirled with confusion and miscalculation, you quickly discerned the shocking sight of multiple bodies now laying on the pavement. The bodies of the men who had just been accosting and preparing to quite literally murder you.
You stiffened when you perceived the unexpected appearance of your guardian angel emerging from the shadows of the alleyway dressed in nearly the same dark formal attire you'd seen him in during the first encounter.
As the lone gunman lowered the weapon, your heartbeat quickened when his impassive eyes pierced yours head on. You stood frozen on the spot, afraid to move.
He looked steadily into your dumbfounded stare for long moments, face mostly unreadable. Many aspects about it subsequently mirrored the very first encounter you had with one another.
Unable to withstand the sheer intensity of his gaze, your own drops down to the handgun hanging at his side. He still hasn't put it away and that seriously worries you a great deal more than the dead men lying on the ground.
He's taller than you, the top of you barely managed to reach the top of his shoulders.
Twice now your life had come under serious threat and in both instances the man was present to inadvertently aid in the preservation of your life. The first time seemed like more of a coincidence than a deliberate effort to save you.
Suddenly, your mind was scrambling to think of an acceptable response after everything you'd just seen. As much as you willed yourself to come up with something, you didn't know what to say to him. You were for the moment, completely speechless. It wasn't until the sound of sirens blaring in the distance snapped you out of whatever trance you'd fallen into and your mind swiftly kick started in action.
Obviously someone had heard the gunshots and immediately called the police. People would descend on the spot very soon.
Taking that into consideration, it takes a second for you to settle on the next choice of words and you begin addressing him in a serious, urgent tone of voice.
"The police will be here soon. I live nearby if you want to lay low until they leave the area." You suggested.
Immediately, you knew how brazen the proposition was the moment it passed through your lips.
Admittedly, the man didn't appear all that concerned about police presence. Despite one of the man's dark brows arching slightly upwards, his placid expression didn't change. He probably thinks you're weird for even suggesting it.
Obviously now wasn't exactly the time to question your moral and ethical beliefs on the matter, now was the time to leave the scene. You'll have plenty of time to think about your potentially illegal actions later.
As intervals of prolonged silence went by, you felt increasingly disquieted by his lack of a response.
You waited anxiously as the man glanced at you for another few minutes, subconsciously willing him to give you some sort of answer. You didn't even realize that you were holding your breath awaiting his decision.
Finally, the man rejoined with a mild, "Lead the way."
With that you visibly deflated, slightly relieved that he was even receptive to the idea. Having obtained his acceptance, you nervously began leading the man towards your apartment complex.
On the journey, you can't help but have mixed emotions about your current actions.
At first, you could only be considered a witness to the crimes but now you were in the midst of aiding and abetting by offering to hide the man committing the crime from the police. This was a whole other line you were crossing.
Stifling a troubled sigh, you pressed on towards the apartment complex.
For a moment, you think your anxiousness might've shown in how you kept glancing back at him to ensure that he was indeed following behind you. The sound of measured footsteps followed closely behind you, a clear indicator that he was still following you even if you didn't look back to see him.
Albeit too hastily, you carefully climbed the steps and went into the building, holding the door open for him to follow. Since you lived on the first floor, you didn't have to worry about taking the stairs or an elevator to reach your apartment.
The single hallway leading there seems longer than ever despite you walking down it every single day. Any other doubts or reservations you might have are quickly shattered by the time you make it to your doorstep.
It had taken a few tries to get the key into the hole, as the door slowly opened, you suddenly remembered just how messy you left the front area of your apartment. The mess was a full week's worth of clutter and disorganization most of which had to do with textbooks scattered about. An aspect you'd completely forgotten about when you decided to invite a total stranger to your place. You hadn't felt the inclination to straighten up and no focus went towards maintaining it.
"Sorry but can you wait here for a sec" You say, turning back to the man. "I'll be right back."
Ultimately, you didn't wait for an answer as you quickly slipped inside the apartment, shutting the door behind you and leaving him standing out in the hall.
You hoped he wouldn't take offense and was understanding of your actions. But you just couldn't allow him in while the place looked like a pigsty and your mother would be ashamed if she ever found out.
Since you lived alone, there was no excuse for your place to be as messy as it currently was.
Prompted into action, you raced around the apartment picking up various items and rushing to put them where they belonged, then moving to right and fluff the couch pillows. You then grabbed a sweater off the island chair and before throwing it in your bedroom. Then you proceed to snatch off your coat and throw it inside as well before closing the door to the room altogether.
After a few more seconds of tidying, you did one more frantic glance over the space. Once you deemed it acceptable, you physically composed yourself before taking hold of the door handle and opening it.
"Sorry…you can come in now." You nervously uttered, stepping off to the side to signal that he could come inside.
You stilled your nerves as the man quietly stepped inside.
The impeccably well-dressed man's perceptive gaze silently roved over your living space, features mostly unreadable. You immediately noticed how tawny brown eyes lingered on the few family portraits you had decorating various spots in the space.
"You can sit there I guess." You gestured to a small table in the corner near the kitchen island, the only other place you sit down to do your coursework.
"Do you want something to drink? I have water, soda, tea…do you have a preference?"
"Whatever you decide is fine."
He looked like a guy who likes tea.
"Okay tea it is." You nod once and head into the kitchen.
Whilst doing so, your hands were shaking almost violently just trying to pour water in the pot. You had to pause and take a few moments to get yourself together.
Just what the hell were you thinking inviting a killer into your residence?
From your understanding, life was all about surprises and while you've accepted that notion, you never expected to have a well-dressed, questionable white man in your apartment at this time of night for any reason. Maybe you were afraid to admit that you'd done it for reasons beyond you. Now wasn't the time to debate the morality or fairness of your decisions.
