You thought about him often. Mostly late at night when you were alone in bed, but other times, too, when you weren’t so alone.
You hated the way you couldn’t get him out of your head.
The way he smiled when he made you moan with a touch. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he was nervous that you would tell him to stop. The way he would hiss if you gripped his hair just like that . The way he would always kiss his way from your ankle to your thigh, peppering in little bites to make you move.
He thought about you, too. On the nights when a cold shower wouldn’t cut it and a stranger couldn’t measure up.
The way he caught aflame when you were nearby. The way you would look up at him as you dropped to your knees. The way you would scrape your nails down his back when he hit the right spot Just. Like. That. You were in all of the dark, empty places. The shower when he closed his eyes to wash his hair. The closet just after he closed the door. The bed just before he made it. The living room before he turned the lights on when he got home from work.
The thoughts were all consuming. The phantom of a breath in your ear, the hushed whisper of pleasure in the dark, the promise of a touch that never came.
You found him by accident. You wandered to a bar for something to forget or drown the thoughts out if that didn’t work, but you found him instead. He was singing – no – performing for a crowd that only pretended to care. A nobody in a nobody band that would break up over creative differences before making it big. A voice that would serve as the backdrop for taking someone home. A brief memory of that night you got lucky.
You didn’t feel lucky.
You nursed a fruity drink that you didn’t pay for, standing in the middle of the crowd, invisible. You felt the passion in his voice. His eyes were dark and rimmed with darker, smudged eyeliner. His skin glistened with sweat from the strain of performing. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and then he turned, his eyes on the crowd – on you. He froze, eyes wide, but he didn’t stop singing.
You couldn’t hear the song, but that didn’t matter. His eyes lingered for a long moment, pinning you to the spot and then he was performing again. The damage was done.
You found him after the show sitting in the back seat of his shitty beater rolling a still-burning roach between his fingers. He put it out as you approached, the smell of weed hanging heavily in the air.
“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.” He said after a moment.
“I didn’t know you were expecting me.”
There was a moment of trepidation. Of staring. Of wondering. Of thinking and then he was pushing himself back into his car and pulling you with him. You grabbed the door and pulled it shut, shifting between his legs as he folded them so he could fit inside the car.
He kissed you and electricity crackled in your veins. His lips were soft and his mouth was warm. His touch awoke the hunger in you that you had been trying to keep at bay. And then the moment of not this or more accurately not like this.
“I have a room nearby.” He managed between kisses, “We can walk.”
The trip from his car to his hotel room was a blur of want and need and impatience and when you walked in you were on him again. You kissed him and he nipped at your bottom lip as his hands slid up the back of your shirt. He found the latch on your bra and undid it as you were working him out of his shirt. The two of you parted long enough to take of your shirts and then you were falling backwards onto the bed.
He laughed and said something like finally as he slid his hands up your torso, savoring the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips, listening to the way your breath hitched when he pinched your nipple between his finger and thumb, breathing in the smell of you. You were there with him and that was all that mattered.
You arched into him as his tongue found your other nipple and traced gentle circles around it. He teased you, taking pleasure in the way that you gasped and begged until he was easing off your pants and asking if you were sure.
You were sure. You had never been more sure of anything.
The relief Dan felt was enough to bring him to his knees, if that weren’t where he was going anyway. He knelt in front of you and worshipped your pussy with his tongue, eating you out until your entire body was quivering and then not stopping. You bucked your hips and slid your fingers into his hair and he looked up at you with a wolfish grin.
“If you’re not trying to get fucked, you should really stop doing that.” He teased and so you did it harder, gripping his hair just so and dragging him up to kiss you. His fingers took the place of his tongue, bringing you to climax again as you kissed him.
“Maybe I am trying to get fucked.” You murmured against his lips. He chuckled, his voice low and velvety.
“Maybe?” He withdrew from you for a moment and it was agony. You felt raw, empty, needy. You pulled him close to you again, kissing him desperately and things felt right again.
“Fuck me, Dan.” It wasn’t a request, but Dan complied anyway. He pushed you down into the bed, swinging one leg over his shoulder and slowly, carefully, sliding himself into you. You breathed in as he moved, adjusting to the feeling of being full of being complete. Every thought, every feeling, every memory that you had experienced for and about him bubbled to the surface now.
This was what you had missed, what you had needed. He fucked you slowly, savoring each small sound you made, every micro-expression that crossed your face, every move you made to get closer to him. It was sweet torture. You wanted to ask him to go harder, faster, to give you more, but that wasn’t what this was about.
Dan, in apparent defiance of your thoughts takes your other legs and holds your ankles together next to his head with one hand. He fucks you harder, faster . He gives you more and you feel yourself spiraling into incoherence as every word you try to say ends up sounding just like Dan and Yes and Please. You barely register him answering your call, saying things like Baby and Fuck and a litany of other curses that you can’t catch.
Your spiral quickens as your body explodes with sensation and you are crying Dan’s name even as he fucks you through your third orgasm. Your skin is ablaze everywhere he has touched you, hotter still anywhere he has kissed you. The sensation teeters on the edge of overwhelming, but lands on the side of intoxicating and you can’t hold back the laugh of relief as Dan’s pace falters, quickens, and ends abruptly as he pulls out and cums on your ass with a moan and a gasp of your name.
You roll over to save his sheets and he brings a towel to help you clean up. It’s not glamorous or sexy, but it’s real and that’s what you’ve been waiting for all this time.
“Did you really have to laugh at me?” Dan asks once you’re done cleaning. He lays on his side next to you, tracing words into the base of your spine. You laugh again, the absurdity of the situation dawning on you in the afterglow. “Yeah, like that.” You can hear the pout in his voice and you turn, laying next to him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“Oh that’s reassuring.”
“Shut up, Dan. It’s just... It’s been so long. It felt so right.” You admitted. When you looked at Dan’s face, he was suddenly serious.
“You too?” You didn’t need him to explain what he was asking. The restless nights, the relentless thoughts, the feelings of isolation. You took his hand and gently kissed each of his fingers.