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When it started to absolutely downpour, you could only sigh quietly to yourself with a shake of your head. It was late, your car was running out of gas, and there wouldn’t be another gas station for a few more miles. Fuck, why did everything have to go so wrong so quickly? If you just had a couple more days to prepare, to pack your bags, to leave without him ever seeing you, you wouldn’t be in the shitshow you’re in now.
Your ex was a bit…clingy. Fuck that, he was an insecure, manipulative, controlling piece of shit and you were tired of it. After years and years of putting up with his shit, isolating yourself from everyone you’ve ever known, messing up every relationship with too many people, you finally decided to put your foot down. Get your shit, sneak out quietly in the night, start afresh in a new town with the money you, perhaps, hypothetically speaking, drained from his account.
Except that he had come flying home the moment you took a single cent from his account, catching you in the middle of loading your car. There was a fight, there were tears on his end, eye rolls on yours, before he began screaming and threatening you. You had managed to escape when a concerned neighbor came out to your aid, and you flew down the street of the suffocating neighborhood he had kept you in.
He gave chase for a little bit, and you realize that he knew where you were due to the tracker you’re pretty sure he put on your phone. So you chucked that out of the window, stopped a few towns over to liquidize all of the money in your account, insistent on carrying untraceable cash.
It had done you some good for the first week, but the money was already starting to dwindle (fuck inflation, honestly). So you find yourself, now, at two in the morning looking for anything that’ll help you in the current moment.
And almost like some forgotten god heard your prayer, you see the flashing lights of a motel just a quarter of a mile ahead. You lower your head in thanks, a heavy sigh leaving your lips before you start to veer off in the direction of the motel. It didn’t have to be perfect; as long as it was cheap and there weren’t any weird Bates Motel shenanigans going on, that was fine with you.
Pulling up to the motel, the first thing you note is how vacant it is. There’s only one other car in the parking lot, and you’re not sure if thats for the employee or another customer. The emptiness should alarm you that something must be amiss, but you’re too tired, too run down, finally out of adrenaline, to care much. You grab your bags, two stuffed to capacity, and your purse before hopping out of your car, locking it behind you. You try to peek in at through the shabby blinds of the first-most area, where the receptionist desk resides, but its hard with how the rain begins to pour down even harder. You can’t see much beyond the silhouette of a single person sitting behind the desk, and you can only hope that they don’t hit your head too much in pricing.
You dart into the receptionist area, cold and wetted by the rain, your hair a mess, the cold instantly seeping through your clothes. You wipe your face a few times to clear the rain, setting your luggage down by the front door when you finally look up. You’re greeted by a single man behind the desk, who stood the moment you slammed the door behind you. He’s tall, his form slightly lanky by the way he curves in on himself. His skin is pale and his eyes are dark, rings circling them, a thick tattooed line across his nose, his black hair pulled back into a bun at the base of his scalp.
His thin eyebrows dart up at the sight of you, but he doesn’t move to help you. Just keeps staring at the way rainwater clings to your lashes, the hollow of your throat with every shake breath you take from your run from the car, how you clutch your purse tighter under your arm. Something about him unnerves you, and you don’t know if its because you’re here all alone in the middle of the night with this silent stranger, or if its something deeper, something primal, that’s telling you to run.
“Hello,” you greet first, taking a tentative step toward the front desk that the man stands behind. “Are any rooms available?”
The man, Choso, his name tag reads, doesn’t say anything for a long while. Just continues to stare at you with this almost wide eyed look. He inhales deeply once, twice, licking his lips before he glances down at the sign in book in front of him. He picks up a pen in a lone cup, sliding it toward you with a nod of his head.
“Yes, we have available rooms.” He says, clipped, short, before he takes a step back, digging at something under the desk. You frown, wondering if the rainwater’s made you stink already, smell of mold and mildew. But you shake it off, gripping your purse a little tighter under your arm as you step up until you’re right at the front desk to look down at the sign-in book in front of you.
“How many?” Choso asks, suddenly right across from you, when you could’ve sworn that he had started to venture toward the back office. Your head whips in surprise, his dark, plum eyes staring right into yours. It takes you aback for a second, the intensity of his gaze, how it seems he hasn’t blinked since you stepped foot into the lobby. You let out a nervous little giggle, feeling a little delirious from your lack of sleep over the past week.
As you stare at the dark haired man, he raises a single eyebrow in question, glancing down to the book in front of you. You realize he had asked you a question and shake your head, a tinge embarrassed at how you were surveying him so unabashedly.
“How many what?” You ask with a cock of your head, twiddling with the pen in your hands. Should you sign now? Should you wait? Do you pay first? Gods, you wished he would speak more instead of just looking at you with that inquisitive look, his eyebrows drawn and his mouth tight.
“How many will be staying in the room?” He clarifies, his gaze fixed on your eyes, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the softness of your jaw. He takes you in, quietly, observationally, as if he were trying to memorize each and every line of your face. It makes you fidget where you stand, wonder if you should lie, say a friend is joining you, your husband, some lie that you’re not alone.
But maybe you’re just being ridiculously paranoid after dealing with such a control freak for so goddamn long, that you’re wary of any and everybody. Chewing your lip for a second as you consider what you should tell the front desk worker, he takes in the silkiness of your mouth, your pink tongue that darts out to lick where your teeth had just dug into. He swallows thickly, inhaling once more when you flutter your eyes up to his own, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.