Yet and still, there's an astronomical wariness surrounding your spontaneous decision. Because this is without a doubt the most random shit you've ever done. Even now you felt as though you were operating more on a whim because you felt indebted to him. One thing was for certain - at this point you definitely owed the man a lot more than you had to give.
Quite frankly, the both of you should've just gone on your way but you felt compelled to do this. Because of what exactly? Natural human propensity?
Perhaps you just needed to remember that you're African-American and something like this isn't typically done unless you know a person well enough. Because of this, your black instincts are going off and you've seen too many episodes of Law and Order to get a sense of what could ultimately happen.
Truthfully, you don't know what compelled you to invite a total gun-wielding stranger into your home. You probably needed to sit on someone's couch to see if you had a few screws loose. The only thing stopping you from finding out is that you'd hate to be thrown in a padded room and forced to wear the pair of grippy socks that came with it.
As a precaution, you immediately grabbed your phone and started sending messages to the groupchat.
You - So…there's a guy at my apartment.
Jasmine - What? Why?
Alexis - Do we know him? What's he look like?
As quickly as you can, you proceed to type a detailed enough description of the man's appearance. At the very least, your friends would be able to give the police a viable description should you wind up getting murdered. It was the logical thing to do. You practically did the same thing when the maintenance man comes to work on something in your apartment and you're alone.
You - He's just a stranger I invited over.
Jasmine - What made you invite him over specifically though?
You - It's complicated. Right now, I'm just trying to pay a kindness.
Alexis - Huh? Girl I don't understand, paying a kindness in what way? Are you paying him with cooch or something?
Jasmine - Lex please…
Alexis - I'm just trying to understand!
You - Look I just need y'all to be on standby just in case something happens. Can you do that?
Jasmine - Okay.
Alexis - Roger that.
Truthfully, there wasn't a good reason to invite him to your place. Quite the opposite actually. All you gather is that you're mostly doing it out of some weird obligation since he's inadvertently managed to save your life twice now.
You can hardly believe you've done this. Truthfully, you don't even know if you're hosting a serial killer or worse. You don't even know what the girls would say about you if they ever found out the truth behind why you'd done this. But the fact still remains that this may be the dumbest thing you've ever done in life.
Glancing over at a nearby kitchen drawer, you briefly entertained the thought of tucking a small knife in your waistband for some semblance of protection but you immediately decided against it. You purposely invited the man to your apartment and here you were thinking about stabbing him.
What type of person does that?
For all the time you spend in the kitchen, you contemplate every one of your life's decisions thus far.
Your fingers nervously skimmed the handles of each mugs, heart jumping wildly in your chest as you padded back into the front room.
"Here's your tea." You said softly, lowering the cup onto the table in front of him.
Even so, you slide the steaming cup in front of him before taking a seat directly across from him.
You usually wait until it cooled down a bit before attempting to drink it, you don't want a burned tongue.
The television provided a low hum as background noise but the sound is disproportionately minuscule compared to the prolonged awkward silence. Even your thoughts felt incredibly loud as arresting tension enclosed the both of you.
Once it became evident that you would have to take initiative for this exchange to go anywhere, you steeled your nerves and loudly cleared your throat to get his full attention.
"Sorry if this is kind of awkward. No one really comes over except my friends or my parents maybe."
To that the man offered no comment.
He had a bit of a mean streak judging from his cold demeanor that hinted that he'd rather be anywhere than where he currently was. You don't think you've ever met anyone like him - someone so closed off and collected to the point where it didn't seem like he was even human. In all honesty, he didn't even look all that willing to engage in much conversation, let alone reveal any aspect about himself to you. And you can kind of see why.
There's not really any expectations since you don't know each other - literal strangers with no real connection. Trying to make small talk with him was like talking to a brick wall.
For several passing seconds, the two of you just sat staring at one another. Although you tried not to look directly into his eyes as any prolonged eye contact might not be perceived well.
Honestly, you'd do anything to ease the tension you pondered as you fidgeted uncomfortably. Going by his own body language, he appeared calm and serene in stark contrast to you. You feel extremely uncomfortable knowing that there's a gun somewhere on his person, which he could use any given moment.
His gaze was set on the only other thing on the table - a plate of freshly baked cookies covered over with plastic wrap.
"I baked these earlier, you can have one if you want." You say, face slightly flushed.
"No. Thanks." The stranger's tone was exceedingly sharp and flat. Despite the deep, low pitch, he almost sounded robotic.
Frankly, you didn't know what else to say. He clearly wasn't interested in talking with you on any scale and you were starting to deeply regret putting yourself in such an awkward position.
While you're no expert in the intricacies of human emotions and polite interaction, he appears to be severely lacking in both. He was cold and aloof in a way that didn't seem normal and on some level it kind of rubs you the wrong way. Mostly because you interpreted as he wasn't all that invested in getting to know you like you were about him.
He barely moved at all aside from following you with his perceptive eyes. As silence reigned in the space of the apartment, you mulled over his features - he was quite a ruggedly handsome man with cleanly shaven facial hair and dark shoulder-length tresses.
"You live alone." He spoke in a deep monotonous voice.
You'd be shocked knowing that it was the first real statement from him if what he said wasn't the most alarming statement you ever heard. It's even more concerning since it wasn't so much as a question but more so an observation than anything else. Like he already ascertained that you lived alone.
For a brief second, you debated lying and saying that you have a roommate but thought against it at the last second. No point in lying when he already made up his mind and was quite firm on it.
"Yeah. I do." You answered. "Do…you live alone?"
"I have a dog."
"Oh. Does the dog have a name?" You curiously asked.
"No."
