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Chapter Text

"All I want for Christmas is you."

'All I Want for Christmas' by Mariah Carey

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This weather has to be directly from Hoth herself. I'm sure of it. The chill of the wind is going to freeze my nuts off right here in the parking lot if the cart collector doesn't hurry up and clear the entrance.

In the poor guy's defense, he looks very much like he'd rather be at home in his easy chair. Probably with a heated blanket and some fresh baked cookies to nibble on from the Mrs.

A dozen giant inflatable yard decorations are displayed along the side of the building to the left, and the sound of bells and Christmas music fills the air.

All I need is milk. A storm is coming and I need milk. Like probably every other person here. And maybe bread... if the Adamstown rats haven't cleared it out already.

Snowflakes have been falling for at least a half hour and will start laying on the roads soon.

It is way too people-y out here and honestly, I should have just went home after work. I should have stayed in the damn car, driven past the exit for the store, and gone home.

But having coffee without milk is a tragedy to me. So, here I am: on a quest to get out of here as fast as I can.

I don't do people. And the week before Christmas? I should never have put myself in the line of fire for so much potential trauma.

Mariah Carey is belting out what she wants for Christmas.

But, unlike her, I am definitely not at the top of anyone's Christmas wish list.

All I want for Christmas is you...

Ugh.

Fuck. Me.

At least if I'd gone home, I could still be listening to my Sleep Token playlist to my heart's content right now.

They've been keeping Mariah busy since before Halloween this year. If this isn't torture for my hearing, I don't know what is.

I have nothing against Christmas music. But keeping it going for nearly three months? Seems like a punishment that should be saved for prisons and interrogation chambers--or the DMV, at the very least.

Another gust of wind sends a whisper of cold down my neck, making me shiver. I bury my hands into my jacket pockets, shifting away from another patron as the carts finally start moving.

I'm not meant for this.

Books? Yes. Books are my life, and being an agent is the best job ever. I can do books. Sci-fi villains? Done. Fantasy books? Remarkable. Smut? Fuck yeah. And poetry. Poetry is someone's soul. Nothing like finding out other humans with genuine emotions actually exist.

I just don't prefer finding out if they do out in public.

Oh. And naps. Naps are fantastic. When I get home tonight, my pillow and I are going to get some serious snuggles in. And in the morning? I can sleep in. No time in the office for three days sounds perfect given the storm. And next week? Two solid work days and it's time for Christmas vacation.

Which unfortunately also includes a day trip to see my family, who live an hour away. Woo-hoo for me. I'd rather be eaten by a snow monster than go. But my mother says she appreciates the help in the kitchen, and Jaina insists that I'm the only one she really wants to see, so I put on my armor and go. I think this year I should invest in a bulletproof vest, as my older brother, Jaina's twin, is going to be there this year for the first time in three years. When I saw him last, it didn't end well. This year will probably end in a similar way. But Jaina says it means the world to her that I come. So I will.

Even if I wish to sacrifice myself to be eaten by an emaciated Wampa instead.

Once all of that is out of the way, the darling Mariah Carey can be put out of her misery, and I can be put out of mine too.

Well, some of my misery. I don't think anyone or anything can soothe the ache that I've learned to live with over the years.

Christmas is just another reminder of my failures.

The path clears, and I make my way into and through the store, deciding just to go for the prized gallon of 'moo juice' and be done with it.

I come close to bulldozing a little girl with blonde pigtails in a bright pink coat when she darts in front of me, too focused on the chocolate milk to pay attention. I nod at her mom, who apologizes from across the aisle.

It's super warm in here. I take a sec to shrug out of my jacket, switching the milk to my other hand and draping it over my arm. The short walk to the car won't freeze me to death.

Going through self-checkout, I note the lady checking out next to me. She looks like she needs a telescope to read her junk mail. Those glasses? They're so thick it's a wonder they even stay on her face. And she's so small... how does she even see the road over the steering wheel?

Yikes.

Yep. Definitely too much people.

Screw proper wording when I'm not editing.

I pocket my receipt in my jeans pocket and grab my quarry, striding towards freedom.

The door is 20 feet away. 15. 10. 5.

I don't know why I look up when I hear the bell and the voice that floats with it. But I do.

And there on the sidewalk, I see the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. She stands next to the Salvation Army donation bucket, a bell in her hand.

I cannot help myself. I stop and stare at her.

She's already looking at me, and I feel like I've been pinned where I stand, with the way she's watching me with those eyes of hers.

