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“Have you ever been in love?” you ask. It is one of your favorite go-to questions. People take it too seriously and always want to make an impression with their responses. “Once,” they enjoy saying. Or, no. A sigh followed by an “I don’t know.” The answer you expect from him, though, is a shrug.
“Yeah,” he says, very sure, with no room for argument. He chooses not to elaborate. Or, he thinks he has already answered your question, and further elaboration isn’t expected.
“When was this?” you ask. Meaning, “who was it?”
“Um,” he says with a frown and thinks about it a little. “I was very young when it happened. But it lasted for years.”
A pang of pain forms in your stomach. Why do you feel everything with your gut anyway? Why hasn’t he ever mentioned it before, this love of his life that lasted for years?
“Who?” you ask, trying to keep your voice casual. You don’t want him to know.
“Angela Lansbury,” he says. Casually and there’s no hint of joking.
“Who?”
“Sorry, Dame Angela Lansbury.”
“Uhh.” You are confused.
“From Murder She Wrote?”
“I know who Angela Lansbury is.”
“She’s so beautiful,” he says, eyes closed in bliss.
“She’s dead.”
“I know that,” he says. It’s his turn to be testy.
It’s now landed in your brain where your humor is hidden. You let out an unkind laugh. You can’t stop yourself. “Angela Lansbury?” you ask.
“What’s so funny?” His confusion means one thing: he has never told anyone about it. Otherwise, he’d been teased so mercilessly so often that even he would have learned not to mention it.
“Nothing,” you say, pressing your lips together to hold back your laughter but the more you suppress it, the more it threatens to bubble up. You’re worried because his confusion is now accompanied by annoyance, which is rare for him. Your insides lightly tighten with excitement. You like seeing him annoyed. “That’s not love,” you say. You really shouldn’t be doing this. He already made it clear that he didn’t like you. There’s no need to make the situation worse or you won’t be able to work together. “That’s just being a fan, admiration. You don’t fall in love with celebrities. You didn’t know her.”
“Of course, you can!”
“Maybe. When you’re an adolescent and don’t know any better, you do think falling in love with, well, Dave Navarro, in my case, is the real deal. But then we grow up and experience real love and learn the difference. It seems like you haven’t done much growing up and got stuck in those years.”
You’ve known him for seven months and the range of emotions he’s shown has never been so wide. Confusion and annoyance are still there but you now detect sadness. You’ve seen it before when he thinks no one’s looking at him. It is unlike the one that appears on his face when he can’t stab people to death.
“Okay,” he says. He stays in the room because he can’t leave. Neither can you. The rain hasn’t stopped and you don’t have a car.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“S’okay,” he says and watches the rain outside.
You’re not used to seeing him like this. You want to explain yourself, but there’s nothing to explain. You wanted to be mean because that’s the only way you can get to him, but finally, it backfired, and he found out that ignoring you was an option.
“Adrian–”
“I mean, it’s okay, I guess, if you think my love for Dame Angela Lansbury wasn’t the real deal,” he says with a loud voice, but still decisively avoiding your gaze. “But to say that I’m not a grown-up–”
“I never said that,” you interrupt, regretting your prior words. You might have done some irreversible damage. He sounds too serious.
“You heavily implied it and guess what? You’re wrong. And just because I don’t say anything or feel butthurt like you people doesn’t mean you can say whatever you want to me. Especially in my home.” With that, he huffs, makes other unintelligible noises and starts taking his suit off piece by piece. At one point, he throws his glasses on the couch and focuses on his boots. “Fucking stupid… Next time I’ll see him, I’m gonna fucking rip his wings off,” he mutters and winces visibly before holding his socked foot and frowning.
“Something’s wrong with your foot?”
“Hm? No, it’s none of your business.”
It’s the second time you see him in that black undershirt and you are drinking him in – you don’t know when, or if, you’ll get the chance again. His wavy hair is messy, curls falling on his forehead. Without his glasses, he looks younger somehow, and more dangerous. Your eyes drop to his bare forearms. You’ve imagined them around your waist too many times. Pressing your back to his chest, whispering in your ears, and maybe kissing your neck… You press your legs together and a small whimper leaves your mouth.