“Just me,” you admit quietly, hope you’re not sealing your own death sentence, that you won’t end up with some shitty movie about your life of trusting the motel worker who eventually killed you. But instead of leering at you, of trying to advance from behind the desk, snatch you, Choso simply nods and gestures to the open book in front of you.
“Please put your information down. Will you be paying with cash or card?” He asks smoothly, as he takes a few steps away from the desk to a little further where you can’t much see. You hear the jangle of keys and he emerges from the darkness that shadows the lobby holding up a key for you. You quickly sign your name in the book and put the date down, before you look up at the worker once more.
“Cash. How much is a night’s stay?” You ask him, already starting to dig around in your purse for the money.
“Forty per night.” He states, his voice low and quiet, almost drowned out by the pitter patter of rain against the roof of the building. You pause as you try to do the math in your head; this place is as cheap as you’re sure you’ll get, so you should stay here a little longer, right? At least a week, and you can scout the area out, find a new phone, look for some apartments to rent nearby, and you’ll only be spending about two-eighty for the time being, not including food. You can manage, you’re pretty sure.
“I’ll just pay for the week.” You mumble, counting the cash in hand before sliding it over to Choso. His hands are thin, fingers long, the pale skin seemingly luminescent in the darkness of the room. He doesn’t count the cash after he picks it up, just slides all of the twenties into a single drawer. Only then does he slide the keys over to you, his finger lingering on the cool metal before he releases them, when you snatch them up.
“You’re in Room 2. Enjoy your stay.” Choso says, his voice dropping into something low, makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You nod to him in thanks, trying to scurry out of there as soon as possible, but you’re stopped when he’s suddenly beside you again. You jump back with a small yelp, your eyes big as you blink at him, acutely aware of the fact that he’s now blocking your path to the door.
“My apologies for scaring you,” he says softly, nodding his head once. “I was just going to take your bags to your room for you.” He motions to your belongings that sit right beside the door, and you realize with a sigh that he wasn’t trying to trap you in the same space. You smile at him, tiny, before waving him off with a hand.
“Oh, no, its okay. I’ve got it.” You reassure softly, going to pick up your bags when he steps in front of you again, a slight frown on his face.
“I insist.” He says, voice firm as he picks up your bags in each hand. “It’s raining out, and you wouldn’t want to set these on the ground as you open the door.”
Choso doesn’t take no for an answer after that, as he opens the door and waits for you to exit. You can only stand there in slight shock at his forwardness, wonder if it was a mistake to stop here and not just sleep in your car for the night. But you bite the bullet, too tired to put up much of a fight and lead him to your room, although you’re sure he doesn’t need much guidance.
You unlock your door and turn around, ready to take your bags from him, but Choso slides his way into your room, easily and gracefully, as if you hadn’t been standing there at all. You can only sputter at him as he sets your bags down carefully at the foot of your bed, flicking your lamp on that spills a yellowed light into the room before he meets you back at the door.
“Have a goodnight.” He says, finality lacing his tone, as he makes his way back to the office. You can only stand there in shock at his audacity, before you simply shake your head and walk into your room. You deadbolt the door that night, and put an extra door stopper you had carried with you, just to be safe.
You collapse onto the too hard bed, spreading out, only able to kick your shoes off before the tiredness of the last week catches up to you. The rain lulls you into a sleep that’s more peaceful than you’ve had in a long time, with dreams of pale skin, violet eyes, and an aura that is all encompassing.
…
The next day, you start early with getting your life back on track. You peel out of your still soggy clothes with a groan, hop in the shower and take your time getting ready. Your outfit of the day is simple, and you’re ready to go, when you realize that you don’t know jack shit about the town you’ve stopped in. But you quickly decide that asking Choso, as he seems to be the only soul around, is your best option for the time being.
He’s still there, as if he never left the previous night. He’s already looking at you by the time you enter, like he heard you from the moment you first closed the door to your room. He cocks his head in question at you, as he stands from his seat to greet you.
“You’ve been here all night?” You ask him, expecting there to have been a shift change. But Choso only nods once, his fingers curled on the desk beneath him as he knocks his knuckles against the dingy wood.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “My coworker is out sick at the moment.”
“Oh,” you frown, glancing around the bare space. “What happens if you have an emergency and have to leave?” Choso only shrugs at you.
“There won’t be.” He says, his tone final, leaves no room for extra questions. You just glance at his hard stare, how he takes every piece of you in, inhales deep before letting out the air through his soft looking lips.
“What can I help you with?” He asks when you stand there quietly for another few beats of silence. You perk up at the question, remembering why you even left your room in the first place.
“A few things, actually.” You say, before rattling off all the places you need to go and find; a gas station, somewhere you can buy a new phone, a grocery or convenience store, clothing stores. Choso writes all the places down for you and their addresses on a piece of paper, his handwriting light and thin and cursive, a lot better than your chicken scratch, and you’re on your way after that.
The gas station is, thankfully, not too far, and you’re able to get a full tank of gas before your car completely breaks down on you. There’s a convenience store right around the corner from there, and you do a bit of grocery shopping, stocking up on a lot of snacks and instant meals for when you don’t want to leave out of your motel room.
From there, you spend the day shopping, a bit of a fuck you to your ex and all the money he’s been hoarding, despite telling you that he didn’t have enough to get you the nice things he would promise emptily to you. You don’t go crazy though, aware that the money is bound to run out, but that you’ll have a job and a place to stay soon enough to earn everything back.