She is short, probably coming up to my chest. Black boots come halfway up her calves, dark jeans hugging a stunning backside. Her over-sized red sweater doesn't give away much, but I see a flash of her pale, perfect waist when she puts her hand in her pocket. Those brown eyes of hers are warm and sincere. Chestnut hair that hangs  blows loose around her face, her breath steaming into the air like smoke. Cute little Christmas bell earrings peek from her locks, glinting in the light. She looks absolutely stunning. And... cold.

It quickly dawns on me that she doesn't have a jacket. Or gloves. Her hands are shaking as she rings the bell, though she's doing a good job of hiding it. She switches the bell to a different hand, shoving the other into her pocket. Her eyes meet mine--

Someone rams into me from behind. The milk slips from my fingers and falls to the sidewalk. It bounces once, twice, and then on the third, to my horror, explodes.

Yup. I definitely should have just gone home.

Chapter Text

Today, Thursday, December 18, 2025, hasn't been going very well for me so far.  Nothing earth ending. Nothing cataclysmic. But it's just starting to suck.

The weather is getting awful. The dark sky is letting the snow go in earnest now, and I'm not sure Rose will be able to get me safely in two hours when my shift is supposed to end.

My Jeep refused to start this morning, no matter what I did. It didn't respond to Rose trying to jump it before bringing me to work, but it definitely didn't listen to sound, solid reason while I cursed and swore at it either.

And to boot? The second I got out of the Rose's scavenged station wagon and she drove off? I remembered my jacket.

Which was in the backseat. Of my Jeep.

And in my jacket's pocket? My wallet.

So no, not so great of a day so far.

The sweater I chose is warm, but on a day like today, it's not warm enough. I make it through most of the day because the sun is out, but about an hour ago the storm started to roll in and the sun had gone down. So right now? I'm a little bit cold.

I allow my teeth to chatter when there's a break in  the stream of people leaving the Adamstown grocery store before I need to plaster a smile back on my face.

Ok. A lot cold.

Finn might try to convince me to leave early. He's been taking the brunt of Unkar's wrath lately, but none of it has gotten to me.

Probably, I expect, because Finn is bribing him by topping off my bucket to ensure I meet more than the minimum quota. That being said, I haven't seen Finn yet today, so maybe he's off.

I'm set up at the exit, watching patrons leaving and ringing my bell. I wish everyone a happy holiday in earnest, switching my hands as they get cold.

A gust of wind dissipates any remaining warmth I've been managing to keep to myself. My hair is growing damp from the snow landing in it too.

I'm on the verge of mentally writing my eulogy for Rose to read at my funeral, once I die of hypothermia.

But then, I look over and see him.

Incredibly tall. Long, strong legs clad in dark dress pants and a belt cinched at his waist. A light blue-grey button down dress-shirt, sleeves pushed back partway to reveal strong, toned forearms. Thick, raven-black hair that covers his ears, framing a face accented by the hard line of his nose, full lips, and kind brown eyes.

He's handsome in an unassumingly genuine way that makes my heart stop, and I can't help but watch him close in on the exit and walk out into the open air with those long strides of his, a gallon of milk in his right hand.

Our eyes connect, and he stops short. In the strangest wave of familiarity, I feel like I know him.

I know I don’t, but that moment? I want to. He turns his head further in my direction, and I catch my breath.

An old, severe looking scar slashes the down the right side of his face, starting above his eye and descending diagonally over his cheek, and down his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt collar.  

I swear, he's the most striking man I've ever seen.

Suddenly, I'm not cold anymore. The way he's looking at me warms me in a way I can't explain.

But an older man isn't paying attention, and plows into the stranger, sending the milk in his hand plummeting to the sidewalk.

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For a heartbeat, he doesn't move.

He's staring down at the spilled milk and the broken jug on the sidewalk with an expression that seems to be cursing gravity for even existing.

A laugh escapes my lips before I can stop it, and when his head snaps up to look at me, I clamp my hand over my mouth, embarrassed by my own rudeness.

But unlike what I'm expecting, isn't hurt or anger in his expression--it's wonder.

He kneels to pick up the remnants of the jug, depositing them in the trash. He closes the distance until he's standing several feet from me.

A custodian is already spreading salt at the site of the milk massacre behind him.

Snow is falling and landing in his hair, and I catch my breath again.

"Forgive me, but you look cold." His voice is deep and has a timber that makes me weak at the knees.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I can't find my words, and end up only nodding up at him, his eyes narrowing in concern

He offers me the jacket draped over his arm. "I have another in my car. Take this one."