“What happened?”
“My neck. I think I hit a nerve when I moved.”
He frowns even more. “You didn’t move.”
“How would you know? You weren’t looking at me.”
“How do you know I wasn’t looking at you? Were you looking at me?”
“N-no,” you stammer. “But I saw you. I mean, I was seeing you. You were in my vision.”
He scoffs without humor and limps to his bedroom. When he comes back, he’s in looser outfits, sweatpants and a t-shirt but his arms are still bare.
“Can I at least watch a movie?” you ask.
“Yeah. Why are you acting like I’m keeping you as a prisoner or something? You can do anything you want, including insulting me, apparently.”
“I didn’t–” you begin but quickly shut your mouth when you see him smiling. Maybe he’s not that angry at you. Peacemaker told you that Adrian didn’t hold grudges, and he let the worst happen to him once but didn’t elaborate.
He sits next to you, not quite touching but he can touch you if he wants. “Just please, choose something good. I don’t want to watch anything stupid.”
That spurs you on and on one of the cheap streaming services Adrian has, you find an obscure, foreign film that looks boring as fuck. The description has words like “an enigmatic woman”, “deeper understanding” and “zeitgeist”. That’ll bore the fuck out of him.
The movie is a drag. You thought maybe it’d have some nice scenes to look at but it is so bad, you regret your choice, even though Adrian is fuming. He keeps announcing his annoyance and you shush him every time as if you understand what the characters are saying. You don’t even read the subtitles at this point.
“Will you shut up? I’m enjoying this movie, and I’d like to watch it. No matter what stupid opinion you have, we are going to watch this.”
He grumbles something, and you only catch the words “my house” and “my TV,” but you pay him no regard. You take a glance at the rain – it has not gotten any lighter yet. You’d be soaked in a matter of seconds if you tried to leave.
You don’t know how long you’ve looked at the rain but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. That’s why you don’t understand how quickly the main characters started to have sex on TV.
Well, this is awkward. You’re afraid to look at Adrian now. His unusually short temper and his usual disregard for you made you exceptionally shy today. At least it’s going to be over in a minute or so, you think.
It does not. You forgot this was a foreign film. The sex scenes don’t consist of artful shots of calves and hands. The actors are really going for it, and fuck, they’re good at it. It’s all bouncing tits, grunting and crying, and frequently changing positions. You feel like you have to say something at this point, or Adrian might think you’re getting off on it.
“Is this porn?” you say accusingly.
“I dunno, you chose this movie. I’m not surprised, though.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You have a dirty mind,” he says.
“What?!”
“Will you shut up? I thought you wanted to watch the movie.”
“I–”
“Shush!” He says it so sternly you almost moan. What kind of cruel joke is this, you think desperately. The sex scene turns almost violent and you’re getting turned on wit every second.
Adrian is still next to you. Because the TV is located not opposite the couch but almost near it, your back is turned to him. You turn to him and open your mouth to say something. What, you’re not sure. You just want to put a stop to this awkward, torturous moment, but the second you move his arm is wrapped around your waist, and he positions you back to face the TV.
A violent tremble goes through your body when you feel his chest against your back and his lips next to your ear. “You said you wanted to watch this. So, we’re going to watch this.”
Shit. So, he is affected too. This was all you wanted, but your mind doesn’t have the same logic right now. You wanted to push him away and leave the house, to hell with the rain. On the other hand, you’re soaking wet not and throbbing between your legs. You feel every throb in your ears alongside his fastening breathing.
You can get through this. You don’t know how long the scene is going to take but come on, it’s the first twenty minutes into the movie, and it can’t last till the end. You try to be calm and careless as if Adrian holding your waist and breathing hotly in your ear is nothing but a joke. You’ll push him away and say something like “Settle down Romeo,” and everything will return back to normal.
Right when you think about it, right at that second, the man on the screen slaps the woman’s breast. It’s so crude, so unexpected, and different, for you at least, you react in the worst way possible. You let out a very loud and equally pathetic whimper as your cunt clenches slowly.
Adrian is also surprised, but he has the upper hand. He reaches out and pauses the movie. You let out a breath you have been holding since you made that noise. Maybe this was too much even for him.