By the time you’re pulling back up to the motel, you take note of the diner just across the street. You were too tired to pay much mind to it the night before, but now, your stomach growls at the mere sight of it, aware that you hadn’t eaten much today besides a pack of noodles in the convenience store. You pull up in the spot right in front of your room, unloading your bags for the day, tucking in the new phone you had just purchased into your back pocket all the while. While it wasn’t the latest phone, it managed well enough.
You’re finished loading up your room with your belongings, when you close and lock the door behind you, ready to step over to the dinner, when you catch a glimpse of Choso about to enter into the front office. He catches your eye and nods once to you in greeting, one foot in the door, when you get an impulsive idea you’re sure you’re going to regret later on down the road.
“Hey,” you call out to him, making him pause in his movements to turn toward you. “Wanna join me for dinner?” His whole body freezes before his eyebrows turn down in question, his body shifting toward you as he comes the door to lean against it.
“I thought you went to the convenience store?” Choso asks, glancing over to your car where your empty cup of noodles still sits on the dash in front of the passenger seat. You only shrug at him, fiddling with your fingernails as you take him in in the light of day. His clothes are baggy on his tall form, as he adorns a cream colored hoodie with a logo you don’t recognize on the front despite the heat of the day, a pair of black sweats, thick sneakers, and a baseball cap that shadows most of his face. Just looking at him makes sweat start to trickle down the back of your neck, or maybe its the way he seems to keep licking his lips long enough at the sight of you?
You shake away the thought, stuffing your hands in the back pockets of your jean shorts as you nod your head over to the diner.
“Yeah, I did.” You reply softly, turning your body to face his the same way he does to you. “Still doesn’t mean I feel like cooking, though.” You say cheekily, smiling at him all the while. But he doesn’t reciprocate the action, instead seemingly frowns more at you, as he shoves his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, eyes glancing from you, the diner, to the chair he must always sit in behind the front desk.
“Uh, I don’t know. I still have to man the front desk.” Choso says, his voice unsure, as he tilts his head at you. Your skin seemingly glistens in the softness of the setting sun, pinks and oranges casting a slight hue to your skin, to the veins in your neck, to the swell of your plump bottom lip that curves into a smile once more.
“Be real, Choso.” You roll your eyes at him, saying his name for the first time since you’ve met, unaware of how the sound of it rolling off of your tongue physically pains him like no other. “No one’s coming anytime soon. And if they do, we can get a seat near the window so you can watch the front door.”
You’re not sure why you’re trying to persuade him to eat with you. You don’t even know the guy, just barely met him less than twenty-four hours ago. But its something about him that interests you as much as it unnerves you. Maybe its a piece of you that wants to better understand why he seems to call you into him like a siren enticing a man, as he simultaneously makes every ounce of hair on your body stand at attention.
Choso just stands there for a while, his heavy lidded eyes so low as he rakes his gaze up and down your body. He seems to be contemplating his next words, makes you want to shrivel up on the inside, take back everything you’ve said to him in the last few minutes.
“Why are you asking me out to dinner?” He finally asks after a while, his head tilted to the side just so. You shuffle on your feet, feeling suddenly so exposed, so wide open to why you really crave the presence of a man you barely know.
“Because, I hate to admit this, but I would like some company.” You utter softly, a faint smile on your face as you start to bare yourself to this strange man, ever so slightly. “Can’t remember the last time I got to sit down with someone that actually could fucking stand to be around, and just eat. Plus, you seem lonely cooped up in here all day and night.” You tease him, winking once, as he laughs softly through his nose, just a simple gust of air. When he doesn’t say anything, you hold a hand up, backtracking.
“You don’t have to join me though, its fine.” You tack on, body turning away from him as you get ready to haul ass with your tail tucked between your legs. You hadn’t made the first move with anyone in so long, so used to your ex always being so overbearing, taking without ever asking, considering your feelings. Used to every relationship you’ve ever had with anyone in your life slowly dissipating into nothing, so reaching out first has become foreign on your tongue like an undiscovered language.
“No—no, I think I’d actually like that.” Choso says, stops you in your tracks when you turn to leave. Your face lights up instantly at the barest hint of his smile, your own cracking your face as you turn to him once more. The blue and red neon lights of the diner across the street make him look even paler in the setting sun’s light, cast an almost eerie glow to the darkness of his eyes, the soft slope of his nose.
“Really?” You ask in disbelief before gesturing him to the diner across the street when he nods once. “Great. C’mon then.”
You both walk in silence as you cross the street. Choso holds a hand out in front of you when you go to cross, unaware of a quickly speeding car. He stops you, gently, before placing a hand on your back to urge you forward when the roads are clear. Your face is warm at the feeling of his cold, large palm still placed on the expanse of your back, and try not to deflate when he pulls away to open the door for you.
You’re seated instantly in the damn near empty diner, which isn’t much of a surprise to you. Your waitress is an older lady who looks a little warily at Choso before she turns to you, taking both of your orders down. She scurries away as soon as your order leaves your lips, and you fix Choso with a questioning look that he only shrugs at. You two sit in silence for a few beats, before your curiosity gets the better of you.
“So,” you start as you fold your hands together on the table, resting your chest on them as you look at Choso from under your lashes. “What’s your story?”
He only cocks an eyebrow to you in question, as he leans back in his squeaky seat. He shifts again, arms folded in front of himself, as he twists his mouth this way and that. His eyes, shadowed by thick black lashes, take you in, his gaze slow, predatory. You shiver in your seat.