I reach for it. Our hands brush, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm and straight to my heart. Our eyes connect, and I know there's no way in the universe it's just me.

"Thank you." I take the jacket, and he nods. I slip it on, and even though it's huge, it's warm. It smells like cologne and woodsmoke, of staring up at the stars at night and wishing on your wildest dreams.

His attention shifts over my shoulder.

I glance back to see a flash of a security badge--guess Finn's not off tonight.

"Good evening, Rey. This fella making you uncomfortable or causing trouble?"

I shake my head, shoving my hands into the stranger's jacket pockets, my fingers closing around something flat.

"No, not this one." I glanced at the stranger, who is watching Finn intently.

I glance down at it quickly to see that it's a name tag.

His name tag.

Ben Solo. His name is Ben Solo.

I shove the tag back into the pocket, seeing a flash of something I can't read on Ben's face when I look up as Finn drapes a casual arm over my shoulders.

Finn has been trying to get me to go on another date with him since our first on--weeks ago. He hasn't gotten the "no" part yet. We are friends, and only friends.

I think fast, purposely dropping my bell. I stoop to pick it up and effectively step out from under his arm and distance myself away from him.

Finn is too focused on eyeing up Ben, his attention shifting between us.

"Thanks for checking on me though, Finn. He's an old friend. I've known him a long time, and we're just catching up. Right, Ben?"

Chapter Text

"Good evening, Rey. This fella making you uncomfortable? Causing trouble?" A good-looking, dark-skinned security guard--who looks like he may be hitting his grandmother's Christmas cookies a tad too much this year--has arrived. He's definitely younger than me, but still looks older than her by a year or two. The guard drapes an arm over her shoulder.

Rey. Her name is Rey.

I see her expression change, shifting to unease

She might know him, but she's not comfortable with him touching her.

Irritation rises in my stomach, and I'm debating whether or not I should intervene. I quell it.

"No, not this one, Finn." She nods to me.

Her bell slips from her fingers and clatters noisily to the ground, rolling.

She gracefully sidesteps out from underneath Finn's arm and retrieves it. The streak of discomfort disappear from her face as she straightens. He drops his arm, assessing me like I'm trying to take what's his. I mirror the sentiment, but I'm not sure why.

"Thanks for checking on me though. He's an old friend." She says it without skipping a beat. The air seems to crackle between us, and I feel a pull towards her. It leaves me completely speechless. "We were just catching up. Right, Ben?"

The sound of my name slaps me abruptly back into reality. I nod quickly.

My name.

How in the galaxy's fate does she know it?

"The weather is looking pretty bad, Rey. You should probably head home before it gets much worse. I can handle Unkar if he gives you shit again." Finn talks to her with a familiarity I envy.

"I'll have to call Rose. My car wouldn't start this morning so she brought me." Finn looks at the sky.

"I'm not so sure she should be driving in this," he says. "You guys live a ways away, and if you want... you could come home with me?"

The hope in his eyes is genuine, but so is something else. Seeing his yearning for her skitters down my spine like the tip of a knife blade--something I'm all too familiar with.

I don't like the feeling.

"I can take you home." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and when they are, I can't believe I've said them.

What the hell am I doing?

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"You are not taking me home. Not in this weather."

She's walking next to me in direction of my car, hands in pockets and face nestled down into my jacket.

My heart stutters in my chest. I think hers does too.

"Answer a few questions and I'll consider going with you."

"Okay."

"How old are you?

"33. You?" I hold my breath.

"23." She eyes me, but other than that she doesn't skip a beat. "Are you a serial killer? My roommate will want to know."

I laugh. "Definitely not. But I do love cereal. Shredded wheat is my favorite."

She smiles, her eyes crinkling. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a literary agent for Kylo & Ren Publishing. Authors send me manuscripts, I read and edit them. Grammar and spelling errors get no mercy from me. I love books, so I love my job."

I stop and lean against my black, red accented Subaru hatchback. I look at her expectantly, my chest tightening. I'm hoping I look calmer than I feel.

I've never done this. I have no idea what the fuck I'm going to do…

But those eyes… They draw me in like an insect to a flame. Part of me wishes to crash and burn under them. The more I look at her, the more I'm convinced she's a goddess in disguise. Or, at the very least. the savior of the universe.

Just not mine. The thought is there and gone, hitting it's mark and leaving me behind with the wound just as quickly.

I shove my uncertainty down. I can do this, can't I?