"Have you lived alone long?"
"Not that long, it's been a few months. I'm still getting used to it." You explain, managing a weak smile to which he did not reciprocate.
Choosing to invite him into your residence was without a doubt an unusual proposition. It definitely was something no woman in their right mind would ever do. But what other way could you show your gratitude when you were merely a broke college student with little money and no job? The possibilities were in fact, not endless.
It was very possible that he just so happened to be at the right place at the right time. But somehow you don't think his sole intention was to save you - it likely just happened. Regardless of the true reason, you still felt compelled to express some sort of gratitude towards him.
He only nodded quietly to the statement. Apart from the austere disposition, he presented the image of a distinguished gentleman and even if that weren't the case he certainly dressed like one. Detachment was the only discernible emotion readily reflecting in those brown orbs as he sat dauntingly across from you.
It's solely because of that you can't tell what he was thinking.
In fact, the very concept of engaging in conversation with him while five dead bodies laying on the pavement nearby was already abnormal. It was definitely something a normal person wouldn't be able to carry out. But for you it was easy to dismiss it in favor of the man who'd occupied your thoughts for days on end. He interred at a crucial moment and you still breathed because of that fact.
Outwardly, he was being reasonably pleasant but you weren't fooled - you knew he was watching every move you made you very carefully.
"I never got to properly thank you the first time…for saving my life."
Although you fully expected some type of response, be it a simple acknowledgement, the man offered no comment on the matter. Even with you verbally expressing gratitude towards his actions, there wasn't even any indication that he'd even registered it as his features were unfathomably cold.
Why did the conversation feel so one-sided?
Roughly two minutes into engaging and you've already figured out that he's a 'speak when spoken to' type of person. He was short and to the point with his responses but you expected that. You were asking a lot of things that aren't really your business, only he had yet to actually tell you that it wasn't your business. The vibe was there all the same.
Besides - there really wasn't much for either of you to talk about. That sentiment was crystal clear. It certainly doesn't help that you feel like you're walking on eggshells around him. Of course, you're not bold or stupid enough to potentially anger a questionable guy with a literal gun on his person.
Granted, the lack of attempt on his part was troublesome. Even though he doesn't have the best conversational skills, you don't want to unsettle him in any way that makes him put off conversation for good.
Most of the questions you're asking are superficial at most but the goal was to merely engage him in some sort of conversation. So far he hadn't shown any indication that he was opposed to it.
Still, you're in a precarious predicament, although you were hardly unfamiliar with it. You've been in more unpleasant situations and you won't be cowed in your own home.
Even now, there are so many thoughts running through your head and they aren't helping calm you in the slightest.
The oppressive silence was giving you the worst anxiety to the point where your leg is jumping under the table and you're looking down into your cup to avoid looking him in the eyes. Consequently, you held onto the cup tightly so he wouldn't see your hands trembling.
"You're nervous." He said quietly.
Of course, you were but you weren't expecting him to pick up on it so effortlessly. As a matter of fact, you wish he hadn't. You thought you were concealing it well but he seemed to read your body language with ease, despite you trying to go about the exchange as normal as humanly possible.
"Yeah…um…like I said. I don't normally have people over." You softly muttered.
"You mean someone you don't know?"
"Yeah." You said, lapsing into another deeply uncomfortable silence.
Honestly, you desperately needed to change the subject.
"So…how's your night been?"
It was undoubtedly a stupid question to ask him but you were running out of options.
"Eventful."
"Same…same." You fidgeted nervously.
God, this was painful.
He's clearly not a talker and you're not the best at facilitating conversation with strangers. You don't want to risk saying the wrong thing and giving him a reason to draw the firearm again. The man clearly doesn't have a problem putting his pistol and shooting anyone and you refused to be next.
You were a witness to two separate acts of violence he'd committed and he had yet to cause you any harm. Going solely by logic, if he wanted to harm you, wouldn't he have done it by now?
"I wasn't going to talk about it but after what happened I think that's impossible." You shakily exhaled, still somewhat unsure if you should even breach the topic with him.
"Those men…who were they?" You asked uneasily.
"Men who were no good." He said matter of factly.
"Yeah I pretty much figured that out when they pointed a gun in my face. But who were they?"
Impassive brown eyes narrowed in response and your pulse spiked at the look.
"Loose ends."
Loose ends? You didn't like the sound of that.
You noted. "Did you know they would come after me?"
"Yes." He mildly replied. "I knew they would eventually resurface at some point."
"Is that why you came…to the alleyway I mean?" You clarified.
"Do you know if more people are going to come after me?" You pressed.
"Not anymore."
The unspoken lingering question of "How do you know?" when unvoiced but the subtle assuredness in his statement was enough to appease any further doubts regarding it.
"How do you know these things?"
"I just do."
By now, you already put together that the men who accosted you in the alley tonight were acquainted with the group of individuals from the bar. Whatever business he had with the men, it appeared as though it was considered somewhat handled. The way in which he said it sent little shivers down your spine.
"Can I ask you one last thing? Why did you do it? What made you save me?"
"It wasn't my original intention, it just turned out that way."
While he gets points for giving you a totally honest answer, it stung knowing that his intention wasn't to outright save you from the men. He literally admitted that saving you just happened.
"Well regardless. I won't tell…I won't tell what I saw. You have my word."
The man's brown orbs are fixed on you with an unnerving focus, mouth set in a hard line. Truthfully, the stare makes you want to shrink and hide.
"I didn't expect you to."
"I invited you here to thank you…for saving me."
For saving you by shooting people in the face to be exact.
"So do you always carry a gun?"
New York City can be a very dangerous place for any one person especially at night. But somehow you get the feeling that that wasn't the exact reason why he chose to always be armed. As much as you wished to know, part of you feels that it was rude to ask him outright.
