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the-jetset-lifes-gonna-kill-me · 1 month ago

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[ ✦ ] — ᴍᴀʀʏ ᴊᴀɴᴇ (ᴀʟʟ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ʟᴏɴɢ)…

TYLER JOSEPH X JOSH DUN X AFAB!READER

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 summery: TYLER HAS BEEN FEELING A LITTLE LEFT OUT LATELY, SO HE ASKS IF HE CAN JOIN IN ON YOU AND JOSH’S SMOKE SESH. AFTER FINDING OUT WHAT YOU TWO REALLY GET UP TO WHEN HE’S NOT THERE, YOU AND JOSH NEED TO FIND A WAY TO MAKE TYLER FEEL MORE INCLUDED.

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 warnings: 18+ CONTENT, MDNI, NO USE OF Y/N, AFAB!READER, PORN WITH NO PLOT, WEED, THREESOMES, SEX WHILE HIGH, DRY HUMPING, ORAL SEX (M AND F RECEIVING), PIV SEX, MULTIPLE ORGASMS, EIFFEL TOWERING, JOSH AND READER ARE KINDA FWB, FEELINGS ARE FELT ON ALL THREE SIDES, EVERYONE IS INCREDIBLY DOWN BAD.

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 wc: 8137

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 a/n: PLEASE IGNORE ANY REPETITION OR SPELLING MISTAKES, THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD. I NEED THESE TWO BAD BITCHES AT THE SAME DAMN TIME, IM SORRY. ENJOY!

“So… how does this work exactly?”

The question hung in the air, naive and uncertain, and it cracked something loose in you. A laugh, light and unguarded, spilled from your lips, your hands trembling ever so slightly at the sensation. You dragged your tongue slowly across the edge of the brown tobacco paper, sealing it with practiced ease. Josh’s soft, breathy chuckle followed, warm against your arm, and in your peripheral vision you caught him shaking his head, amused at Tyler’s question.

Tyler’s face shifted, subtle, but you noticed. His curiosity had left him exposed, and your laughter, unintentional as the sting might’ve been, seemed to make him shrink inward. His mouth twitched like he was swallowing down self-reproach, mentally scolding himself for asking something he thought he should’ve already known. But really, how could he? He was out of his depth.

You paused, lips forming a faux pout, and reached out to give his knee a reassuring pat. “It’s okay,” your touch said without words.

“Well,” you began, voice soft but laced with a playful edge, “you’ll hold this between your lips, and when I light it, you inhale as deep as you can, hold it for a second, then let it go.” You demonstrated with delicate precision, pinching the joint between your fingers and rolling it gently, letting him watch the ritual up close. His eyes curious, a little tense, tracked every movement. “And if your throat burns a little? That just means you’re doing it right.”

You could feel the weight of his gaze, of both their gazes, fixed on your hands as you finished rolling the joint.

Honestly, you hadn’t expected Tyler to ever ask to be part of this. You’d known both of them for years, thick as thieves, the three of you, but this? This was always a you-and-Josh thing. A small sanctuary of smoke and shared silence. Not that Tyler wasn’t welcome; you’d just figured it wasn’t his scene. He’d always seemed too clean, too careful, too focused on keeping his edges sharp.

You still remembered the first time you offered, ages ago now. He’d smiled, polite but firm, and turned you down. You hadn’t asked again.

But tonight was different. Lately you’d started to sense it, the way Tyler lingered at the edges of these moments, as though the inside jokes and hazy conversations between you and Josh had begun to form a wall he wasn’t sure how to scale. He wasn’t the kind to say it outright, but you saw it: the way he hated feeling left out. The way his laugh would falter when he didn’t understand the reference. The way he watched you both with quiet longing, wanting to be in on it.

So when he asked to join tonight, you hadn’t hesitated.

“So this is what you two do when I’m not around?” Tyler’s voice broke through, his tone light but edged with something that felt like yearning. His eyes darted between you and Josh, pointedly not looking at your hands as you worked.

You and Josh shared a glance, silent understanding passing between you.

“Mostly,” you said, the word hanging in the air, ambiguous enough to keep him guessing.

Tyler let it go, though you could see the question lingering behind his eyes.

You stole a look at him as you finished your task. His expression was a careful balance of indifference and intrigue, but you weren’t fooled. The signs were all there, the slight press of his lips, the way his fingers twirled with a loose thread on his jeans around his finger, the tension that held his back straighter than usual, like he was bracing for something.

Josh, on the other hand, was the picture of ease. He sprawled across your bed, head propped on his hand, scrolling aimlessly through his phone as he waited, patient in his own lazy way.

His eyes flicked up, probably to complain about how long you were taking, but he followed your gaze to Tyler.

“Hey,” Josh said, pushing himself up, his voice easy but touched with sincerity. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah,” you echoed, leaning over Tyler to rummage through your bedside drawer for a lighter. “No pressure. Seriously, dude. You can back out anytime.”

But Tyler shook his head, quick, almost too quick. “No- I want to. I mean, I never really had a ‘party phase,’ you know? Might as well start now.” His laugh was soft, a little forced at the edges, but it endeared you and Josh all the same.

“Yes, yes, we know. B-ball champ, singing prodigy, we’ve heard it all before.” you smirked. “Couldn’t risk damaging your pretty little lungs with smoke, right?”

“Shut up,” Tyler muttered, but he laughed for real this time, the tension slipping from his shoulders bit by bit.

You grinned and finally found the lighter, holding up your prize. “Alright, Dun,” you drawled, turning to Josh, holding out the joint and lighter like an offering. “Wanna do the honors?”

Josh tried to play it cool, but the way he sprang up betrayed him. His hand was quick, eager, snatching the joint from your palm like he’d been waiting all night for this.

“Yes Ma’am,” he said, already reaching for the light.

You watched in silence, the world seeming to narrow to just the three of you. Josh placed the blunt between his lips with an ease born of habit, his fingers steady as he cupped them around the lighter, shielding the flame from the nonexistent breeze of the room. The lighter clicked, once, twice, before the flame flared to life, a soft glow that reflected in his dark eyes for the briefest second. The tip of the joint smoldered to orange, embers blooming like a firefly in the dim room as he drew in a slow, deliberate breath.