She nods, stopping a few feet away. She's biting her lip, uncertainty flashing across her face, but it's gone as quickly as it comes.

"Where do you live?"

"About ten minutes away, off Koa Street. I'm going to go the back way. The route I normally take isn't the safest tonight."

She nods again, then straightens, closing the distance between us in a few steps.

I open the passenger door for her, then shut it behind her when she's safely in.

I can smell the sweet mint of her breath and the vanilla-citrus scent of her the moment I drop into the driver's seat.

I start the car, noticing her pulling nervously at the edges of my jacket. I let it run for a minute.

"You don't normally pick up girls like this, do you?"

My face turns in her direction. "I don't normally pick up girls, period."

"Are you gay?"

I laugh, the sound surprising me as much as her forwardness.

"Oh no, Darling. I'm definitely not gay."

Almost instantly, I'm more at ease, and she seems proud of that.

"I don't go home with strangers, period, either. You would be the first."

"I'll try to set a good example, but I'll admit, I'm a little out of my league. A part of me might even argue that you're out of my league. You are beautiful, by the way."

"Thank you." She blushes, taking a second to catch herself. "Does it bother you that I'm so much younger?" she asks.

I hesitate a beat.

Does it?

"You hold yourself like someone older, so no."

"I had to grow up fast."

"May I ask why or is it too personal?"

"Not at all! My parents dropped me off at daycare when I was five and never came back... and I didn't have the best foster parents. My Mom adopted me when I was 13. That's where my last name--Kanata--is from. Her. But even still… I never really felt like I belonged anywhere. Maz--my Mom, loves me, but she and my roommate Rose are about the extent of my social circle."

I nod. "I'm sorry, about your parents. You must have been lonely growing up."

"Don't be. It's water under the bridge." She says it dismissively, but her composure falters just enough while she's saying that I know there's still some lingering pain underneath. "But, yes. I was." I don't push, returning to the topic that led to it in the first place.

"Does it bother you that I'm older?"

Her eyebrows raise. "Not at all." She squints at me, as if putting me under a microscope. "You don't seem like a grumpy old man I should avoid, and I don't see a single grey hair. And you look… good. Great, actually." Her face flushes, her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink.

What a breathtaking sight.

"Thank you." I glance outside her window. A father is opening the sliding door of a grey minivan, unawares that his son is behind him preparing to pummel him with a snowball. I don't let my gaze linger to see the outcome, but I hear a shout of surprise and a gleeful squeal once I've looked away.

"How did you know my name?" I ask, refocusing on her. "Do you know me?"

"Your name tag was in your pocket. And no, I don't know you but..." Her voice trails off.

I know she feels the same familiarly about me as I do about her. Her gaze has dropped to my mouth, and I don't think she realizes she's staring.

"...you feel like you do," I finish quietly.

Her eyes snap back up, surprised.

"Yes," she breathes.

Chapter Text

My my those eyes like fire

I'm a winged insect

You're a funeral pyre

• "Take Me Back to Eden" by Sleep Token

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Ben guides his car through the parking lot and onto the road.

"Do you prefer Christmas music?" He asks.

"It's not mandatory, but it does make the snow magical for me. What do you have on the queue?"

"Sleep Token's Even in Arcadia. Why don't you just adjust it to what you want. That okay?"

"I'll do a mix. I love Sleep Token too."

He smiles, then digs into his pocket and hands me his phone. I take it, our fingers brushing to the same energy as earlier. He blinks quickly, but that’s the only tell of his sensing it too.

"Code is 759-564."

I nod. "Mind if I add my number?"

"If you'd like. It'd be a shame if you didn't," he replies, smirking.

Bastard.

Once I've adjusted the queue, Take Me Back to Eden filling the car, I text my number and save it in his contacts before returning it.

"Thank you." He puts it away without taking his eyes from the road.

There's a faraway, shadowed look on his face. He gives me a sideways glance--I am staring after all. But it's gone.

He gives me a small smile, but says nothing.

I shoot a text to Rose.

I'm bunking with a friend tonight. Stay home. He lives close and I don't want you coming to get me in this weather.

Her replies are almost instant.

Friend? He???

I can see her squinting, trying to nail down of she knows him. She's pretty much my only friend, and she knows I'm not into Finn's advances.

Yes: friend. Yes: he. His name is Ben. I'll see you tomorrow.

Wait! How do you know this guy?

Does it matter?

OH my GAWD Rey are you gonna get LAID?

WOW. Goodbye Rose! Love you!