“What do you mean?” He asks after a while, his head tilted to the side. You shrug, sitting back when the waitress comes fluttering back to your table and sets your milkshake and burger and fries down in front of you, and Choso’s lone soda in front of him.
“You know,” you mutter around a fry, gaze on the table between you two, feeling as though it’s an entire world apart. Something about him feels so…out of reach, like he’s somehow floating above you by merely sitting in your presence, like you’ll always be his inferior. But the way he smiles so faintly at you, urging you to continue talking, yanks him down to sitting right in front of you; normal; human.
“Who are you?” You ask with a shrug as you pick up your burger. “Where did you come from? What are your parents like; do you have any siblings; how old are you; how’d you end up with a job in a town like this?”
Choso sits there for a long while, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. You look at the soda in front of him that he still hasn’t taken a sip of, and he finally does at your look. Leans forward, wraps pale pink lips around the clear straw, suck just the tiniest bit. He licks the dribble of it from his bottom lip when he pulls away, and you look away guiltily when he clears his throat ever so softly.
“Those are a lot of questions.” Is all he says after a few beats of silence. You snort with a roll of your eyes, drinking your milkshake as you narrow your eyes at him.
“Question for a question?” You offer, but Choso only raises an eyebrow for further elaboration. “You ask me a question and I’ll answer, and in return I get to ask you a question that you’ll answer.”
At that, Choso seemingly considers your offer, but he ultimately shakes his head at you. You try not to deflate too visibly, your fries suddenly soggy in your mouth.
“I’ll answer your questions, but I only have one for you.” Choso says, his voice velvet under the rickety crooning from the old jukebox in the corner of the diner. You perk up at that, eyebrows raised in question as you nod to him, pulling your milkshake over to sip from.
“Go right ahead,” you nod to him, pushing your drink away as you fold your hands on the table once more to give him your full attention. Choso mirrors your position, his thin brows pulling down as he frowns at you, makes your heart begin to sink at just the sight.
“What are you running from?” He asks, his tone dropping as he leans in even closer to you. You freeze at that, heart suddenly in your throat as an image of your furious ex chasing you down the highway emerge in the forefront of your mind. You swallow thickly, the food in your belly suddenly souring at the thought.
With the corners of your mouth pulling down, do you push away your plate. Choso glances at it, but his gaze remains locked on you for the time being. You shift uncomfortably in your seat as you ponder your answer, try to figure out the best and simplest way to put it.
“Not so much of a what, really, as a who.” You start, settling back in your seat as you begin to fiddle with your hangnails. “My ex boyfriend was a piece of shit, plain and simple. Controlling; manipulative; insecure; jealous. I got tired of his bullshit and isolation, drained his account and ran for the hills.”
It feels good to admit, even if you’re technically incriminating yourself of theft. But you sigh, slumping into your seat as you snatch a fry from your plate, chewing a little too aggressively. But Choso’s deep chuckle pulls you out of your stupor of what you’ve done, and when you look to him, it’s the first time you’ve seen an actual grin on his face, white teeth on display and all.
“Admirable.” Choso states plainly, tipping his head to you. Before you can ask him to elaborate, he starts to rattle off what you soon realizes is answers to your previous questions.
“My name is Choso Kamo. I grew up in a lonely house with my father and four brothers, and when I became of age, I fled. I do, however, still regret leaving my little brother behind, but I thought it was best at that moment.” A melancholy kind of look crosses his face for a brief second, before he gazes back up to you, his hands splayed on the table in between you two.
“My father was an asshole, never knew my mother. Been on my own for a long while now, and I guess I never believed I could go much farther in life than an overnight job as a motel clerk.” Choso pauses there, and you both know that there’s still a lingering question that he has not answered yet. When he doesn’t seem to cough it up, do you ask once more.
“And your age?” You murmur around your straw, soft lips wrapped around warm plastic. Choso licks his own lips at the sight before he glances up to meet your eyes.
“I’ve been twenty-seven for a while now.” He answers after a beat too long, the response raising one too many red flags in your mind. But you don’t pry, only share your own information in return, even though he never asked.
“Do you have a partner?” You ask when the night runs late, and you’ve had two milkshakes now, and he’s still on that same soda from earlier. Does his mouth not run dry with all the talking you two have been doing? Choso only shakes his head, mouth pursed as he tucks a stray raven-black lock behind his ear.
“No, I’m not seeing anyone.” He murmurs, eyes lowered before they meet your own once more, his gaze shifted, his look predacious. “Is that question for your own personal sake, to know whether or not you should flirt with me?”
The question catches you off guard so much that you bark out a laugh. A few lingering patrons look over their shoulder at your loudness, and you feel your face begin to heat up in embarrassment. You cover your face with your hands, smiling, before you flip him the bird. You hear the softest chuckle emit from his thin mouth.
“Am I that obvious?” You question jokingly before running a hand down your face to settle into your lap. “No, I’m just curious. Didn’t know how you’d manage with a partner if you’re cooped up in that motel lobby twenty-four-seven.”
At that, Choso shrugs. He sinks back into his seat as he stuffs his hands into his hoodie pockets, his joking demeanor diminishing second by second. His eyes get this glazed over look, the black line across his nose scrunching ever so slightly when he furrows his brows. His face becomes contemplative, and you wonder if you’ve unknowingly crossed a line. You reach out to take back your words, but Choso speaks before you can.