Beside you, Tyler watched too, his posture rigid, eyes observing Josh carefully.

Josh held the smoke in his chest, deep and sure, before exhaling in a long, deliberate sigh. The smoke rolled out in thick, silvery ribbons, curling around him like mist, framing his features in a ghostly halo. The room filled with the scent of burnt paper and earth, and for a heartbeat, the world felt softer, slower.

You and Tyler both watched, caught in the quiet gravity of the moment.

Josh took another hit, his canines brushing his bottom lip in a grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. His voice was strained as he held the smoke, eyes crinkling with amusement as he looked at Tyler. “See?” he managed between breaths, a puff of smoke escaping with the word. “Not so bad.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, your voice dry with affection as you shot him a deadpan look. “Don’t listen to him, Ty. The first time Josh smoked, he got a bit too cocky, took way too much, and greened out hard.”

Tyler’s brow arched, amusement flickering across his face like sunlight through blinds. “Greened out?” he echoed, glancing between you and Josh with growing intrigue.

Josh groaned your name, the sound stretched out with smoky exasperation. “Don’t you dare,” he warned, though the protest was weak at best.

You grinned wider, delighting in the story as much as you did the first time you told it. “It’s basically a weed overdose,” you explained, seeing the flicker of concern that darted across Tyler’s features. You hurried to add, “Not as scary as it sounds. It’s not dangerous. Just… humbling.”

Josh sighed, already bracing himself for the tale he knew too well. “Please…”

“It was a few years back. I gave Josh half of a weed gummy, right? And five minutes later, he’s pacing the room like, ‘This is shit, I can’t feel anything. Are you messing with me? Does this even have weed in it?’ I told him to wait it out, but he begged for the other half- practically on his knees.”

Josh buried his face in his hands, shaking his head as Tyler started to laugh, his shoulders bouncing.

“So I caved. And what happens next?” You could barely keep your own laughter in. “He lays on the floor for hours, hours, mumbling about how the walls were melting, asking where his mom was like he was six again. Then he passed out, slept for twelve hours straight, and puked in my laundry hamper when he finally woke up.”

Tyler doubled over, his laughter spilling out, breathless and unguarded. His head tipped back, the sound filling the room like music. “Oh my god,” he wheezed. “I don’t think I could top that if I tried.”

Josh shot you both a mock-glare, but the smile he tried to hide tugged at his lips. “Sure, laugh it up,” he grumbled, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

“Aww, I’m sorry, Joshua,” you cooed, reaching out to ruffle his faded red hair, fingers tangling for a second before you deftly snatched the blunt from his lips. “Now stop hogging.”

The laughter faded into its usual comfortable hum between you three. You brought the joint to your lips, the waxy paper familiar, grounding. The burn was immediate as you inhaled, slow and deep, filling your lungs until they felt too full, the heat blooming in your chest. You held it there, savoring the ache, the way it buzzed through you. Then, with a shaky exhale, you let the smoke flow free, thick clouds streaming from your lips, your nostrils, curling toward the ceiling like small ghosts escaping your body.

A cough caught in your throat, soft and involuntary, and when you looked up, Tyler was staring at you again. His expression had shifted, no longer merely curious or amused. There was something else there now. His lips were pressed together, his head tilted just slightly, eyes darkened with an intensity you didn’t recognize. Like he was seeing you anew, the haze of smoke and the glow of the moment casting you in a light that made his breath catch.

It was the same way Josh sometimes looked at you when you weren’t paying attention.

You took a few more slow, savouring drags, the world growing fuzzier, edges softening as that familiar hum filled your veins. A lazy grin spread across your face as you leaned forward, offering the blunt to Tyler.

“Wanna give it a try, Ty?” you asked, your voice warm, inviting.

Tyler hesitated, his gaze flicking from your face to the joint, weighing invisible scales. You could almost see the thoughts running behind his eyes, what if he took too much? What if he ended up on the floor like Josh had, babbling nonsense? What if he embarrassed himself in front of you both?

But despite it all, he nodded, quick and sure. “Okay,” he said, soft but certain, fingers brushing yours as he took it from you. He shifted closer without realizing it, the three of you drawn tighter into the little circle you’d made, as if the smoke itself was weaving invisible threads between you.

Tyler’s eyes lingered on the blunt, watching as the ember at its tip faded to nothing but a cold ash, the fire snuffed out, leaving only a curl of smoke that drifted between you. His fingers twitched slightly, unsure of what came next, shoulders stiff with the weight of unfamiliarity.

“Here,” Josh murmured, his voice low, worn soft at the edges by the haze in the room. The word slipped from his chest like smoke itself. He leaned in, close enough that Tyler could feel the heat of him, close enough that his breath might’ve stirred Tyler’s hair. Personal space forgotten, irrelevant. Josh struck the lighter, the flick of the spark loud in the stillness, the flame small but sure as it touched the end of the blunt, bringing it back to life. Tyler watched him with an intensity that was almost startling, eyes fixed on Josh.

Hesitantly, Tyler mirrored what you’d shown him. He held the blunt with awkward fingers, too conscious of every move. His tongue darted across his lower lip, dampening it in a nervous tic before he brought the joint to his mouth. He inhaled, a little too hard, too fast, the musky heat of the smoke catching him off guard. It filled his throat like fire, raw and unkind, and he spluttered, coughing as the smoke burst from his lips in staccato gasps.

But neither of you laughed. Not this time. Josh’s hand reached out, steady and warm, resting on Tyler’s knee. His thumb moved in slow, grounding strokes, silent reassurance in the spaces where words weren’t needed.

Tyler swallowed hard and tried again, drawing in a smaller breath this time, holding the smoke for just a moment before releasing it in a shaky stream. He coughed once, then again, but softer, less frantic. He took another drag, and another, growing steadier, his confidence building in tiny increments as you and Josh watched him.

“You alright?” you asked, your voice low and honey-warm, leaning closer so the space between you narrowed, your grin tugging at your lips like it was second nature.

Tyler nodded, still catching his breath, but there was a flicker of triumph in his eyes. “Yeah.”