I put my phone down, and can't stop the stupid grin that plasters itself on my face. I look over at Ben, who glances at me, raising his scarred eyebrow. "Everything good?"

"Perfect," I say quickly, tearing away to peer out at the winter wonderland outside, a blush warming my cheeks.

Ben and I fall into easy conversation, as if we really were old friends catching up.

"What do you want for Christmas this year?" He asks.

"You." The word is out before I can stop it. I blush, mortified.

But he chuckles softly, but he sounds sad. Almost... torn. "Trust me, Rey. I don't think that's a good idea." Take me Back to Eden is still playing, and I can't help but feel he's attached to it from the look in his eyes.

The questions fall silent, but resume shortly after, once Christmas music takes over the playlist for a time. I pepper him about his job, his life. He sprinkles a few in about me when he's not concentrating on the road.

I decided on an instrumental Christmas album from Athena Rella to add to his already existing queue and shuffled it.

The roads are slippery, and when we slide a few yards down a hill, I may unconsciously end up with my hand on his thigh. Once the danger is past, he covers it with his own, reassuring and warm.

And left it there a heartbeat too long before returning it to the wheel.

With every minute, I'm more and more glad Rose isn't out.

He pulls into the snow-covered gravel driveway of a modest grey two-story townhouse nestled in a patch of trees. A lamp is lit by the front door, and snow blankets the roof.

I check my phone one last time.

REY!!!!! IM LOSING MY SHIT OVER HERE!

GOOD.

I smile, then turn my phone off.

Chapter Text

I shouldn't touch her.

But I do.

My sidewalk is icy, and I've put a light hand at the small of her back. I don't want her to fall, I reason.

I shouldn't give in to the pull of her any more than I already have.

But I do.

Once we're safely to the welcome mat at the foot of my door, the house key in my free hand, I drop the hand at her back. Or at least, I try to. She turns, and her arms slip around my waist, stopping my heart.

Her head is against my chest. And her arms are tightening. And the warmth of her body is seeping through the fabric of my shirt.

I think I'm going into cardiac arrest. At least, until she lifts her head and looks up at me. Then I realize I'm not dying, but absolutely breathless.

Fuck is she beautiful.

She's pulling me in and she doesn't even realize it.

Does she?

I clear my throat, grasping for composure.  "What…" I stammer. "What are you doing?" I can't hide the shock in my voice.

"Giving you a hug."

"Why?"

"You look like need one." She says, like this isn't the first time her arms are around me. Like I'm not baffled by the fact that someone wants to touch me. Like I'm someone she cares for. Like--

"I..." The words that should follow don't form a vocal thought. "Thank you."

It's all I can come up with. It doesn't make sense. Not entirely.

Those English degree I boast on my office wall? I should probably burn them. Because those eight years of writing and practically memorizing the vast complexities of the English language? I could probably recite the fucking dictionary at one point. Right now, they're useless.

Great. Now I'm breathless and speechless.

"...and..." the word hangs there, silence stretching as I'm pulled farther under her spell.

I should swear to myself that I can hold myself in check.

But I don't.

My arms finally wrap around her. I hold her close, and I can't stop myself from leaning down, just a little.

She smiles up at me, those deep brown eyes glittering. "And...?" she arches a brow.

"Thank you..." I swallow. "...and..."

That smile changes, her focus dropping.

She closes the distance, pressing her lips to mine.

I instantly melt.

And I can't stop.

I'm kissing her back--touching her. She's touching me--kissing me.

I shouldn't want her.

I shouldn't I shouldn't I shouldn't

But I do.

My cock is absolutely aching, straining against my pants and I'm praying she doesn't feel how hard I am through the jacket I gave her that she's still wearing.

Alarm bells sound in my mind, shrill and screaming. Painful memories rake ice cold blades against the rising heat of her kiss. I fight it, not wanting it to end.

A strangled moan escapes my throat.

She starts to pull away. I pull her closer, breathing hard. "Don't stop."

She doesn't, not until her fingers have wound into my hair, and my hands have raised to her back.

"I thought you said this wasn't a good idea," she breathes softly, her fingers brushing my cheek.

"Oh, I did. And it's not. I just don't care right now." I haul her back to me. "Please." I beg between kisses. "Please don't stop."

Because I want more.

"I won't. I'm here." Her soft caress of a voice comforts the anxiety I suddenly feel of being away from her-- Something I can't explain.

She angles her neck, and I deepen the kiss. Her tongue skims the seam of my lips. I open for her without a second thought, like I could pour a part of myself into her to make her understand without words.