"You're running out of questions." He casually noted.
You couldn't help but let out a defeated sigh. "I know…I'm really terrible at this and I'm kinda starting to regret it."
"You know…they say that people who don't talk much tend to think a lot."
"Do they?"
"Yeah. I can tell you're stuck in your head a lot. Lonely people typically are."
Although the silent gunman's eyes flicker with understanding, he made no remark refuting the assertion. Instead he merely followed up with, "And how would you know this?"
"I guess I'm a lonely person too."
Perhaps you were reading too much into it but for a fraction of a second, the man's hard gaze softened before disappearing a moment later as if it were never there. You get the sense that he's very lonely and you know you're not wrong in the assumption. People like him usually spent a lot of their time in solitude rather than with other people. You can understand that.
Outside of your friends and parents, you didn't do much socializing either. Despite the indisputable fact that you do have friends and an active social life - there still feels like there's a void within you sometimes. A void that your friends can't really fulfill at times. Even though you have a hard time explaining it, you crave a different type of companionship.
For some time, silence once again took over and that familiar discomfiting feeling returned.
In retrospect, the comment may have been too personal for him, although you hoped that wasn't the case.
"Uh…it's getting late. You should probably get going." You mentioned plaintively, eyes downcast.
As customary, you graciously lead him toward the door on his way out.
It had been some time since what took place in the alley, the police might not be lingering in the surrounding area now. But you couldn't be so sure due to the nature of the crime committed.
"Are you sure you'll be safe going back out there?" You tentatively queried.
"Do I have any reason not to be?" He coolly retorted.
The timbre of his voice sends chills over your skin.
"Probably not."
As the man moved to open the door, he paused and turned to look at you once more. He gazed intently at you, facial expression gave away absolutely nothing as he uttered, "The answer is yes."
"Huh?" You stammered.
"The answer to your question…I do always carry a gun." His deep baritone voice was carefully leveled.
"Oh." You said. "Well…have a good night."
With that he turned to depart and you softly closed the door behind him.
Long after the encounter with your suited, gun-toting savior, approximately three weeks went by and you continued on with life.
More often than not, your mind was frequently eclipsed with thoughts of him and you caught yourself being inattentive quite a number of times each day. It doesn't make sense how you can't go about your life without thinking of him. He practically dominated your thoughts nearly every second of the day.
That was until you randomly received a knock at your door unexpectedly. When you opened it, your heart leapt into your throat when you saw him standing there. Honestly, you didn't know what to say as you hadn't expected him to return.
He tilts his head just a fraction, eyeing you with a subtle mix of fascination and nonchalance.
"You've changed your hair." He commented, voice devoid of emotion.
One of your hands came up to shift a few braids over your shoulder.
"Yeah I change my hair a lot." You idly mentioned, warmth creeping into your face.
From there the cycle of meeting with your nameless visitor goes on for close to two full months. It started with him showing up randomly and you instantly accommodating him. The man would come mostly after dark presumably when he knew you'd be home. Sometimes the two of you didn't even speak, you would just sit in silence within the presence of one another.
Each time he left, there was an underlying implication that he would eventually return. He didn't have to say as much, it was just a feeling you got.
When you don't see him for a while, you often wonder where he may be or what he's doing. Strangely, you're filled with shock and excitement at the prospect of seeing him once again even though it likely wouldn't happen.
Whatever was forming between the both of you, you couldn't give a name to but you found yourself cherishing it nonetheless. However, you always looked forward to these secret meetings. After all, every relationship, no matter how severely lacking it may be, had to start somewhere. If you meant to establish a meaningful connection with him, you didn't feel as though you were doing a good enough job.
The arrangement the two of you had was unprecedented and entirely unexpected but it was also very refreshing. Who knew that something as mundane as drinking tea and watching tv together can be utilized to form a minimal connection.
You think you've watched and explained barely every black sitcom from 'Martin' to 'That's So Raven' to him. All he did was sit quietly on the opposite end of the sofa and occasionally acknowledge what you say to you. He didn't say more than a few words at a time but you didn't have an issue with that - listening can be just as critical. Through that you quickly learned that he prefers silence.
At the very least, you've created a safe space for him to enter - that place being your own home.
Somewhere along the course of your interactions with one another, you've become aware of a deep yearning that has started to manifest. That yearning had ultimately produced some unexpected feelings associated with the man that you weren't sure if you would be having - feelings of attraction and deeper interest. Which you deemed strange considering you hadn't expressed much interest in any one man in quite a while.
The last man you'd dealt with had been the biggest disappointment and waste of time and you wondered how you even functioned as a real couple. You'd been on and off with him for nearly two years. You'd grown tired of begging for the bare minimum and not receiving it. Eventually, you'd caught him cheating on you with the girl he told you not to worry about - turns out your worry was very valid in the end.
Finally after some much needed clarity, you decided to break it off for good. Having realized that you wouldn't tolerate having dealings with someone who only wanted to see you on his terms. You refused to give a hundred percent to a man who barely even gave twenty. Your romantic life had pretty much simmered out and been non-extent since then and you decided to put work and your studies to the forefront.
You'd experienced too many failed talking stages to put forth any real effort to pursue any romantic interest. Especially since you know men and their ways.
Just being around him for brief periods of time may have inspired some strong feelings. How else would you explain the jitters of excitement whenever you open the door and see him?
You don't consider yourself a bashful person but there's no other way to explain how unnaturally nervous you get just being in the vicinity of him. Your stomach twists into knots at the thought of it and all he's shown you so far was that he was a man with a quiet exterior.