“You did good,” Josh added, his smile easy, the kind that made you feel safe. He patted Tyler’s knee before pulling his hand back, and only then did Tyler glance down, realizing it had been there all along. His gaze drifted from Josh’s hand back to his face, something unspoken passing between them.

You caught it too, and your grin widened, a knowing glint in your eye.

The joint made its lazy rounds, the three of you sinking deeper into the mattress, the weight of the world slipping off your shoulders as the room blurred at the edges. The whites of your eyes tinted pink, your limbs heavy, the laughter softer now.

“Alright, who wants the last drag?” you asked, twirling what was left of the blunt between your fingers, the ember small but stubborn, glowing faintly in the dim light.

Josh reached for it, always the opportunist. “Well, if you’re offering-”

But you pulled back, laughter bubbling up in your throat. “That was a test, and you failed.” You smirked, holding the joint out instead to Tyler. “Ty’s our guest. Don’t you think we should be good hosts and accommodate him?” You arched a brow at Josh, your expression teasing but firm.

Josh’s gaze met yours, a silent conversation flashing between you, one of those wordless exchanges built from years of knowing each other inside out. Something softened in his face, and he leaned back, a smile blooming there despite himself. “Go on, Ty. Finish it off.”

Tyler hesitated for a heartbeat, caught in the unspoken conversation between you and Josh, but then he took the joint with a small smile. “Alright,” he said quietly, and with care he burned it down to the roach, exhaling one final puff of smoke, this time smooth and easy. He stubbed it out in the ashtray at the center of your little universe.

For a moment, stillness settled over you all. Smoke hung in the air, delicate tendrils drifting lazy patterns toward the ceiling. The scent of burnt herb and paper clung to everything, your clothes, your hair, the walls themselves. The silence wasn’t awkward. It felt thick, warm, shared.

“How you feeling now, bud?” you hummed, turning your head to study him.

The sight of him made you want to laugh, though you held it in. His face was soft and open, cheeks flushed just a touch pink, that single dimple on his left cheek deepening as his smile became permanent. His brow crinkled, eyes bright, caught between dazed and delighted.

“Weird,” he admitted, the word stretching out with his slow, lazy laugh. “But, like… good weird. My brain feels like static. And warm. Everything feels warm.”

“Warm, huh?” you mused, shifting closer, closing what little distance remained. Your palm found his chest, fingers splaying gently across his ribs, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath. “Like here, right?”

Tyler’s gaze dropped to your hand, lingered, then lifted to meet your eyes. His grin never wavered, wide and unguarded. “Yeah,” he breathed.

Josh watched the exchange quietly, his teeth pressing into his lower lip, his gaze flickering between you and Tyler as though trying to read what passed in that small, charged space.

“So what made you wanna join us this time?” Josh asked, voice low, leaning in till his shoulder brushed Tyler’s, till the air between all three of you seemed to hum with closeness.

“I don’t know,” Tyler shrugged, the movement exaggerated, the haze loosening his tongue before he could stop himself. The truth tumbled out. “I guess I was feeling kinda left out.”

Josh’s brows drew together, softening. “Left out?”

Tyler rubbed at the back of his neck, his laugh sheepish. “Yeah. I mean, you guys have your thing, your inside jokes, your plans. And I’m just kinda… on the outside of it, sometimes.”

You snorted gently, tilting your head against his shoulder. “You feel left out? You two ditch me for months at a time to go tour the world. If anyone should feel left out, it’s me.”

Tyler laughed, the sound bubbling up without hesitation, his head tilting toward yours.

Josh bumped his shoulder into yours, his smile bright and easy. “You can’t play anything, and you’ve got zero rhythm. I’m afraid we’d have to leave you at every rest stop.”

“Rude. I’d have brought the vibes.” You feigned offense, laughing along with them. “I could’ve been a groupie,” you teased, grinning as Josh burst into laughter beside you. “Or your merch manager. Any excuse to tag along.”

But then your voice softened again, your grin gentling. “Seriously though, Ty. We didn’t mean to make you feel that way. This doesn’t have to just be a me and Josh thing anymore. It can be a you, me, and Josh thing, if you want it to be.”

“Remember earlier,” Tyler began, his voice soft, threaded through with a note of hesitation, “when I asked if this was what you guys did when I wasn’t around, and you said ‘mostly’?”

You stiffened, just slightly, your head resting against his shoulder but your body no longer as relaxed. The question hung there, heavier than it should’ve been, filling the space between the three of you like the lingering smoke. Your gaze shifted instinctively toward Josh, who had already met your eyes with the same flicker of tension mirrored in his own. The kind of glance that speaks volumes without a single word.

Tyler didn’t miss it. His brow creased faintly, his curiosity sharpening. “What else do you guys do?”

You lifted your head, feeling the weight of the moment press down as you searched his face. The easy grin you offered him felt sheepish, like a kid caught doing something they shouldn’t. “Did you know,” you began, voice lighter than you felt, “that some people say pot’s an aphrodisiac?”

Tyler blinked at you, his confusion genuine, his brow quirking as he echoed, “What’s an aphrodisiac?”

“Oh god, here we go again,” Josh groaned, letting himself sink back onto his elbows, head tilted toward the ceiling. The look on his face was one of pure exasperation, the kind that said he’d been down this conversational road with you more times than he could count.

You smirked, leaning into the familiar rhythm. “It’s a substance that’s supposed to increase, y’know… libido.” You watched Tyler’s expression shift, the confusion deepening, brow furrowing as he tried to piece it together. “Like oysters. They’re considered an aphrodisiac too.”

Josh let out a laugh, sudden and unrestrained. “Who decided oysters make people horny?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know!” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him. “Do I look like a scientist to you, Josh?”

“Definitely not,” he quipped, grin spreading wider, eyes glinting with mischief.

Tyler cut through your bickering, voice rising slightly in bewilderment. “What does this have to do with anything?” His gaze darted between you both, trying to keep up, trying to make sense of where this was going.

You sighed, running a hand down your face as if trying to smooth out the awkwardness along with your own nerves. “Weed can, uh, for some people anyway, increase sexual desire. That’s what I was getting at.”