“It’s not a lifestyle everyone can easily adjust to.” He says softly, his eyes sharp, focused on the condensation that slides down the second milkshake you’ve acquired. His words feel packed with something deeper, something you’re not sure you’ll ever truly wrap your mind around. But you’d like to find out.
You go to ask him what he means, what this lifestyle entails, if you’d be able to adjust, to join him, but he stands before you can. Declares that he’s going to pay the tab, despite you trying to refuse. He steps off before you can, leaving you sitting there with a twisting feeling in your gut, your hands wringing in front of you.
Choso walks you to your doorstep afterwards. He’s gotten quiet since he paid for dinner, and you feel guilty for getting so much while he only had a barely sipped on soda.
“Thanks for tonight,” you say slowly, your door ajar as you pull your key out, gaze low on his face, around his soft mouth. “I needed that.”
You don’t specify what you mean, but he seems to understand either way. Choso nods at you, hands shoved in his pockets as he begins to back away.
“Anytime.” He promises, never turning his back until you nod at him in return. You step into your room, pausing when he calls your name once. You look over your shoulder, hopeful of—of something more, hopeful for the night to not end just yet.
“Call me if you need anything, yeah?” Is all Choso says. You deflate ever so slightly before you nod once more, scurrying into your room, embarrassed of the hope that was surely bleeding into your eyes.
You go through the motions of getting unready from the day, stepping in the shower, putting on the new pajamas you brought from the store today. You turn on the television, mindlessly watch some new alien sci-fi show on one of the few channels available in the motel rooms.
When that gets boring, do you finally turn off the lamp, turn down the tv, and go to lay in bed. It’s squeaky and hard and uncomfortable, but it’s the best you can get at the moment, you suppose. You just wished these rooms had beds that had just a bit more of a spring to them.
You pause. An idea pops into your head that might be a terrible one, but you’ve been much bolder since you liquified your exes account and ran off with everything in tow. So you roll over on your side until you can grasp the lone telephone on the nightstand by the bed, dialing the number to the front desk. He picks up on the first ring.
“Hello?” Choso’s voice is pure sin over the phone, a low kind of rasp that makes impure thoughts run through your head. You squeeze your eyes shut when he calls out your name, wonder how he knew it was you just from your breathing.
“I need you.” You say simply, voice breathy, soft. Choso doesn’t respond for a long while, and before you know it, he hangs up. You don’t have time to feel much embarrassment or frustration when there’s a knock on your door, one that you quickly answer.
He stands there, his stature unnervingly still, as if he waits for a simple command to bleed from your lips. You only gesture him in, arms wrapped around your body as you realize your state of undress, clad in only a knee length nightgown, damn near see through.
Choso’s thick lashes flutter when you unwrap your arms from yourself, closing the door roughly behind him with a kick of his thick boot. You instead place your arms around his neck, gently, wordlessly. His skin is cold against the warmth of your own, makes goosebumps raise along the flesh.
His gaze is unending, the violet in his eyes swirling, fighting against devouring you. He wraps his arms around your waist until your front is pressed directly against his, makes a breath get caught in your throat at the proximity, the eye contact, the shift in the atmosphere around you.
“Kiss me.” You demand, softly, gently, as if the words seal a fate you’ll never be able to return from. And maybe it’s too soon to be kissing other people after such a messy breakup, when you’re still on the run, still in hiding from your ex that wants everything about you back into his wicked claws.
But you can’t be damned to think much about that when Choso lowers his lips to yours, slow, achingly slow. His eyes flutter close only when the soft skin of his lips have skimmed yours, a groan so deep emitting from his chest that it rattles your rib cage where it presses against him. He holds you to him so tightly that you couldn’t escape if you tried, and you don’t think you ever want to leave his embrace, not when he kisses you like this.
All encompassing. Overwhelming. Gentle. Sweet. Too much. Not nearly enough for how much you crave him. There’s an allure to his mouth on yours, makes something primal in you scream, and you’re not sure what message it’s trying to send.
Flee. Stay. Make a home within the confines of his skin. Run for your life. Pull him close. Protect your flesh. Preserve your heart. Meld with him. Become one. Flee. Flee. Flee.
But you find yourself pulling him closer, thighs spreading ever so slightly to allow him to slot his knee between yours. His teeth graze the plumpness of your lips, his hands dip down to cup the globes of your ass, his tongue darting out to taste the whine from your throat.
“Choso,” you whimper out when his knee presses against you just right, your voice breathy. That seems to snap him out of whatever trance he’s been put in, making him pull away from you entirely too soon.
Choso takes a step back, untangling himself from you. You’re cold now without him, your nipples hardening at the sudden frigidity that floods the room, the way his face hardens. You reach for him, but Choso only takes another step back and another until his back is against the door. He has a wild look in his eye, cups his hand to his mouth as if in shock at the act of kissing you. Your chest squeezes a little more than you’d like at the subtle regret that lingers on the creases of his mouth.
“I have to go.” Choso announces suddenly, his face wild, his hands flexing and stretching with every passing second. You step to him, go to ask if he’s okay, if he’s feeling unwell, but he flees from your room before you can. The only thing he leaves in his absence is the crisp bite of the wind when he slams your door shut.
…
You go two days without seeing much of Choso, too busy holed up inside of your room, sulking. You try to look for jobs and apartments that are in your budget all the while as a means to distract yourself from the hurt that still lingers in your chest.
What had you done wrong? Did he think you were moving too fast, as you had just admitted to running from your ex? Did he fear that he was simply a rebound?