At first you thought that all of it was just in your mind, since the man hadn't shown the slightest inkling of attraction to you that you've noticed. Regardless, there's a disarming charm about him.
Aside from the fact that there was another couch available for him to sit on, the both of you always managed to end up on the same one together. There had been many instances where you'd gone from sitting on opposite ends to sitting shoulder to shoulder. As if solely by some unknown force, you found yourself leaning closer to him every time.
At times you catch yourself sneaking glances at him only to quickly turn away when you think he may notice.
Maybe it was just your imagination but your bodies seem to move unconsciously close to one another. Spending time with him brought forth strong emotions that you weren't sure if you should be feeling considering the circumstances. Perhaps it was a direct result of reciprocal attraction brought on by habitually sharing a comfortable silence or possibly just from the exposure effect. Either way, you found it hard to ignore the subtle way warmth gathers in your loins simply by being close to him.
There was an even more terribly embarrassing instance where you accidentally dozed off and jolted awake with your head resting on his shoulder.
The face he made in response to that almost made you giggle but thankfully you held it at bay.
Given the secretive nature of the arrangement, you made the executive decision not to tell your friends since you'd internally deemed it meaningless - something that wouldn't last long or have any real bearing on your life. At the time, you didn't know how wrong you were.
There's a saying that inner thoughts create the outer rim just as someone's outer world reflects their inner reality.
What you didn't understand was why this particular man was going around gunning down other individuals. For all you know, it could very well be gang related and you just associated yourself with a prominent member. Only he didn't seem like the type. In fact, he has a way about him that you can't accurately describe.
As a direct result of that, it was hard to define what you both were. The interactions are mostly friendly in nature at least from your perspective but you weren't friends or even acquaintances, you were just two people who for some inexplicable reason wanted to be around each other. Neither did either of you choose to question it.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that if a person doesn't like doing something then they wouldn't continue doing it voluntarily. For him to still choose to come around had to mean that he'd take a personal interest in you at the very least.
How can you be so unsure and hesitant about a habitually direct man?
In fact, you actually theorized that perhaps it was time that he craved - time spent with someone other than himself. And although you were indeed a person who occasionally enjoyed spending time themselves, it can easily become all-encompassing if done too frequently.
There's too much inner turmoil surrounding it and your mind didn't allow you to dwell on it for long. Hell, you didn't even know if you had any emotional connection with him since he doesn't show them himself. The man doesn't even smile and it's the most confusing thing.
Surprisingly, over time he'd become more open to contributing to a conversation even if it was just a single word here and there. Frankly, you don't know if he was truly receptive or simply keeping up a façade of polite disinterest just to humor your attempts. While you don't confide in him about anything, you just try to maintain a steady flow of dialogue. Which wasn't an easy thing to do with someone so guarded.
To tell the truth, you're utterly mystified by him.
Admittedly, you hadn't found out much about him to know if there was a mere possibility that you and him might share some common ground.
From what little you knew about him, which isn't much to begin with, the guy was the definition of a steel trap. You should've known it wouldn't be easy to break through the impenetrable defense he'd put up. But on the other hand, you didn't want to force anything.
Taking many things into account, there were many aspects about him that raised questions - questions you weren't so forward as to ask him at this moment in time.
Since you don't have a clear idea of what he does for a living, there's been little clues here and there. Bruised knuckles, tiny barely noticeable cuts in different places, and the faint lingering smell of gunpowder on him mixed with his cologne. One particular night, he came over and you couldn't help but notice the tiny specs of blood on the collar of his crisp white shirt. Although the sight of it doesn't nearly shock you as much as it should've.
For all you know, he could be an undercover FBI agent, but that didn't make much sense. You wouldn't have had to hide him from the incoming police after what happened the second encounter. As of now, there's not a range of explanations you can draw from.
Just who was he to be skulking around the city at night saving strangers like yourself?
The only logical thing that came to mind was that he was somehow doing some type of work, possibly as a secret agent. Not once had you suspected that his sudden reappearance in a random alley where you were being threatened and accosted could be more than a mere coincidence. That was the only plausible explanation you could come up with, you certainly didn't want to think he was going around offing people.
Even if you thought to ask what he did for a living, you doubt he would respond with a viable answer. He had a roundabout way of shooting down your attempts to pry further into who he truly was. He kept any sort of personal information about himself a complete mystery.
You didn't talk about any of the things he did nor did you bring it up. There was the question of whether he still went out and committed acts of violence. There had been a number of times where you wanted to ask what made him come in and shoot up an establishment full of people.
For the most part, you're a little disappointed that he still had yet to divulge something so simple as his name. For all you've revealed about yourself to him, he could at least give you that. Deep down a part of you feels some type of way about it but you know you can't force a person to open up just because you chose to. With that thought in mind, you decide to let go of the prospect ever happening.
On some level you can respect that. He didn't feel comfortable with you knowing too much about him at this current point in time. Everyone has their own secrets, even you. But you tend to overthink everything anyway.
Despite that, there's something so incredibly appealing about him that you can't shake it.
Additionally, there were many hints that he was a seasoned older man. He showed maturity through his body language, the way he carried himself spoke volumes. Even taking into account his straight-faced mien, you can tell that he's much older than he looks. You didn't have to see any specks of gray in his beard or hair to know. Frankly, you wished he was more open so you wouldn't have to speculate about the parts he was reluctant to reveal.
Even then, a multitude of thoughts surrounded you.
Is it even normal for you to feel something for him knowing what he's done? Knowing that he's still a murderer regardless of what you find out about him or how he's saved you from certain death in the process.
Coincidently, it would be a solid month before you actually laid eyes on him again.
You were in bed on the phone listening to Jasmine ranting about her job. You hadn't been able to get more than a few words in at a time. It was better to let her get it all out.