Tyler opened his mouth to ask something else, but you watched as realization dawned on him mid-thought. His eyes widened, his head jerked slightly back, and his gaze snapped between you and Josh like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. His lips parted in shock, words failing him for a second as the pieces fell into place.

“What the fuck?” The words tumbled out, rare and raw from Tyler, who almost never swore. That alone told you how off-guard he was. “What the fuck?” he repeated, like maybe saying it twice would help him process.

“Ty-” Josh started, tone gentle, but Tyler wasn’t finished.

“So you’re telling me…” He trailed off, disbelief thick in his voice. His eyes moved between you and Josh again, searching, questioning. “You two have been… hooking up this whole time?”

You winced at the phrasing, but before you could say anything, Josh answered, watching Tyler carefully. “Well, not the whole time.”

“It first happened last year,” you said quietly, fingers fiddling absently with a loose strand of hair near your cheek. “It’s not a constant thing, Ty. It’s just… sometimes. When it feels right.”

Tyler stared at you, his expression unreadable for a moment, his thoughts clearly racing. His mouth opened, then closed again as he tried to settle on the right words. When he finally spoke, it came out in a breathy huff. “I can’t believe you guys didn’t tell me.”

You reached for him gently, fingers brushing his shoulder, soft and tentative. “You’re not mad, are you?”

He slumped a little at your touch, the tension in his frame loosening as he exhaled a long, slow breath. His eyes dropped to your hand for a second, then lifted to meet yours. “No, just-”

“Feeling left out?” Josh joked quietly, his grin small and sheepish, like he already regretted the words as they left his mouth.

Tyler’s glare cut through the haze sharper than any smoke. His eyes narrowed, and Josh’s grin faltered, vanishing altogether.

Josh wasn’t wrong. The look on Tyler’s face, the flicker of hurt, the edge of longing, said it all. He wasn’t angry. He was lonely, and this revelation only deepened that hollow space inside him.

The silence that settled between the three of you this time was different, thicker, charged, heavy with a tension that neither smoke nor laughter could soften. It clung to the air like humidity before a storm. No one spoke. No one dared to break the moment, as though the first word would shatter whatever fragile thing was holding you all together.

“Ty,” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath, coaxing him from his stunned stillness. You lifted your hand, gentle and sure, guiding his chin with a single finger so his gaze met yours. His eyes were wide, searching, waiting. “Come here,” you nearly cooed, your voice soft enough to melt through his hesitation.

You shifted, folding your legs beneath you, rising onto your knees, drawing him toward you. The distance between you closed in slow motion, as if the world had slowed to watch. Your thumb grazed his jaw as you tilted his face up, and then your lips met his, tentative at first, soft and slow.

It was exploratory, gentle. Your hand slipped from his jaw to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into his hair at the nape of his neck, drawing him deeper into you. A soft hum escaped you as Tyler, spurred by your touch, he brought his hands up to cup your face, palms warm against your cheeks. His kiss grew surer, more eager. His lips parted when your tongue darted over his bottom lip, and a low, unexpected rumble of a groan vibrated in his throat as you deepened the kiss, tasting him, pulling him under.

Curiosity tugged at you, and you peeked one eye open, glancing at Josh. What you saw made heat curl low in your belly. His pupils were wide, dark eclipses swallowing the slightly lighter shade of his irises. His lips were parted ever so slightly, breath shallow, chest rising and falling a bit quicker than before.

When you finally broke the kiss, Tyler chased after you, lips seeking yours again, but you were already turning. Your mouth found Josh’s without hesitation, and he met you there like he always had, like a dance you both knew by heart, each step perfectly matched. His kiss was hungrier, rougher, the heat of him poured into you, teeth grazing your bottom lip as he pulled at it, savoring the taste of you. You pulled away only long enough to swipe your thumb across your lip, catching his saliva, before glancing at Tyler. His awe mirrored Josh’s earlier, eyes wide, lips swollen, breathless.

Your hands found the back of their necks, fingers curling around warm skin as you tugged them both closer. The three of you met in the middle, mouths colliding in a messy, uncoordinated tangle of lips and tongues. It was frantic, needy, hot, teeth clashing, tongues seeking, not knowing or caring whose lips they found at any given moment. The taste of weed, of shared breath, of want was dizzying.

You let your hands fall, fingertips brushing down the lines of their spines as you slowly leaned back onto your elbows, chest heaving, heart pounding against your ribs like a drum. You watched them, spellbound, as they turned that same hunger on each other. Tyler’s fingers curled around Josh’s jaw; Josh’s hand slid to the back of Tyler’s neck, pulling him closer, as if closeness could erase all the space that had ever existed between them.

You bit your bottom lip, the sight almost too much to take, heat pooling low in your stomach. A soft sound escaped you, barely louder than the thrum of your pulse.

You cleared your throat, amused at the way they froze, slowly turning to look at you, lips red and swollen, eyes dazed and dark. Your grin was slow and wicked. “Don’t let me interrupt,” you murmured, pushing yourself upright, voice dripping with invitation. “Keep going.”

And they did. With a glance at each other, a silent agreement passed between them, and they closed the space again, mouths finding one another as if they’d done it a thousand times before.

You leaned in, nuzzling the curve of Josh’s neck, your breath hot against his skin as you placed soft, open-mouthed kisses there, tasting his skin. You trailed higher, leaving wet prints up to his pulse point where his heartbeat thrummed beneath your tongue. You sucked at the spot, felt the low groan tremble through him, his body taut beneath your mouth. You bit, licked, soothed, painting his throat with bruises.

Before you could move to Tyler, he broke the kiss with Josh, his eyes dark with something raw and urgent, and captured your lips again. His kiss was greedy, desperate, like he was drowning and you were the only air he had left. His hands roamed, skimming down your sides until they found your hips, fingers digging in as he pulled you closer, guided you into his lap.

You went willingly, straddling him, wrapping your arms around his neck. The kiss deepened, grew frantic, his breath mingling with yours, his lips slick against your own.

Josh pressed up behind you, his chest warm against your back, his presence surrounding you, caging you between them. His lips found the right side of your neck, his hands skimming your sides, making you shiver under his touch. He mirrored your earlier attention, kissing, biting, sucking at your neck, until your skin burned beneath his mouth.