So many questions wrack your brain as the day bleeds into night, the air unusually cold for it to still be summer. You can only wrap yourself in the thin blanket tucked into your bed, refusing to go to Choso to ask for something extra, something thicker, afraid of how he might look at you. If he might have that same face that he did after he kissed you. The thought makes your throat tighten up in shame, and you dig yourself deeper into the cocoon of your bed.
You start to doze off after a while, eyelids heavy from scrolling nonstop in your search for a new life, when theres a sudden slam of a car door. It doesn’t bother you much, your eyes briefly opening before they flutter shut once more. Its not until you hear the familiar grating voice of your ex that your eyes fly open, your heart suddenly sinking into the abyss of your belly.
How? How could he have found you? After you liquified all of the money at some random ATM in a convenience store five towns over, you were sure that there was no trace of you. So how had he caught up to you?
There’s a yell of your name first. You lay as still as humanly possible, despite the fact it feels as though your heart may beat out of your chest, may bulldoze right through your ribcage and roll and splatter on the dirty motel floor beneath you. You barely breathe, a hand cupped over your mouth as if he could hear your very breath if you shuddered too loudly.
“Cmon, babe!” Your ex’s screeching voice cracks almost maniacally. “I just wanna talk. I’ll forgive you for stealing from me, if you just come back home with me.”
His voice edges closer. You don’t think he knows which room you’re in, so he tries every room he sees. There are eight, and you’re in the second one. It won’t take him long to realize that the other rooms are empty, save for one more, and you’re sure he’s already spotted your car parked between rooms two and three. Fuck.
You try not to screech when theres a sudden banging on your door. He calls your name again, loud and unhinged, his voice nearing something that makes primal fear start to curl into your spine, make your body stiff with panic and fear that you’ve been caught, captured, cornered.
“Just fucking come out already!” He yells, kicking the door so hard you fear that it’ll come flying right off of its hinges. You’re tempted to get up, to just appease him as you’ve always done, when theres suddenly a deeper, much more controlled voice that rings out.
Choso. Fuck, you don’t want him to get caught in your mess. You knew your ex was crazy, most likely carrying a weapon in order to scare you into going back with him. You couldn’t let Choso get caught up in your bullshit trying to play savior.
So you spring up from bed as fast as you can, steps as silent as you can manage them, as you peek out from the corner of the dingy curtains, ready to signal Choso to just back off. But instead, you watch the pale man grab your ex by his nape, his nails suddenly much longer than you remember them being, as he begins to drag him around the motel, beyond the front desk. You freeze, mind reeling with a thousand possibilities of what Choso could be doing, what kind of strength he must have to haul your ex off without so much as a single hair out of place.
You find yourself jerking awake from your own imagination of the horrors your ex might bring upon Choso, despite being the one scuffed at the current moment. You couldn’t put a thing past him. So you throw on your flip flops by the door and a stray jacket, your legs instantly getting goosebumps from your exposed nightgown when you swing open your door.
You hiss out your exes name first, and then Choso’s, arms wrapped around yourself as you try to bite back a shiver. You don’t see either one of them, and you’re sure that Choso must have dragged your ex to behind the motel. You only hope that the dark haired man isn’t injured too badly.
You try to creep as quietly as you could around the building, fearing the sight that you might come across, the fight that is bound to have been happening at the current moment. But when you turn the corner, you freeze. Every hair on your body stands at attention, your gut screaming at you that you’re in danger, that you must be prey and that you have to flee to save yourself lest you be forgotten in the belly of the beast that stands in front of you.
There, Choso holds your ex up by his shoulders, pinning him to the wall of the back of the motel, his mouth on his neck. Choso’s eyes are closed in bliss, as your exes eyes roll into the back of his head, a soundless scream gasping from his mouth as he tries to put up a fight against Choso, his legs kicking uselessly.
You watch as the life drains from his face, as the tanned skin of his cheeks suddenly becomes devoid of color, his eyes blank, white and lifeless, his body limp. Choso drops him without further preamble, his body falling into a heap on the dirty concrete, his bones crunching from the force of it. At the sound, you can’t help the scream that tumbles from your mouth, instantly alerting Choso of your presence.
His head whips over to your direction and the only word that comes to mind is predator. His canines are elongated, reach past his bottom lip, his mouth stained in red drips that slither down the curve of his throat. Rivulets of it stain the white of his hoodie, the one he wore to dinner with you the other day, makes you think about how that could’ve been your crimson that creates patterns on the previously untainted material.
“Don’t be scared,” Choso whispers after a second, holding a hand to you in surrender, his nails curved and yellowed and long. The sight shakes you, makes you take a step back and then another until you’re bolting around the building. You trip over your own feet without ever falling, breath heavy in your chest as you make your way to your room, looking over your shoulder all the while. You don’t see Choso, and you fear that when you turn around, he’ll be there.
You make it to your room, hands shaking as you grapple with the slipper doorknob, cursing at yourself for taking so fucking long when there was a predator right behind you, lurking, somewhere in the shadows. You rip open the door after what feels like hours, damn near take it off of its hinges, pressing your back to it when you slam it shut. You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, gather your nerves as you try to figure out what your next move should be.
“I’m sorry that you had to witness that.” Choso says suddenly, making a scream rip violently from your throat as you shake all over, eyes wide. He’s in your room, somehow, even though you didn’t see him behind you and he couldn’t have outran you when you took off running and the fucking door was locked behind you.
