Work Text:
You know that feeling where your body tells you to run? Yeah. You don’t get that often, not unless you’re in actual danger and your nervous system signals your fight or flight. Or some science shit. Usually, you’d get that when you’re seated to get your annual check-in with your supervisor.
Usually.
You don’t usually get that from standing in line at your local cafe. No you don’t. Not unless there’s someone right in front of you that looks exactly like someone you should not be seeing out here or anywhere near the area.
Who, you ask? Come on now, you don’t remember? Alright. Let’s jog your memory a bit.
April 18 — Location: The Nest
No one can get in The Nest without an invite. You know that now because you had to wait for one of your friends who had the pass for all three of you before you could enter the said establishment. First of all, you’ve never been to The Nest. It’s in the sketchy part of town and you’ve seen and read enough news about bodies found in dumpsters and Wanderers jumping out of nowhere that you steered clear from the place.
But not tonight.
It was your best friend’s birthday— and while you wanted to save yourself and your body from potential trouble (aka keeping your head on your neck or any of your body parts stuck to the right places), they had plans and were already oh so excited at the thought of partying and getting drunk.
“Guys, we really shouldn’t be drinking so much.” You reminded them, trying to be the voice of reason in your trio— but god forbid anyone try to ruin the plans. You remind yourself not to be a party pooper (does anyone still use this word…) — so you take shot after shot after shot until your world is spinning and everything is blurry.
The bass is pounding in your ears and EDM is playing like you’re back in the 2010s having a rave party with your girls. And somehow, at the end of the night, you find yourself waving goodbye to your friends who were already hauling themselves in a cab. Don’t worry, you were all safe— you were too.
You were safe with a handsome man. Tall, silver hair, the prettiest crimson eyes, and a jawline so sharp you think you’d cut yourself (exaggerated, you’re tipsy). And while it wasn’t a good idea to go home with strangers— you told yourself that if you were to die, at least it would be the hands of someone as handsome as this man. And that you also wouldn’t have to report to work on a Monday.
“I won’t sleep with you until you’ve sobered up. I don’t do that.” He tells you, and you smile as you climb behind his bike— a custom Harley Davidson. Wow. He’s rich.
“It’s okay… We don’t have to… Just wanna ride…” You’re not sure if you meant the bike or him.
Later, you find yourself actually riding him. Yes. The handsome biker man whose name you never got. He brought you to some motel, waited for you to sober up, actually spoke to you and you introduced yourself just to he could proceed to pin you down on the bed (which, mind you, took more than 15 minutes because it’s the bare minimum not to try anything with girls when they’re tipsy).
His laugh sounds like yachts, dollar bills, and rubies. Like old money rich. He smells like gunpowder and cedar, maybe something minty and elegantly boyish there. You don’t know— you can’t really remember much, sex with him was too mind blowing to remember any of the minor details.
He let you ride him, palms flat on his very nice chest as you moved and rolled your hips oh so deliciously. He’s holding your hips, grabbing them until his fingers are leaving marks on your skin.
“Getting tired?” His voice was hot too, oh my god… He didn’t even wait for you to answer until he lifted you up and slammed you back down. God help your insides.
Sex was great— it was good. My god it was so good you were trembling. It went on for hours and you don’t remember when you started and when you ended. But by the time you woke up, he was gone and only a note in expensive cursive lay atop fresh clothes:
\ Apologies for ripping your dress last night. I hope this makes up for it. - S
You groan as you lay back in bed, your insides still trembling and your core still throbbing— whether from pleasure or sensitivity, you’re not sure. You were hoping for more this morning, but this is good enough anyway.
Finally, your three month abstinence has been disrupted.
So… You remember now?
Right. So we’re back on track.
April 20 — Location: Usual Coffee Shop
You’re in line in your usual cafe, already dreading the fact that it’s a Monday and you’re already running late— but there’s always time to grab a matcha latte on the way. Just say something about traffic. That’s when you spot him.
Sure, you had bad memory and the sex was all you could remember— but you’d never mistake that silver hair and that back anywhere. The same back that you scratched with your nails while he pounded you in that motel bed. Was it a motel? Or some expensive hotel? You don’t remember.
“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath. “Never mind, I can get matcha latte somewhere else.”
Just as you’re about to get out of the line, he turns— his eyes immediately landing on you. There’s a very brief look of surprise on his face, and you pretend you don't know this man at all. So you just look at him, smile the slightest bit like he was just a stranger who you met eyes with, and you stayed put. Leaving now would be proof that you know him, so you might as well stay in line and pretend you didn't recognize him.
Well… You didn’t know him. You didn’t get his name. Just his initial— S.
So he could be anyone.
Simon? Sam? Simothy Chalamet? Who knows. Who. Knows. Not you, that’s who.
He steps aside and waits for his order, and you’re at the cashier ordering your matcha latte which will now make you 15 minutes late to your weekly departmental catch up (aka What did you do during your weekend? Oh, I don’t know, Kelly. I got drunk and fucked a stranger.). Just before you could whip out your only bill left, someone hands over their black card. You didn't need to know who it was.
“I got it.”
There goes that damn voice. That same voice that—
“Good girl. Yes. That’s good. Go ahead sweetie, roll those hips some more.”
A blush spreads through your cheeks and something spikes up your body, you instinctively shut your thighs. Fuck pencil skirts. Fuck corporate clothing. Fuck wearing high heels. And fuck me— oh, sweet heavens please fuck me again.
“H-hi…” You stammered, looking up at him— was he always this tall? “Um, thanks for buying my drink, but I could have paid for it.”