You felt Tyler beneath you, hard and wanting, his cock twitching beneath the press of your clothed cunt. Behind you, Josh’s dick pressed firm against your back, his breath hot as he groaned into your skin.

Josh’s teeth sank gently into the junction of your neck and shoulder, his hands sliding down your frame till they met Tyler’s at your hips. His fingers wove with the others, and then he guided your hips, rocking you forward, grinding you down onto Tyler’s lap. You gasped softly, the friction sending shivers through you, your hips following the rhythm he set, slow at first, then faster, your need building, heat radiating from where you met.

Their hands were everywhere, on your hips, your thighs, your waist, as they moved you together, every breath, every touch, every tremble shared between the three of you.

“Fuck,” Tyler exhaled, the word spilling from his lips in a ragged sigh as he tore himself from your mouth, his chest heaving as he gulped down air. His gaze flicked up, catching sight of Josh behind you, and the low groan that left him made your insides twist.

A soft, desperate mewl escaped you, the sound trembling on your breath as your chest shuddered. You rocked your hips harder, faster, grinding down on Tyler’s lap, driven by the insistent tempo of Josh’s hands guiding you, his fingers digging into your hips with a grip so fierce you knew it would leave marks, imprints of this moment etched into your skin.

The heat of it all became overwhelming in the most delicious way as Tyler’s mouth found the other side of your neck, his lips searing a path over your skin. He nipped, sucked, kissed, while Josh mirrored him on the opposite side, two mouths devouring you, their touch sending shocks of pleasure down your spine. The overstimulation made your head swim, your body burning between them.

“God, fuck, that feels so good,” you gasped out, voice thick and trembling as your hips continued their slow, grinding dance. Your back arched, your ass pressing harder against Josh, dragging along the stiff line of his cock through his pants.

The sounds that came from both of them were downright filthy, guttural groans, breathy gasps, hungry, animalistic noises buried in the hollow of your throat, meant for your ears alone. The friction at your cunt was a maddening combination of too much and not enough, every roll of your hips driving you closer to the edge and yet leaving you wanting more, aching.

Without thinking, your arms lifted, surrendering to Josh as he tugged your shirt over your head and discarded it carelessly to the floor. His rough, calloused hands found the soft skin of your ribs, tracing upward, reverent and greedy all at once. When his palms cupped your breasts, you shivered beneath his touch.

You felt Tyler’s hands leave your hips, relinquishing control, letting you ride him as your body pleased. His fingers fumbled at your back, unhooking your bra with practiced ease, sliding the straps down your arms as Josh’s fingers worked one nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, coaxing soft, breathy moans from your lips.

Tyler’s hands were back on you in a heartbeat, one strong arm curling around the arch in your back, holding you flush against him. Still, your hips moved in slow, grinding circles, savoring the friction, the pressure. His other hand slid forward, bold and sure, and you felt him palm Josh through his pants, a low, heady groan rumbling out of Josh in response.

Josh buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he nipped at your throat, his fingers tweaking your nipples just enough to make you whimper. Tyler claimed your mouth again, kissing you like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you, your breaths mingling, desperate and uneven.

And then Josh’s hands returned to your hips, halting your movements with a firm grip. You blinked, dazed, lips parted, ready to ask why, but you didn’t get the chance.

“C’mere,” he rasped, his voice rough, need threaded through every syllable. He drew you back against him, settling you between his thighs, his legs bracketing yours. His hands cradled your jaw, tilting your face toward him, his lips crashing into yours with hunger that left you dizzy.

A sigh slipped from you as Tyler’s mouth began its descent, kissing a heated trail down your chest. His lips worshipped every inch of skin, pausing at your breast, his tongue circling your soft flesh before sucking it into his mouth. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with slow, deliberate purpose as his mouth worked you, marking you, claiming you.

You gasped as his teeth grazed your breast, not hard enough to make you bleed, just enough to leave the imprint of his teeth. Josh took advantage of your parted lips, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting you, deepening the kiss.

Tyler moved lower, his lips leaving a warm, wet path down your stomach, his breath ghosting over your skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He paused just above your hip bone, his eyes lifting, locking with yours, dark and molten with longing. The sight of him there, framed between your thighs, made your heart race, your breath catch.

Slowly, reverently, he pressed feather-light kisses along the inside of your legs, switching from one to the other, teasing, building the anticipation until your thighs trembled. His breath fanned over your clothed cunt, the heat of him maddening, his nose nudging against your clit through the damp cotton of your underwear, making your whole body shiver.

Then, with a look that smoldered, he hooked his arms around your legs, pulling you closer. His teeth caught the lace trim at your hip, gripping it between his canines as he dragged it down, slow, torturous, his eyes never leaving yours. When they reached your thighs, his hands took over, easing the fabric the rest of the way down.

“Fuck…” The word fell from your lips in a shaky breath, your head tipping back onto Josh’s shoulder, your mind hazy with want.

“Holy shit…” Josh husked in your ear, his voice thick, his cock twitching against your back as he watched Tyler, his breath ragged, his need just as palpable as yours.

Tyler’s tongue found your clit with a slow, deliberate stroke that stole the breath clean from your lungs. It was soft at first, agonisingly soft, and yet your entire spine arched, a silent gasp snagging in your throat. The world blurred at the edges, the only clarity in the heat pooling between your thighs.

A moan spilled from you, low and shivering, as you pushed your head off of Josh’s shoulder, then forced your heavy lidded gaze down, seeking Tyler. And there he was, looking up at you, lips already slick with you, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide with hunger. His tongue flicked out again, slower this time, more purposeful, as though he wanted you to feel every inch of him, every deliberate drag.

And then his gaze shifted, sliding past you to meet Josh’s eyes over your shoulder. There was something electric in that look, silent understanding, shared desire, and when his tongue met you again, you felt it in your bones.

Your thighs trembled, hips bucking instinctively, chasing more, chasing friction, chasing that high.

“Stay still,” Josh murmured against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe. His hands slid down, firm and steady, gripping your knees and spreading you wider, holding you open for Tyler’s mouth. His control made your breath hitch, made the need coil tighter in your belly.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Tyler groaned, voice wrecked, reverent. And then his tongue was moving again, soft licks that made your toes curl, flat strokes that set your nerves on fire, tiny pulses that left you gasping. Every flick, every swirl, every press of him against you was maddening, precision and passion combined.