His arm tightens around your waist, and his lips return back to your ear. “Did you like that?” he says. It’s not a whisper but an excited and gravelly voice you’ve never heard from him before. “Did you like that? Is that the kind of thing you enjoy?”
You can’t answer. You don’t know what to say because you’ve never thought about it. “Do you like getting your tits slapped? Oh my god, I knew you were naughty, but this surpasses my imagination.”
You shake your head to deny all of these. Which is a wrong move because he takes the remote again and rewinds the scene. “Let’s try that again,” he says, and you watch all that fucking from the start, but this time, he’s grinding against your ass and leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses on your neck. You try to stop your squirming and concentrate on not embarrassing yourself with the same reaction again. But when it comes to that scene and the slapping noise echoes in the room, there you are flinching and whimpering again.
You expected him to laugh, but he only gets more excited and pulls you onto his lap, forcing you to ride his thigh. You are barely aware of him turning the TV off and still speaking in broken sentences into your ear. “I can’t believe you finally got the courage,” he says at one point and you stop him and look back.
His face is red, his glasses are thrown again, and no, he doesn’t look annoyed that you stopped.
“What do you mean?” you ask, panting heavily.
“Wasn’t this, like, a ploy to get me going finally? I’m not mad, I think it’s a great scheme. From now on, I’m going to ambush people with porn to sleep with them too!”
Your face is burning. It was humiliating before but now it’s even deadly. “You–You actually think I did this intentionally?”
He shrugs. “Why not? Why else would you choose that movie?”
“To annoy you!” you nearly scream without thinking. And then all is silent because you don’t know when to stop demeaning yourself.
A few beats pass by, with Adrian intently staring at your face. “Why would you wanna annoy me?”
“I–I didn’t mean it–”
“I mean, I know you want me. That part is obvious.”
You were about to deny it, but the fact that he knows about it gets the better of you. “What do you mean you know?”
“I know,” he scoffs and sits back down next to you, not touching this time. “It’s so fucking obvious. The way you stare at me. Like when you did just a while ago when I took off my suit. You were salivating, for fuck’s sake. You’re always flustered when I’m mean to you. I can see you pressing your legs together, clenching, biting your lips… You’re constantly trying to get a rise out of me.”
“I think you’re imagining things.”
“You act like you’re burdened with me, but you always try to get alone with me. Like tonight.”
Suddenly, the patterns on the Ikea carpet capture your interest. There’s no point in denying now. “I thought you couldn’t read social cues,” you mumble.
“I can’t. I’m great at reading sexual cues, on the other hand.”
You wish he’d put his glasses back on. You can handle him with the mask or the glasses, but he looks like the predator he is when he’s without them. “Is this funny to you?”
“No,” he says. “But it is stupid if you ask me. Why didn’t you say something for six months?”
You let out a loud groan – he’s known it that long. “I don’t know. It’s kinda difficult for me to put myself out there. You’re more confident, why didn’t you?”
He shrugs again. “I just wanted you to feel ready. I was game from the start. It was very frustrating sometimes, you know, like the other night when you called me in the middle of the night with the pretense of writing a report on the mission and masturbated while I repeated the events. It wasn’t easy. Are you crying?”
“No, I’m just making noises and trying to die.”
“Now that we established we both want each other, can we please fuck? Like, right now?” He takes your hand gently and kisses your palm so tenderly you’re not sure if this is the real Adrian or not. But then he puts your hand on his hard cock and says, “Look how hard you got me baby,” and you’re not unsure anymore. He drags your hand up and down and leans back against the couch.
The sounds he makes and his face in bliss are enough to make you come on the spot. Another whine comes out between your lips and he speaks without opening his eyes. “Tell me how you did it?”
“Did what?”
“How you touched yourself thinking about me all these months. What did you fantasize about? And fuck, yes! Did you use any toys?”
“I, uh, the usual. You and I, alone at the old record store. You’re angry at me for some reason and then you have enough and decide to punish me. And, oh,” you say when he starts thrusting his hips. “Um. yeah. And. I run away but you catch me and carry me inside. And you force me to perform some stuff.”