“How the fuck did you get in here if I didn’t invite you?” You ask him shakily, body frozen in pure panic against the door, as you blink at him from where he sits on your bed. The bottom half of his face is still bloody, his pale pink lips still painted vermillion, his fangs still resting heavily on his bottom lip. Choso has the nerve to look like a kicked puppy left out in the rain, pathetic and small, despite the fact that you just witnessed him rip away a mans life through a vein in his throat.
“I own the building, so I technically don’t need permission to enter any of the rooms here,” he mutters, his lip pouted ever so slightly as he looks down at his hands. His nails seem to have retracted, but there’s still faint hints of blood from where it dribbled down your exes open neck, pooled into the cracks and crevices of Choso’s palms. The thought makes a shiver wrack up your spine as you inhale heavily. You try to gather your words, understand what’s going on in front of you, what you just witnessed, what dreams and imaginations from your childhood have actually come to life.
“So you’re a vampire.” You state more than ask, your words slow, soft, unsure despite the fact that Choso’ fangs have only just now started to slowly retract back into his bloodied mouth. He nods once, his hands folded neatly in his lap as he curls over himself while sitting on your unmade bed, still warm from when you laid in it.
He doesn’t say anything for a long while as you stand against the door still, body tight and ready to spring into action at any given moment. But Choso just sighs heavily, before he lays back on your bed, his head cushioned by the pillow you just laid on, his hands folded over his stomach. He takes in a deep inhale at the scent that has covered your sheets, and in the darkness of your room, does the pale moonlight make the crimson staining his mouth look like the smear from a kiss from a lover.
You tiptoe over to him slowly, careful, cautiously until you stand over the bed. Choso looks down at you without moving, your breaths steady, a realization that he hasn’t taken a single breath since you’ve met him, save for the inhales of your scent when you linger close. He holds a hand out after a while, in invitation to you, his nails short, his palms still splattered with blood. Your exes blood.
You take his hand. Crawl into bed beside him, rest your head on his shoulder and cry more than the moment you realized you were in a shitty, lonely, toxic relationship. He lets you soak his hoodie, his neck, his cold, lifeless neck, and holds you tight to him, his arms wrapped around your waist.
“I hated him,” you confess. “I didn’t feel bad seeing the life drain from him. I was just scared to look someone so bloodthirsty in the eye.”
“I would never hurt you.” Choso says so quickly, his words sure, his voice leveled.
You’re not sure what to say to his confession, so instead, you kiss him. Taste the coppery tang of blood that stains his mouth, ruins your own. Fit your tongue along the silkiness of his own wet muscle, glide over the smoothness of his gums, goad his fangs to slide out, to join you. Choso moans against your mouth, pulling you closer until you crawl on top of him, his hands linked at the base of your spine before the other sneaks up to hold your skull in large, cold, bloodied hands.
“Why did you leave me the other day?” You ask him against his mouth, panting, feel the throb between your legs at the way you smear the blood on his mouth everywhere; the angle of his cheek, the tip of his nose, his chin, his jaw. Choso just huffs softly, bringing you back down to his mouth to lick at the inside of your hot cavern, his other hand sliding down to rub over the roundness of your ass, exposed by your hiked up nightgown, jacket thrown away somewhere.
“I was scared of losing control,” he murmurs, nipping at you with dulled teeth. “Scared that seeing you, tasting you, would make my fangs come out, terrify you.” You pout against him, hips starting a slow grind against his pelvis where you feel the swelling of his cock start to come to life. You gasp against him when he holds you still, angle his hips up until they meet yours through your thin material.
“Are you scared?” Choso asks, fisting a chunk of your hair in his hands, baring your throat to him, his teeth suddenly sharp as they skim your smooth flesh. Your heart jumps immediately to your throat, in fear, anticipation, lust, worry, desire.
“Or are you turned on at the sight of your exes blood covering the both of us?” He angles your head back down with his words, puts the crime that he just committed on full display, a tinge of worry lighting the darkness of his eyes. But instead you swallow, cunt starting to throb at the sight, at the lust that bleeds from his very being into you, at the nudge of his mushroomed tip pressing right where you need it most.
“Both.”
You fall into each other after that, Choso’s movements entirely too fast for you to keep up with. It makes you dizzy in which the speed that he moves; you’re on your back and he’s on top of you; your shoes are ripped off; his shirt; your gown; his pants; your panties; your hands are choked in his grip above your head; his teeth graze your nipple.
You feel like you have whiplash, as you cry out at the coldness of his mouth suddenly on your skin, your back arching off of the bed. You want to touch him, reach for him, feel the silkiness of his hair in your grasp, as you fight against his hands. But Choso doesn’t let up, takes his time with licking slowly around your areola until your nipple perts up, hard and stiff. He flicks it with the tip of his tongue, suddenly forked, suddenly warm, suddenly too much.
He looks up at you through his fringe, through black lashes as he widens his mouth over your breast, his fangs bared, scraping the fat of your tit without ever breaking the skin. You cry out in a mixture of pleasure, maybe pain, your senses confused of all of the sensations at once. He sneaks a hand down between your legs, parts them with the simplest nudge. You let him in, thighs spread wide around him, open, inviting.
Choso slides down your body slowly, finally releasing your hands that instantly tangle in his hair, releasing his twin buns from their coiled up embrace. You push his head exactly where you want it to be, and he follows, good, dutiful.