Your thighs tried to close around him, instinct overtaking you, but Josh kept you spread, his grip unyielding. Your body shook, sweat slicking your skin as the heat between your legs built to a fever pitch. Desperate for grounding, you tangled your fingers in Tyler’s hair, the strands damp beneath your palm, tugging gently, urging him on. Your free hand reached blindly for Josh’s, threading your fingers through his, clinging as you shuddered with pleasure.

“Feels so good, don’t stop, Ty,” you managed to gasp out, the words falling from your lips like prayer. Tyler groaned, deep and feral, the sound rumbling through you as his tongue worked you, dragging slow, firm strokes through your slick folds.

Your eyes fluttered shut, head tipping back, but Josh wouldn’t have it. His fingers pinched your jaw, tilting your head down, forcing you to watch. “Eyes open, baby. Watch,” he breathed, voice thick, dark, his lips brushing your ear. And you did, you looked down at Tyler as he devoured you, as he lapped at you like a man starving. The sight of it, the sound of it, the scent of your own arousal mingling with their breath, it made your pulse thunder in your ears.

Tyler groaned again, broken and low, the vibration of it sending sparks through your spine. His hands slid up, cradling your ribcage, pulling you closer, pressing you down into him. His thumbs stroked your skin, rough and tender all at once, like he couldn’t decide if he meant to soothe you or ruin you.

You cried out, the sound raw, unfiltered, the heat between your legs unbearable, and yet you didn’t want him to stop. Couldn’t bear for him to stop. Your body was no longer your own, every nerve alight, every breath a battle. You tugged at his hair harder, your other hand squeezing Josh’s, grounding yourself in them both.

Tyler hummed against you, lips curling into a grin that you could feel more than see, pride and want tangled together. He drank in the way you trembled for him, the way your body surrendered to his mouth, the way your words dissolved into moans and incoherent babble.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, voice breaking, your back arching off Josh’s chest, stars bursting behind your eyes. Josh released your knees, but before your legs could fall, Tyler’s hands caught them, hooking them over his shoulders, locking you to him. Your hips ground against his face, chasing that friction like you needed it to breathe. A bead of sweat rolled down your throat, over your collarbone, as your vision blurred, lashes fluttering.

And then you shattered. Your whole body clenched, thighs tightening around Tyler’s head, toes curling, fingers white-knuckled where they gripped Josh’s. A cry tore from your throat, raw and beautiful, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you, leaving you breathless, boneless, burning.

But Tyler didn’t stop. Even as you trembled, as your slick coated his chin, dripping down onto the sheets, he kept going, licking, sucking, worshipping you. Your hips jerked involuntarily beneath him, sensitive and overstimulated, and still he feasted on you, until your soft cries became pleas, until you could do nothing but whisper his name like a prayer, broken and undone.

Finally, he lifted his head, lips swollen, chin glistening, his eyes dazed and dark as he looked up at you, then at Josh.

And before you could catch your breath, before you could even think, Tyler was pulling you into a kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him. You melted against him, weak and wanting, lost in him.

Josh’s breath was hot against your shoulder, his chest rising and falling against your back. You turned your mouth to Tyler’s neck, pressing kisses along his throat, trailing lower, your hands fumbling with his belt, trembling fingers desperate to free him.

And when Josh finally claimed Tyler’s mouth, hot and hungry, you felt the heat of them both, surrounding you, consuming you.

As Josh finally broke from Tyler’s lips, his hands found your hips, his grip ironclad, fingers sinking deep enough to leave bruises like secrets only they’d know. His breath was ragged, low in his throat as he rasped, “On your knees, sweetheart. C’mon.” The demand was rough, but laced with affection, as he guided you upward, his palms insistent and trembling with restraint.

You obeyed without hesitation, moving onto your knees, your hands bracing against the mattress, grounding yourself in the swirl of heat and hunger between you three. When you lifted your gaze, Tyler was already watching you through his lashes, teeth caught on his bottom lip, his chest rising and falling like he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

“Shit,” he exhaled, voice thin with awe, hand sliding under your chin to tilt your face up, keeping you tethered to his eyes even as your fingers deftly popped the button on his jeans, pulling the zipper down in a slow tease that made his breath hitch. Behind you, the sound of Josh rummaging through your drawer mingled with the thrum of blood in your ears.

Together, you worked Tyler’s jeans down his thighs. He tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside, his skin flushed and tan in the dim light. You couldn’t help but trace your finger along the ink etched into his chest, pressing kisses to the warm plane of his stomach, savoring the faint salt of sweat on his skin. The tip of your nose brushed the trail of hair leading from his navel down, down, until it disappeared beneath the band of his briefs.

Both of them watched, their stares burning into your skin. Slowly, deliberately, you hooked your fingers into Tyler’s waistband, dragging his briefs down, baring him inch by aching inch. His cock sprang free, thick and hard as a lead pipe, veins running like rivers along the shaft, the tip flushed a delicate pink, glistening with a bead of precum.

A shaky sigh spilled from Tyler’s lips as your fingers wrapped around him, stroking him slow, savoring the weight of him in your hand. You met his gaze again, eyes heavy with lust, as you leaned in, your tongue flicking softly over his tip, tasting him, making him shudder. His groan, raw and desperate, made your knees weak.

Behind you, Josh watched, entranced, as if he couldn’t believe the sight before him. His hand caressed the curve of your hip, the soft flesh of your ass, as he tore open the condom with his teeth, foil falling forgotten to the floor. His hands were steady as he rolled it on, but his breath betrayed him, uneven with want.

You took Tyler deeper, your mouth sliding down his length, feeling him pulse against your tongue as you hollowed your cheeks, each movement slow, measured, driving him wild. His fingers threaded into your hair, tugging just enough to make your scalp tingle.