He sits up, opens his eyes and frowns. “Like what?”
“You know like, take off my clothes and put on a show for you while you sit back and watch.” Your cunt is clenching so hard it is now difficult to talk for you. “And then you bend me over that table and fuck me from behind.”
“You’re so fucking hot,” he says but, at the same time, stops your hand.
“And for the toys, I didn’t bring any from home. One night, I was so desperate I used my hair clip as a nipple clamp.” The memory brings a whole new wash of pleasure over your body. You’re trembling now and feel dangerously close to breaking down.
“Come on,” he says, getting up. He holds out his hand. “Come on, let’s fuck.”
****
He turns on all the lights and tells you to take your clothes off while he does the same. His bed is made and tidy but he pulls the covers and the duvet back and sits on the bed with his feet on the floor. “Come here,” he says and you awkwardly sit next to him. Maybe he meant his lap, you think.
The last thing you see is his smile and the rest is the most mindblowing kiss you’ve ever had in your life. He dives straight into the act; there’s no build-up and no trials. His tongue explores your mouth with soft strokes and his hands are boldly caressing your arms and back.
You’ve been wanting this man for so long, and after tonight’s events you’re already sensitized. All you can do is moan against his mouth and every time his lips leave yours to kiss your neck and shoulders you can’t stop yourself from talking. You’re making an even bigger fool of yourself.
“I want you. Adrian. Adrian, I want you so much, please.”
“I know, baby. I know he says and brings you on his lap to straddle him. He rubs his dick between your folds and pinches your nipples and bites your neck at the same time until your pussy starts dripping down your legs.
“No more of this, please. Just fuck me. Don’t tease me, don’t–”
He flips you over in one fluid movement. “Keep your legs open for me,” he says as he opens the bedside drawer. You do what he says as he pulls out a condom packet and puts it on and climbs back on top of you.
“Adrian, please fuck me, please. I can’t wait anymore, I have to–Oh fuck. Oh I can’t… Shit, you’re huge. You’re–”
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks with a tight voice. His curls look so soft.
You reach out and touch his hair. “No! No, just–I’m overwhelmed but it’s–oh, it’s good. You feel so good! Don’t stop, please.”
You both moan when he’s all the way in. You’re squirming, pushing your hips to make him move. Begging him to fuck you. Saying his name over and over again. He starts fucking you, slow and deep but with the promise of something harder and more intense. “Call me Vigilante,” he says. You shake your head. No, this isn’t your Vigilante fantasy. “Do it,” he urges again but you can’t even say no.
Then his hips snap against you faster. Slapping sounds are drowned in his grunts and your whimpers. Your stupid mouth is still at work, praising and begging him. He angles his thrusts so that his pelvic hair rubs against your clit but he’s still too gentle for what you really need.
You drag your nails on his shoulders and give him what he wants. “Fuck, please Vigilante. Fuck me harder.”
That does the trick. Lost in pleasure, taking his now harder thrusts, you hardly realize how his eyes darken. “You like this, huh?” he says without breaking his rhythm. A completely unnecessary question since you can’t stop telling him how good it feels. “You like getting fucked mercilessly. You like being a slut.”
You shake your head again. Old habits die hard and it feels sexier to disagree with him.
“What else do you like? You don’t like me nice, do you?”
It’s no easy feat to answer him while you’re taking his fucking, but you try your best. “You’ve–ahh, you’ve never been nice to me.”
“‘Course I have,” he says without faltering.
“No, you haven’t,” you say. “Y–you were fucking mean to me all the time. You–you fucking forbid me to laugh at your jokes.”
“Oh yeah,” his laugh mingles with his grunts. “That was fucking funny.”
That turns a switch in your brain. You want to hurt him in any way you can. You scratch his back and he whimpers and tells you you’re in the right direction. The whole thing quickly turns into something more violent, you pull his hair and bite his neck and he rewards your every assault with moves that make you lose your mind.
You keep trying to kiss him, holding his hair and pulling his head down. He has other ideas, though. He pulls out of you and sits back and you claw at him in a panic to get him back.
“You’re so fucking hot. I want you to see yourself.”