"Hold on there's somebody at the door."
"Who is it?"
"I don't know. I'll call you back."
"Hold on! I got more I wanna say."
"Girl I'll call you back bye!" You said, ending the call and throwing the sheet back to get out of bed.
Phone still in hand, you padded towards the door, internally hoping that the person behind the door was exactly who you were expecting it to be. Taking a mere second to look through the peephole, you saw the obscure profile of a man, one that had become considerably familiar over time.
Your hand wrapped around the handle and pulled the door open. What you hoped might be a warm welcome had quickly become something much more alarming.
One of his hands was pressed to his right side, red fluid seeping through his fingers. You examined the injury as best you could in your current position. The wound looked deep enough to cause a substantial amount of bleeding. Streams of blood steadily seeped from the cut. The biggest thing was finding a way to stop the external bleeding.
"Oh my god…what happened?"
For the most part, his features remained cryptic.
Swallowing thickly, you consider your options given the severity of the situation.
Aside from a bead of sweat along his arched brow, the facial expression appeared almost bored with the proceedings. He didn't show any physical indication of being in pain. You've never seen anything like it. Even people with a strong pain tolerance wouldn't be able to conceal any pain they might've felt with a wound like his.
You helped the man sit on the floor against the side of your couch.
You pondered with gnawing curiosity. Steadily meeting his calm gaze.
He quietly observed you in your panicked state.
In spite of your hands shaking, you hesitantly worked hard to rid him of his suit jacket and extra layers. After having shed the jacket completely, the gun holster at his waist became fully visible. In actuality, the very sight of it momentarily causes your stomach to sink. Despite your shocked visage, the man wordlessly removed the holster from around his midsection with relative ease and sat it aside.
You smell the dizzying aroma of gunpowder, cologne, and the tiniest hint of male musk.
"Stay here…I'm going to go get some water and towels." You say before racing towards the kitchen.
While warm water gradually filled the bowl, you rushed towards the hallway bathroom to get the first aid kit from under the sink. You rummaged through several cabinets to retrieve a round bowl.
Despite you inquiring, the man offered no explanation as to how he got the injury and now wasn't exactly the right time to press him about it.
As the last button came undone, you were soon staring at his bare torso, gazing at his toned musculature. Your gaze carefully traced the line of his broad chest and defined abdominal muscles. Shaking your head you tried not to focus primarily on the sight of the man's naked torso - now it wasn't the time to admire his body.
You were beginning to think he was pointedly not providing you with a response. Not that it mattered at this juncture.
His heart beat steadily underneath your palm. You're shocked to find that everything hidden behind the suit is solid. The expanse of his chest was much softer and firmer than you expected it to be.
Not to mention the additional blood on him that you don't think belongs to him.
You applied pressure to the site of the wound. "Hold this here." You instruct.
You're not a nurse by any means but you knew the bare minimum to at least keep him alive. This sort of thing was more of Jasmine's expertise. You would do all you could to prevent the man from bleeding out and dying on your living room floor. By now, he's probably already lost a lot of blood.
After having procured the items needed, you quickly returned to the front room with the bowl and towel before kneeling down next to him.
With the damp towel in hand, you used your free hand to lift his own from the site of the leaking wound. Once the pressure was gone, small tendrils of blood continued leaking from the cut.
"This looks bad, you may need to go to the hospital." You voiced.
You began gently cleaning around the laceration, wiping the vital red fluid from his blanched skin. You lightly dragged the wet towel over the hard ridges of his abdominal muscles to get rid of the excess.
A single dark brow quirked in amusement and your concern only grew from there.
Wordlessly, the man reached over and procured the needle and thread from the small white box. The sewing needle was small and thin, the thread made of some special polyester material.
Oh no. Surely he wasn't about to do what you thought he would. There was no way.
Truthfully, you didn't even know you even had a needle and thread in the kit to begin with.
First, he sterilized the needle using alcohol wipes. Then began actively working to stitch the injury shut. Throughout the delicate process, he was very precise with each movement. He continued carefully inserting the thin pointed metal at a ninety degree angle a quarter inch into the skin edges.
The blank-face man expression was focused, his movements unerringly graceful as he basically performed an operation on himself. You've never seen anyone conduct an at home surgery in this manner. In your opinion, the man was way too calm considering how serious the injury was.
Where the hell did he learn to suture a wound like that?
Considering that you knew next to nothing about him, it was entirely possible that he had a background in medicine. Who's to say he wasn't a well-trained nurse or even a doctor. Stitching requires great focus and skill.
At a certain point, you couldn't bring yourself to watch the rest of it. There was no way you could be awake and functional while your skin was being stitched back together. You'd have to be sedated for something like this. In fact, you'd pass out the second a needle came into view.
The whole thing takes less than five minutes before he finishes the last stitch and uses the small pair of scissors to cut the excess string. The sewn skin was red and looked slightly irritated but the overall suture was neatly sealed shut. When his gaze met your own, you quickly diverted your attention back to the kit.
"I don't know if I have a bandage big enough to cover that." You explained whilst shifting through the kit.
Without answering, the man reached over into the square box and pulled out the tan gauge roll. Following that, he began stealthy administration of the dressing to the wound, effectively covering the area across his abdomen and back.
"Are you…in any pain?" You ask, features marred with concern.
In spite of you asking, you had yet to see him flinch or express any discomfort whilst performing the self-surgery but you just wanted to make sure.
"No." He calmly and eloquently replied.
"I learned out of necessity. When prone to injury, one must learn these things." He explained.
"I'm not a doctor or anything but I think you're good." You assure with a small nod. "Also I have some Ibuprofen if you need it."