Then came the press of Josh behind you, his cock brushing your slick folds, his touch lighting every nerve. The head of him teased your clit, drawing a moan that vibrated around Tyler’s cock, making him groan deep, his hips twitching.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Josh asked, voice softer now, his fingertips trailing down the curve of your spine, grounding you, worshiping you. You hummed your answer, mouth full, and that was all the encouragement he needed. With care, he eased himself inside, the slide made easy by how wet you were, how ready.

“Oh fuck- don’t clamp down on me like that,” Josh half-laughed, half-moaned, voice breathless as he stilled, savoring the way you gripped him. Tyler’s head fell back, throat working as he swallowed hard, groans rumbling from his chest.

You bobbed your head faster now, your hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t take, Tyler’s grip in your hair tightening with every pass of your lips. Josh began to move, slow at first, hips rolling into you, drawing a whimper from your throat that vibrated along Tyler’s cock, making him shudder.

Josh’s pace quickened, his thrusts deep and sure, his fingers digging into your waist as you rocked between them. The heat in the room rose, the air thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and the faint musk of weed, an intoxicating blend that made your head swim.

Then Josh snapped his hips hard into you, and the force sent you down deeper onto Tyler’s cock, making you gag, throat clenching around him, sending shocks through you both. Tyler’s voice broke into curses, eyes dark with pleasure, torn between watching your mouth take him and watching Josh claim you.

Josh’s rhythm became relentless, his hips slapping against you, filling the room with obscene sounds, the wet slide of bodies, the sharp slap of skin, the chorus of your moans and their groans, tangled and raw.

“God- just like that, don’t stop,” Tyler urged, his voice frayed at the edges, his grip on your hair rough now, the burn of it making you whimper, fueling you. His hips began to move, shallow thrusts into your mouth, fucking your throat as his eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and desperate.

Tears pricked your eyes, your vision blurring as you looked up at him. And then you saw it, Tyler’s hand shooting out to Josh, pulling him down into a kiss that was all teeth and tongues, messy and needy. The sight, the sound, the sheer heat of it, shattered you.

Your climax crashed over you, violent and all-consuming. Your thighs shook, your cunt clamped down on Josh, milking him as a high, broken cry tore from your throat. Josh groaned, low and wrecked, a few more hard thrusts before his cock twitched, his release filling the condom as he buried himself to the hilt. His breath stuttered against your back, his body shuddering.

Josh’s slow, lazy thrusts pushed you forward, driving Tyler deeper into your throat, until he hissed, “Fuck- open your mouth, baby.” He pulled back, stroking himself hard and fast, his jaw tight, his body coiled. And then he came, thick and hot across your tongue, painting the wet pink flesh white.

You met his gaze as you caught your breath, mouth open, tongue coated, before you closed your lips and swallowed, slow and loud enough that they both heard it. And they stared at you, wrecked and ruined.

The three of you lay sprawled across the bed, bodies slack, limbs tangled, chests rising and falling in shallow, uneven pants. The room was heavy with the heady scent of sex, sweat, and satisfaction mingling in the thick, humid air. Your skin glistened under the soft wash of lamp, casting your forms in a warm, hazy glow. Drops of sweat traced lazy paths down your ribs, your neck, pooling where your bodies met, where heat still radiated in waves.

For a long moment, no one spoke. There was only the sound of your breathing, three heartbeats trying to slow. Tyler’s arm draped over your waist, his fingers idly tracing shapes along your side, while Josh lay half on his back, head turned toward you and Tyler, his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath.

Finally, it was Josh who broke the silence, his voice low, rough-edged with exhaustion but softened by the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You were right, Ty…” he huffed, the words curling out on a sigh as he glanced over at him, eyes warm, crinkling with the force of his smile. “We shouldn’t have left you out.”

Tyler’s breath hitched with the quiet laughter that escaped him, his eyes flickering toward you as if to see if you shared the sentiment.

“I second that,” you murmured, your voice a soft rasp, still catching on the remnants of moans and gasps. You turned your head, pressing a tender kiss to Josh’s cheek, his skin still damp and warm, then to Tyler’s, his lashes fluttering at the touch, a faint flush still painting his cheeks.

The quiet stretched again, but this time it was peaceful. The kind of silence that wraps around you like a blanket, thick with unspoken understanding. Your bodies remained tangled, Tyler’s leg hooked over yours, Josh’s hand resting across your stomach, thumb stroking down your supple skin. The world outside felt impossibly far away; here, in this moment, there was nothing but the soft press of skin, the shared warmth, the afterglow humming in your bones.

Eventually, you lifted your head, hair sticking damply to your temple, gaze lazy as it flicked between them. The corners of your lips quirked in a grin, voice low and playful as it broke the stillness. “Anyone want a smoke?”

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the-jetset-lifes-gonna-kill-me · 1 month ago

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[ ✦ ] — ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴅɪᴇ…

CLANCY X AFAB!READER

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 summery: TOMORROW COULD VERY LIKELY BE YOUR LAST DAY ALIVE. YOU CAN’T SLEEP, YOUR REGRETS AND UNSPOKEN FEELINGS ARE KEEPING YOU AWAKE. IT JUST SO HAPPENS THAT THE ROOT OF YOUR INSOMNIA CAN’T SLEEP EITHER.

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 warnings: 18+ CONTENT, MDNI, NO USE OF Y/N, AFAB!READER, PORN WITH BARELY ANY PLOT, CONFESSIONS, A LITTLE BIT OF ANGST IF YOU SQUINT, PIV SEX, ORAL SEX (F RECEIVING), FINGERING, CUM EATING (KINDA???), UNPROTECTED SEX, MULTIPLE ORGASMS, LOWKEY JUST PURE FIFLTH.

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 wc: 9120.

— • ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𐔌 a/n: PLEASE IGNORE ANY REPETITION OR SPELLING MISTAKES, THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD. THIS IS MY FIRST POST SO THATS KINDA NERVE WRACKING AS FUCK. THIS IS JUST PURE FILTH. ENJOY!

There was something heavy in the air.  Not a sound, not a scent, but a pressure. Something unspoken. Something that curled around your ribs and held tight.

The night was calm in the cruelest way. The moon hung high, too full, too bright, almost taunting as it cast its sterile glow over the land like a searchlight from some faraway watchtower. It illuminated the world in soft silvers and shadows, a dreamscape painted in shades of ghost.