Oh yeah. Why else would a guy like him, a guy who wears anything teal, would need a full-length mirror in his bedroom? You have seen him walk around with chocolate-covered lips after eating cake on Economos’s birthday all day.
His movements are so fluid, you just know he has done this before. He sits on the side-edge of the bed, you try to sit on his lap and straddle him but he laughs and flips you on his lap and put his hand under your chin to make you look in the mirror. “Just look at yourself. Don’t close your eyes.”
It’s not easy. He is pulling you down on himself and even though he was inside you seconds ago, the stretch is on the brink of pain and in this position, you feel every inch of him.
You turn your head to capture his lips again, with no success. He holds you still and fucks into you, eyes frequently rotating between where you are joined and your eyes in the mirror. He’s still talking but you’re too gone to comprehend what he’s saying.
He threads his fingers through your hair – he is about to pull your hair, you’re sure. You’re so close and a quick pull will seal the deal. But his hand is gentle, and it’s as if he’s searching for something.
Then there he is again, whispering right into your ear. “Too bad you don’t have a hairclip.” And maybe you don’t need your hair pulled. Maybe that is enough because your walls are contracting and you’re sobbing and damn him, you’re so intent on pleasing him, your eyes are still on the mirror but this time focused on his scrunched face, freckled arms and bouncing curls.
His thrusts turn sloppy and lose their rhythm and the grunts have a higher pitch now. Now you can turn your head back, hold onto his hair and kiss him now that you’re slowly coming down from your high. “C’mon baby,” you say, licking into his mouth. “Come for me. Let go.”
He follows your orders like the good boy he is. His arm tightens around you, he deepens the kiss and lets out a groan that vibrates through both of your bodies. A few seconds of breathing heavily he collapses on the bed on his side, taking you along with him.
***
You wake up sometime later, he’s still behind you, nose nuzzled in your neck and softly snoring. You want to pull up the covers but you don’t want to wake him up with your stirring. But then, if you’re cold he must be cold too.
“What?” his sleepy voice says.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking too loud,” he says and kisses your shoulder and then your arm. You’ve never expected this kind of intimacy from him. Everything he did today was a revelation.
“Adrian,” you say, flipping over and kissing his chest.
“Hmm?”
You don’t have anything to say. Nothing that wouldn’t put you in a vulnerable state against him. “Aren’t you hungry?”
He scrunches his nose. “Maybe. What do you want? I have leftover tuna salad.”
“That’s a very sexy choice.”
He blinks a few times. “Okay. Um, I have rye crackers too.”
“Okay,” you say.
He lends you his favorite teal t-shirt and you curl up next to him on the bed to eat the tuna salad from the same bowl.
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah. What are these? Onions?”
Mouth full, he nods.
“Was this like a one-time thing?”
“No. Why? Do you want it to be a one-time thing?”
“I don’t know,” you say. “Tuna, onions… You might not kiss me later.”
“We’re both eating it, aren’t we? I don’t care even if your mouth tastes like–I don’t know, something that doesn’t taste good. You’re sitting too far, come near me.”
“I’m almost in your lap.”
“You hear yourself? Almost. Come here,” he says and you’re properly sitting on him now. Since he keeps his hands busy touching you, you feed him with the fork.
“I think I had a dream about this,” he says, comfortable enough to talk with his mouth full this time.
“Me feeding you with tuna?”
“Nah,” he smiled. And then adds with a mutter, “It was caramel fudge.”
“Is the great Vigilante blushing?”
“No, he isn’t,” he says with a smile, but you can feel his face getting warm.
“Was he really in love with Angela Lansbury?”
“Um,” he says. “Yes. Dame Angela Lansbury.”
He’s still blushing. You don’t think it’s funny. You can’t believe you thought it was funny. It’s the most precious thing you’ve ever heard. “Adrian.”
“Yes?”
“Do you want to watch Murder, She Wrote?”
“Won’t you feel, like, jealous or something?”
You can’t stop kissing him. It’s his hair now, and it smells like coconut. “I’ll feel something alright. At least there won’t be any uncomfortable sexy scenes.”
“You,” he says as you both leave the bed to watch TV, “Obviously haven’t seen any episodes.”