"It looks like you lost a lot of blood. Are you dizzy or feel like you might pass out?"
"I'm fine." The man stated indifferently.
"I won't lie. You had me scared for a minute." You said as you sat the bowl of water, now a lightly tinted pink aside.
A barely audible huff escapes his nostrils in what you think is the first instance of amusement from him, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. Honestly, you found it interesting to see something other than that perpetually stoic façade he kept up. In all the time you've spent with him, you become convinced that nothing could even phase his serene mien or that he was even capable of laughter.
Rather unwittingly, whilst examining the expertly swathed wound, one of your hands lifted upwards toward it before you paused. Your eyes flickering to his own in the moment.
"Can I…" You murmured, timidly regarded him as he calmly gazed at you with an inscrutable mien.
By asking his permission, you want to be certain that you're crossing a boundary with him that he didn't want. Boundaries that were difficult to establish when he was a mysterious, mostly withdrawn individual who barely talked. Until this very moment, you'd been uncertain about his thoughts concerning you. You didn't want to misinterpret anything for something entirely different.
With him providing no verbal response, you essentially had to draw conclusions, knowing full well that only now and then his silence was used as his assent.
While cognizant of the man's fixed gaze, you placed a tentative hand lightly to his sternum, surprised at the feel of his skin. Shockingly, the man's skin is smooth aside from a few healed scars and abrasions. Not only that but the moment your hand pressed against his chest, you realized that his skin was hot to the touch. There seemed to be a steady flow of warmth from him, almost as if his body was generating heat.
The room was suddenly filled with a heightened sense of lusty tension and you froze momentarily, not knowing what was about to take place before willing yourself to continue.
Right away, you felt a rush of adrenaline start to course through your veins.
Moving the exploring appendage downwards, you gently ran your palms over his hard abdomen. To put it simply, the touch was rather hinting than forthright but still quite daring on your part. Before now, you could never recall being so forward in your advances with a man you were interested in. In no time, arousal swiftly washed over you as you pensively appraised the man's physique, sharp pang of lust starting to pulse within your aching gut.
Seriously? Was that all it took was a few tentative touches for you to become thoroughly aroused? You could hardly believe it.
Frankly, you don't know what's happening, all you know is that your body is feeling a deep
yearning to be touched and an urge to act on it.
All of a sudden, you're made aware of his heavy focus on your person and your stomach starts to twist into knots.
His deep brown eyes suddenly flicked down at the touch before ending up back on your flushed face. Several strands of dark hair had fallen in front of his handsome face, his normally tranquil eyes dilated with unhidden lust. Goosebumps skated along the surface of your arms, heat curling inside your loins at the expression. It was almost slightly disconcerting being under the man's heavy gaze in this manner.
What was this between the two of you?
Obviously, he'd picked up on your curious ministrations as a definite sign of interest, (if your perception proved accurate) that is.
Numerous thoughts brewed restlessly within your confused mind.
And if that were correct did that mean the attraction between you both was mutual? Was it not truly one-sided as you were initially led to believe? There's a number of instances in your life that you worried about the outcome and this was no different. Could this finally be the confirmation you'd been seeking?
The man's striking brown eyes had darkened considerably, both of his palms moving along the sides of your waist to lift you into his lap, situating your legs on either side of his strong thighs. Somehow the man's one of his arms ends up around your narrow waist. From there, one of his large hands settles itself at your lower back, the touch from him decidedly firm and pleasant despite every inch of your skin feeling feverishly warm.
One of your braids had slipped out of its binding and into your face and he tenderly pushed it back with a single finger all while never breaking his stare with you. The look ignited a smoldering heat deep within your stomach, your heart fluttering vigorously in your chest and you struggled to control and regulate your breathing.
By now, you realized that you were too entranced by his hypnotizing stare gaze, staring just as deep as the man's eyes devoured your own. Although, your head was now only a few atop his, your lustful gaze dropped to lips that were surrounded by neatly trimmed facial hair and the temping urge to press your lips against his own had never been more prevalent than it currently was.
The arousal had gradually risen to unbearable heights, leaving you uncomfortable and wanting. At this point, you both could no longer skirt around whatever it was between you.
For the moment, you didn't think about what you were doing - only that it felt so right. Nothing about it certainly didn't feel wrong - being in his arms, being with him like this. As a matter of fact, you think it was the mere act of engaging in physical affection with him that felt right.
Just as the thought of dipping your head begins to take root, one of his large palms swiftly travels upwards to cradle the space between your throat and jaw, effectively halting you in the process.
With imploring eyes, you questioned him, clearly very confused about his latest actions.
After brief consideration, you decided to say "fuck it" and try to dip your head closer. However, your lips still would not touch. In fact, his lips are kept just out of reach as he leans to press them to that concentration of nerves in your neck.
It wasn't until now that you realize just how long it's been since you were deprived of skin to skin contact like this.
Every single touch from him was making you even hotter and it didn't take long for him to wind up cupping the pliant globes of your ass in both hands. When the sensations started intensely bombarding your senses, your hands came up to grip his broad shoulders, breathing growing more audible.
"Would you like me to touch you?" His smooth baritone cut into the air.
"Yes…" You whispered.
Soon his hand began caressing your lower belly and inner thighs, sending a pleasant tinge across your skin. Instinctively, your body started melting into his own - the sensation the action produced causing you to let out a low hum of gratification.
His fingertips lightly grazed over your toned stomach.
Long fingers slowly slid into the cotton undergarment covering your most intimate place, with you clad in a pair of loose sweatpants, it wasn't hard for him to slip his hand inside without difficulty. You jolted when slender fingers made contact with your bare sex, bodily juices instantly covered the exploring digits. The wetness he found there made it fairly easy to slide his exploring digits along the outer and inner lips of your vagina.