Positioning your legs over his shoulders, Choso nibbles at your inner thighs, close to where you want him to be without ever getting there. He opens his mouth wide again, and you don’t expect the bite that comes, that makes you yelp and jump, your leg kicking out in shock. The sight is pure erotica, as Choso looks up at you from under his lashes, his mouth red and pulled tight around your thigh, blood leaking from the wound he drinks upon, his lids heavy, as he gulps down the taste of you. When he pulls his fangs out, its with a moan so filthy, you can hear your hole squelching from how wet you’ve become.
“You want to become my meals? Would you do that for me?” Choso asks, his voice raspy, a husk that makes your hips gently nudge against his face, but he ignores the crying of your cunt instead for the tears that leak down the softness of your cheeks.
“Yeah,” you agree mindlessly, pushing his head once more in the direction that you need it to be in. Choso only rests his head against your thigh that still bleeds, lapping softly at the still open wound with low, heavy eyes that promise a life of ruin for you.
“Yeah?” He asks, smiling when you pout, offer your cunt up to him once more. He takes the bait, finally, and kisses your clit with bloodied lips. It creates a lewd, wet smacking sound, makes your thighs jerk in pleasure, your eyes rolling from just the simplest of contacts.
With how much he’s been teasing you, you don’t expect for him to eat you out in a way that is anything but slow, torturous. But you guess Choso has been wanting to taste you just as badly as you needed his mouth on you. He dives in almost hungrily, sucking at your clit until it borders on painful, before he soothes it over with licks of his tongue. He holds the bottom of your stomach with his palm, the other sliding two thick fingers inside at the same time. Its a painful stretch, makes you whine and pull at his hair, and he matches your frustration with another bite on the juncture of your hip and thigh, making you cry out.
He finds his place back between your legs, his mouth now dripping with your slick, with your blood, with his spit. Creates a messy harmony of sounds between your legs as he fucks his fingers inside of you, scissoring them until your soft wall give in to his stretching, his tongue lapping at your swelling clit all the while.
When he bites you again, you cum with a cry, unexpected and loud, your lower body shaking so violently that he has to hold you down with both hands. His tongue never stop licking at your clit, nibbles on it with too sharp teeth when you pull his hair, making you whine at him. Choso only laughs under his breath before he pulls away, not without another lick of the blood that dribbles down your sides in thin, dark rivulets.
Choso stands on his knees before you on the bed, shredding off his own boxers with his nails that quickly slide out before they find their place in his nail beds again. His cock springs out, thick and pale, veins forking along the shaft, his pubes dark and curly at his base. His tip drools with precum, connects to your skin, and you want to taste it as badly as he tasted you, but Choso has other plans.
He uses that vampiric speed once more, and you find yourself seated in his lap as you face him, his legs crossed under you, yours wrapped around his narrow waist. You’re eye to eye with him, find a reflection of your face in the darkness of his eyes, your blood tainting his mouth. You kiss him, let him raise you up until your cunt nudges against his tip, let him drop you on his fat length torturously slow until you’re seated against him.
“So full,” you whisper, a gasp escaping you as you wrap your arms around his neck, pull him in so close that your bodies begin to meld together. Choso hisses when you clamp around him, fits his teeth against your neck without ever biting.
“Tease,” you murmur, starting to lift yourself as much as you can, feel the achingly pleasureful slide of his cock against your greedy walls. You bring him to you, bare his neck to your dulled teeth and bite with such a force that it causes the vampire to laugh.
“Cheeky, aren’t you?” Choso mutters, before he picks you up again before dropping you back down onto his cock. You let go of him to gasp, to moan out your pleasures, and he barely lets you get a word out before he picks up the pace.
Your ass slaps against his muscled thighs, his nails digging into your soft flesh until you bleed, and you meet him as much as you can. Scratch and bite and claw at him until black blood bleeds from his wounds, until he growls and bites and scratches in return, until red mingles with inky gore.
He reaches a hand between the two of you, nails retracted once more so that he can thumb at your fat clit, circle it until you start to shake and spasm on his cock. Choso lets you moan against his mouth, lets you bite at his bottom lip until it bleeds, lets you whine against him and choke his cock until you’re bursting like a dam.
“There you go, just like that, angel.” Choso says, his voice soft as satin, his cock bruising your insides so good you can’t help the tears that escape the corners of your eyes. He looks so pretty staring up at you in his lap, still bouncing you on his cock, covered in blood and your cum and pure adoration.
When he cums inside of you, he pauses, his mouth mashed against yours, a grunt heavy on his soft, soaked lips. Choso squeezes you to him, pulling on your bottom lip with sharp fangs until you bleed, to which he quickly laps up with a greedy tongue. You chase it, chase the taste of copper and slick and spit until it coats your tongue heavy and thick. You moan at the feeling of him spreading inside of you, covering every inch of you, his mouth still lapping at whatever he can reach.
You sit in his lap like that, his cum spilling from your parted lips, your blood mingling on your chin with his own, his cock still seated inside of you, kicking with every clench of your cunt around him. You try to catch your breath, watch how his own chest doesn’t rise and fall as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, admiring you in your post orgasm glow.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you not breathing.” You admit softly out of nowhere, making Choso chuckle under his breath.
“But you can get used to the black blood and feeding on humans to survive?” He asks against your breast as he pillows his cheek against it. You hold him to you, your own face buried in the softness of his hair, your cheek smushed against him.
“Only if you feed off of me, and shitty men.” You counter cheekily, not expecting him to actually laugh, loud and hardy, pulling you closer to him, if that was even possible.
“Agreed.” He says softly, and you can’t help the smile that pulls at your face.