You give yourself a mental pat on the back for saying that without whimpering. Because the way he’s looking at you right now? You might as well call in sick and be brought back to that hotel—
“I didn’t expect to see you again.” He says in that deep rich voice that only men like him could pull off.
Fuck! He remembers me!
“Oh. Yeah, um…” Pretend you don’t know him, pretend you don’t know him. “Who are you again?”
There was a pause. A pregnant pause. He looked surprised— for the slightest bit once again, then his lips curled into that handsome smirk. Like you didn’t just catch him by surprise. He licks his lips, slow and gentle, as if just to wet them— god, those were between my thighs last—
“How rude of me.” He chuckled, before extending a hand. “Skye. I work close by— fruit vendor.”
This man is a fruit vendor? Why does he look so organized crime-ish? Forget that. His name is Skye… Oh. That’s a nice name.
“Skye…” You say, testing his name as it slipped through your lips. You don’t see the way he looked at your lips, licking his again. “Sorry, I might need to jog my memory again. I’m very forgetful.”
Nice! Good job, you! You pulled off the whole, I’m so klutzy! persona. Skye though, doesn’t look convinced.
“Is that so...” He smirks again, looking up and around, then back at you. “Shall I... help you jog your memory?”
Before you could even think, the words left your lips.
“Yes please.”
“Oh! Oh! Fuck! That’s good! Right there, Skye!”
Your moans are echoing off the walls of the familiar hotel room. Once again, you were atop him, riding him like it was your last day on earth and being fucked by a handsome man named Skye was the only thing in your apocalypse bucket list.
He’s got his hands— his big hands— on your hips, meeting you with thorough thrusts that reached the deepest parts of you. Your skirt was bunched up your waist, stockings slipping from your thighs thanks to the sweat, and your blouse unbuttoned with your pretty tits on full display. Skye is watching them as they bounce oh so nicely in front of his face, and he pulls you down to suck on one of your perky nipples while he drilled inside you.
“Oh! Skye! S-Skye! Ah…!”
You feel him smile— nibbling on your nipple, the other kneading your chest gently. His other hand smacked your ass as you rode him. He pulls away the slightest, tongue out to keep licking your perky bud.
“You remember now?” He asks, and you nod so hard you feel like your head would snap off your neck.
“Yes! Yes! I do, I do, I do!”
You don’t even recognize your voice. Not when it’s all high and keening like this. Not when you're rolling your hips so good your clit brushes against his well maintained base. He holds your hips with both hands again, moving the opposite motion to give you more stimulation on your clit.
“You ride even better during daylight.” He chuckles and you’re nodding, drunk over the feeling of his cock inside you.
“Yeah… so… so much better!”
His hands travel up to your waist, one hand remaining at the small of your back, and the other at the back of your head. He pulls you down and kisses you, pressing you down with his hand on your back as he fucks you harder. Skye swallows your moans until all that’s left are cries and whimpers leaving your lips.
You try to push away, but he holds you still— my god why is he so strong? Is this because he carries crates of fruits everyday?
“Hold still, sweetie. Let me make you feel good.”
He kisses your jaw and your neck while he thrusts up, holding you once again by the hips.
“Beautiful.”
He smacks your ass.
“So fucking pretty.”
You like how he talks. He can speak like that all day and you’d sit for him (or on him, you don’t mind).
“I’m gonna come…” You whimper nails digging on his shoulders.
A yelp leaves your lips as he flips you both on the bed, him above you. He continues thrusting inside your pussy like that didn’t even bother him. The headboard hits the wall countless times you think you might get a noise complaint from the other room.
“Wait! Wait! Ah~! Th-the next room might—”
“It’s alright, lovely, it’s just us. I’ll pay for the extra charges.”
Oh that’s hot…
He’s cradling your face in his hands, kissing you as he thrusts deeper, tongue exploring the hot cavern of your mouth and your eyes roll to the back of your head when his pelvis rolls just right against your sensitive clit.
“Oh my god…”
He chuckles as he pulls away.
“My name’s Skye, darling, not god.”
He’s bringing you closer and closer to your climax— you don’t realize your phone’s been ringing for the past minute. Skye rubs at your clit so nicely and leans back in to kiss you— and you come undone with the screams of his name swallowed by both your mouths.
Skye pulls out of you and you loll your tongue out, panting like a pretty bitch in heat and he smirks, positioning himself just in front of your pretty face as he pumped his— oh wow, that’s a large cock— right in front of you.
“Such a pretty girl…” He says, voice deep, full of want and need. “Tongue out, sweetheart. That’s right.”
Your eyes roll back when he comes— thick spurts of white landing on your lips and he groans like a fucking hot man? Which he is. It’s music to your ears. Skye is catching his breath, still atop you, and he presses his still hard cock against your lips.
“Open up, lovely.”
You follow and he groans at the feel of your lips on his sensitive head.
“Good girl,”
He says your name.
You don’t register it because he’s combing through your hair with his fingers so gently while he’s rolling his hips and moving his cock in and out of your mouth so nicely. He shudders as he comes again, a slower one this time, and it shoots right down your throat as he pressed himself down to the hilt. You look up at him through your lashes and you feel yourself get wet once again at the sight of him looking down at you.
“Good, good girl.”
Slowly, Skye pulls himself out of your mouth and lies back beside you, he props himself up by his elbow and gently massages your jaw with his thumb.
“Does it hurt?” He asked.
You shake your head, too speechless right now. He smiles at your silent response. You’re hazy and you swear you hear your phone ringing, but you’re too tired to sit up and dow anything about it. Meanwhile, Skye is cleaning you up, wiping a warm towel on your body after he pulled off your stockings and took off your blouse.
Guess you’re really gonna have to call in sick now, hm? I mean, this is considered being sick. Right?