You were wet before but now you practically erupt with more juices when his slender appendages start to gently rubbing circles around the hot, moist flesh, gently caressing that small bundle of nerves between your thighs.
This fact immediately embarrasses you.
A single finger teased over your vaginal opening but it never penetrated the weeping slit. He added the slightest bit of pressure while continuing to languidly move his fingers up and down the slit.
Although it was hidden from his gaze, the man clearly had no issue manipulating it to his liking, bringing you all sorts of blissful gratification. This is done all while he stared intently at your flustered visage.
Pushing past the pleasurable haze, your wandering digits eventually met the waistband of his dress pants, which were secured by a thick leather belt. Probably way more careful than you needed to be, you cautiously undid the latch from the buckle and pulled it from the loops.
He watched you do this with his eyes lowered to half mast.
As you wrapped a hesitant hand around the man's imposing member with needy urgency, seeking to give him the same pleasure you were experiencing at his hand. Your warm hand enveloped the stiff flesh of his erection, fingers gingerly tightening, not wanting to squeeze too tightly lest you make him uncomfortable. From there, your adroit fingers began stroking over the velvety texture of his heated girth, slowly building in momentum.
Even with your hand in his pants, you didn't have to actually see it to know how imposing the heated girth truly was - easily you know it was the biggest you've ever dealt with.
Brows lowered in pleasurable concentration, you begin deftly working your fist around him not really knowing what you were doing. Your thumb gently circled along the mushroom tip of his manhood. You started a rhythm of stroking the hard flesh up and down.
Wanting better, wetter friction, you retract your hand and bring it to your mouth. You licked the underside of your palm to get it decently moist before placing it back onto his length.
Conversely, you hoped it was equally as gratifying for him as it was for you being on the end of his lascivious ministrations - an equal exchange of pleasure for the both of you.
All the while, his talented fingers continued paying along your sex. The sensation titillating and powerful enough to have you keening loudly. As more liquid heat leaked out of you, you basically buried your face into the slope of his neck and shoulder, simpering and panting.
The once deafening silence of the room was soon filled with gentle pants and sounds of euphoria, majority of which were coming directly from you.
He didn't apply too much direct stimulation to your clit, instead he utilized a light airy touch to determine what felt good to you. The tip of his longest finger brushed over your vaginal opening but didn't penetrate.
Your breath hitched as slender fingers continued idly brushing over the tiny bud of your labia, your other hand forming a tight fist in his open shirt. He started strategically rotating his long appendages, every circulation sent surges of blissful electricity through your clitoral nerve endings.
Soon you registered the feel of his hand on the back of your head, securing a painless grip at your nape. He gently massaged the tense area by applying light pressure, grazing a thumb over the swollen nub.
Soft incoherent noises continually fell from your parted lips as the intense pressure steadily built. You let out a series of rapid inhales and exhales, suddenly realizing that you were on the edge of a violent climax.
The force of the climax hit you far harder than you expected and your body began trembling violently. You barely had time to let out a soft cry of release before your head was floating in a cloud of ecstasy, suspended in a state of rapture that was almost painful.
When a portion of your awareness returned, you glanced down at the sight of his essence all over your hand provided the most alluring display.
Surprisingly, the male didn't so much as let a groan of completion slip past his lips as his milky overflow coated your hand and fingers. You were so caught out in your own release that you hadn't even realized he'd achieved his own in the process.
Shortly thereafter, the man pulled his hand from your pants and a brief glance showed that his fingers were glistening under the light.
Once a some time passed the orgasmic high wore off, you were left staring directly into the man's eyes again did the shock of what had just taken place actually hit you. Your stomach immediately dropped.
You're immediately hit with a range of emotions from shock, to embarrassment, to flat out worry. As you scrambled out of his embrace and stood, your body was still weak and tingling.
Grabbing the used towel from the bowl, you wiped your hand clean as best you could.
You can't get past what just transpired between the two of you. What had taken place was undeniably a defining moment.
"I'm so sorry." You say, hands moving to fix your fly and button your pants.
"For?" He asks with an arched brow.
"I really shouldn't have-" You started.
"Why is that?"
"You're hurt…"
Something glacial and primal flashed in his eyes. "Am I?"
For a few seconds, you struggled to find a legitimate answer to give him but a number of reasons came to mind.
Because you're strangers. Because he's killed people. Because you can't even define what this is between you both.
He was an injured and possibly confused, due to the extent of blood loss, man who couldn't be in his right mind. It all felt very questionable on your end - almost as if you'd taken advantage of him in a way and that wasn't your intention.
Regardless, the shame of what happened was too much for you at the moment.
"Listen, I'm glad you're okay but you should probably go home and get some rest." You stated, trying to avoid catching his gaze.
You hated having to act so coldly to him but you didn't know what other way to handle the situation. You only meant to help him, you hadn't anticipated that it would lead to this. It went without saying that you both bypassed the point where the chaste, platonic relationship was no longer non-amorous in nature.
Wrapping your arms around yourself, you quietly stood off to the side and you listened to the sounds of rustling clothing.
With little hesitation, you walked over to the door and held it open for him. As the sound of measured footsteps soon approached, your discomfited gaze remained on the floor as you were way too mortified to look up and see the expression on his features.
A beat of silence passed and he had yet to make a comment, still you wished you could hide within yourself.
"Please take care of yourself." You quietly bid to him, eyes downcast.
He only deliberated a second longer before quietly walking out of the apartment.
You hadn't expected that him leaving in such a manner would ultimately leave a horrible ache in your chest. It's only after you shut the door and lean back against it do you contemplate what just happened.
To be continued…
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