Work Text:
“What have I done?”
You ask yourself, as you lay wide awake in your bed. Only, it was no longer just your bed. It belongs to him now. Him. You cursed yourself. Your sheets smell like him. Your flesh smells like him, a musty old scent of powder and sandalwood, something that smells like it's been around for ages in someone's house, and sweat. Sweat of a man old enough to be your father. Your body is still trying to cool itself down from sharing its heat with him. He's already starting to doze off, humming some vague melody under his breath as his eyes flutter close, long blonde eyelashes framing blue irises with so much stirring behind them that they could be tidal pools. So blissful. So coy…
If you smoked, you'd certainly have a cigarette in your hand right now. How on earth were you supposed to come down from this unnatural high? No man ever made you lose track of how many orgasms you had. Your throat was dry, not as a result of sickness that you dreaded, but from your screams. Screams of his name. That stupid little name of his. Dale. A name so plain that it almost didn't belong to the absolutely wild man that kept you guessing every fucking minute… Not even the underwear you lay there in was truly your own. It was a cheetah print pair that he bought for you so you would match his bedsheets, like the little pervert he was. You try to conjure up the image of him in your local mall… Trying to figure out what size you wore… Maybe that was why you couldn't find your blue pair you wore on the regular for almost a week… His unsettling appearance as he asked the poor women that worked there for a pair in your size. The fact he probably was struggling not to pop a boner thinking about you wearing them… He sometimes made your skin crawl. But for better or for worse… He was never going to leave you now. He was your problem.
You stared at the ceiling. The passion you both shared was what you took as fucked-up rent for this man. You couldn't deny that you craved him, like junk food that you knew was gonna kill you one day but you couldn't bring yourself not to eat. The kitchen you regularly volunteered at meant you could manage to feed another mouth without your family noticing your basement apartment no longer being home to just you. You'd keep his clothes with yours. You'd share the same kitchen. You'd have to share the same shower… The thought made you a little nauseous. Back when he lived with Ruth, you knew what he did in that shower. He'd be in there for a little while at first, doing normal things like singing and washing his long wavy hair. But then, one day, you walked in, telling him to hurry up, as you had reservations made for dinner. You heard him making the exact same pathetic and breathy noises he made when you two had sex. How on earth was he able to pound you near senseless throughout the week, at his age, nonetheless, and still need to masturbate in the shower??? He bewildered you…
You sighed and rolled over in your bed, initially fighting the instinct to curl up into him. But his embrace called to you. You genuinely adored and cared for him, offputting ways and all. He was very cute to you, and you thought so wholeheartedly. He loved when you told him he was beautiful. You knew he wouldn't find someone else who appreciated him in the same way you do. You very carefully lay your head on his soft chest, able to smell the fragrance he wore again in the crook of his neck. You felt him stir. You pretended to be asleep on his chest so he wouldn't shoo you away. You feel his chest rise as he inhaled to speak. “Ohh…you want me to hold you, huh?”, he almost giggled. He shifted so that he was now holding you in his arms, making your current position on his chest inescapable. He let out a soft sigh of contentment.
“Night-night, little angel…”