After a long moment, she raises a steadying hand to my chest. Meeting my eyes, her own full of reassuring promise, she peers up at me. "Let's go inside," she whispers. "You're shivering."

She takes a step back, and instantly, I'm cold, indeed shivering a little.

But I know it's not just from the chill of the air.

Chapter Text

Ben Solo, as I learned on the drive here, had some walls.

Ok, lots of walls.

He tried his darndest to keep it hidden, that dark side of him.

But who other people probably saw as a broody young man who wasn't much for people, I saw as someone with a quick sense of humor, genuine emotions, and a smile that I wanted to see more of.

My solution: Ben Solo needed a hug.

Ben Solo definitely needed a hug.

So I'd given him one.

What came next was even more confirmation that he was just as affected by me as I was by him.

Fuck is he a good kisser.

And now, all I can think about is the feel of his mouth on mine. How hesitant be had been, but at the same time, how much he wanted to give in. And once he started to, how he practically begged me not to stop, even though that sound he'd made... it almost sounded pained.

I'm worrying my bottom lip, wondering if I should ask him about it later.

"Are you hungry?" Ben is looking at me from across the counter, uncorking a bottle of wine he's retrieved from the fridge and pouring a glass of red for both of us.

I am, so I nod. Even if it's for more of him rather than actual food.

He's been skirting me since we came in. He led me past a few darkened rooms on either side of the lighted hallway until we reached the kitchen.

He offers me my glass, and when a take it, lifts his own. We clink them together, and I take a sip, letting its chilled warmth slide down my throat. It's good.

I look up to tell him so, but the words evaporate from my brain at the way he's looking at me from over the rim of his glass. He's dropped the shield that he threw up after I'd pulled away at the door, the one that reminded me of the anxiety that comes when you think you're about to be rejected. I wanted to tell him it was far from over. I wanted to keep kissing him. I wanted to hold him until the tension in his soul started to ease. I wanted to kiss him and dig deeper. Because this man? I would do anything to see him smile.

There's an unmistakable hunger in his eyes, but he stays where he is. I don't want to make the move this time. He will have to come to me. 

I take another sip of my wine as he tips his glass back and downs the rest of his.

"I'll be right back," he says, walking down a hallway and leaving me alone in the kitchen. I hear a door close a second later.

He is very attractive.

To myself, I answer Rose's earlier question: yes.

There's no way I'm going to be able to keep my hands to myself tonight. Not by a long shot.

I'm willing to bet the fate of a galaxy that he won't either.

Chapter Text

"Heaven" by Julia Michaels

I needed to take care of my boner before I came in my pants like a fucking teenager the next time she touched me.

I've never been like this.

I'm certain that I'm going to be saying never a lot tonight.

I can't convince myself it's a bad thing.

Only that if I didn't find release, I was not going to be able to keep my hands off her.

Hell. I didnt even show her the house yet. Just went to the kitchen to give her a glass of wine, gulp mine down and promptly disappear into the bathroom... to jerk off.

Fuck.

'Setting a good example' indeed.

I'm just hoping to God the counter did its job of keeping everything 'up' hidden down below my waist.

I glance at the mirror, and I deign to tell myself that I look like I need a fuck. It's been just me an my hand for a long, long while.

But I don't just want a fuck.

I like having her around already. I like seeing her in my passenger seat. I like her company. I like her forwardness. Her humor. Her intelligence. And then she said she loved writing, and I was hearing wedding bells.

I have no idea what's wrong with me, but taking are of this -something- will certainly make things a little more navigable.

Breathe.

Relax.

I wash my hands with hot water, undo my belt, unbutton my pants and pull down the zipper. I retrieve my aching, swollen cock, wrapping my warmed wet fingers around it.

I close my eyes, create a scenario in my mind.

Imagine it's her hand around my cock instead of my own.

Pretend her breath is against my neck.

Envision the feel of her breasts in my palms.

Putting my mouth to her body and my hand sliding to the junction of her thighs. She's soaking wet and ready... for me.

She wants me.

Nobody else.

Me. Just me--

The bliss of coming hits so hard I see stars, my cock pulsing in my hand.

I bite down on my bottom lip, stifling the groan in my throat.

Gods I needed this, if all to keep myself respectable.

I pump myself harder, hoping to squeeze enough of my yearning out that I can at least touch or kiss her now without embarrassing myself.

Clean up? Check.

Certain mortification avoided? Without a doubt.

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