A breeze passed gently through the camp, soft as a whisper against your cheek, lifting strands of your hair into the air like marionette strings, dancing, weightless, untouchable. Everything felt still. Everything felt final.

The only sound that dared disturb the quiet was the soft, hypnotic crackle of the fire pit before you. Flames licked upward in lazy waves, casting flickering gold across your skin like a lover tracing their fingers over your face. The embers rose and drifted like fireflies, glowing briefly before vanishing into the dark. It was dancing for you, you thought. Just you. Everyone else had long since turned in, tucked beneath thin blankets and uneasy dreams. They had the luxury of rest. You didn’t.

You sat frozen in the silence, but inside, your body was at war. Your stomach churned violently, twisting into something sharp and unfamiliar. Your throat ached with dryness no matter how much water you swallowed. Your thoughts ran like wild dogs, howling and circling and refusing to quiet no matter how many times you begged your brain to shut up, just for a minute.

But it wouldn’t. Because tomorrow, when the sun rises, you and the other Banditos would march toward Dema. Toward Nico. Toward the Bishops. Toward whatever end awaited you.

It wasn’t the danger that rattled you. You weren’t afraid of the violence or the chaos. You were brave, by now, fear was just another scar you'd learned to live with. You were prepared. If tomorrow brought death, you'd greet it with your eyes open. You could die. You might. And strangely, you’d made peace with that.

No, what twisted the knife wasn’t the dying. It was the possibility of dying unfinished.

There were words you’d never said, hands you never held long enough, songs you never got the chance to sing in full. There were people you loved too quietly, truths you swallowed whole, dreams that still slept in your chest, waiting.

That’s what kept you awake. Not the mission. Not the war.

But the ache of all the things you’d leave behind if the night turned out to be your last.

Your spine curved lazily as you leaned into the fire’s warmth, shoulders slouched, arms folded loosely over your stomach like a barrier or a comfort, you weren’t sure which. The flames swayed slowly, like they had all the time in the world, their movements unbothered, drunken. They licked at the cool air with hypnotic ease, flaring up in sudden bursts, then sinking into soft orange sighs. The heat kissed your face, prickling your skin, drying your eyes, but you didn’t blink. You couldn’t look away. It was easier to stare at the fire than face the ache in your chest. Easier to pretend you weren’t unraveling.

Until you saw it: a flicker of motion at the edge of your vision, barely there, but enough to pull you back to the moment. You didn’t startle, not yet. You let your eyes drift sideways, slow, indifferent. Just in case it was nothing. Just in case you could stay lost a little longer.

But then your entire body snapped upright. The curve in your back vanished; your spine went taut as a bowstring. Not because of what was there. But who.

Clancy.

He moved like someone carrying too many ghosts. Quiet. Measured. Like every step had already been accounted for. His silhouette cut against the firelight, carved from the very night itself. Even before his name had formed in your mind, your body knew. Every inch of you recognised him like a half-remembered dream that never left.

You were one of Clancy’s closest confidants, had been since the beginning. You were there when the first whispers of rebellion passed through gritted teeth. You were the first he entrusted with the plan to bring Nico to his knees. He admired you, for your loyalty, for your honesty, for your courage that never once wavered when others hesitated. But he rarely spoke to you.

Not really. Not like you wanted him to.

Aside from tactical briefings, clipped check-ins, and the occasional brittle joke when the tension got too thick, he kept his distance. Always a respectful one, always professional, always just far enough away to make you question whether the closeness you felt was real or imagined.

At first, you didn’t mind. You respected Clancy too much to expect anything more than what he gave. But respect turned into something softer. And then sharper. It began with admiration. Then it deepened, thickened, took root somewhere quiet and desperate inside you. Admiration bloomed into devotion, bright, wild, uncontrollable. And that devotion? It curdled into craving. A craving that lived in your throat, that coiled in your gut, that kept your mind circling his name in the darkest hours of night when sleep refused to take you.

He haunted you, not like a ghost, but like a song stuck in your head, beautiful and maddening, looping again and again, never offering the release of a final note.

And now he was here. Real. Solid. Walking straight toward you.

There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, to give. But all you could do was sit there, spine straight, fingers digging into your sleeves, trying not to look like you were coming undone.

Because Clancy was the reason you couldn’t sleep.

You settled into a posture of practiced nonchalance, even as your heart betrayed you with its erratic, uneven rhythm, a staccato beat against your ribs that felt far too loud in the silence between you. You met his gaze with a firm, quiet nod as he neared the fire, the flames casting restless gold over the sharp planes of his face. His dark eyes locked onto yours, unreadable and unwavering.

“Can I sit?” he asked, voice roughened at the edges, like something brittle trying not to crack. There was a rasp behind the words, fatigue woven into the syllables like threadbare cloth. He looked exhausted. Not just tired, but worn, like a photograph left out in the sun too long. You wouldn’t be surprised if he thought the same about you.

You nodded once more, sharp, instinctual. Despite everything he stirred inside you, you knew without question: if Clancy asked to sit with you, you'd never say no.

What you didn’t expect, what hit you like a quiet tremor, was that Clancy didn’t choose one of the other empty logs surrounding the fire pit. No, he sat beside you. On your log. Close enough for the heat of his body to blend with the warmth of the fire. Close enough to feel the shift in the air as he exhaled.

You didn’t look at him. Not yet. You were afraid if you did, something would give away what was blooming too loudly beneath your skin.

The silence that followed was no longer peaceful. It was heavy now, charged. The kind of quiet that buzzes beneath your skin and makes you desperate to fill it with anything. A cough. A word. Anything. You swallowed hard and stared at the fire as if it could speak for you.

Clancy mirrored your posture, shoulders hunched slightly, elbows on his knees, gaze trained on the flames as if they held answers to questions neither of you could voice. There was a restlessness in him now, written in the way his fingers curled into his palms, the way his foot tapped once, then stopped.

You stole glances at him in the flickering light. But It was harder now to be subtle when he turned to look at you.

You felt the weight of his eyes on your profile before you heard his voice. “Why are you still awake?”

It cut through the silence like a knife through paper. Not harsh. Not even curious.

You turned to him, slowly this time, letting yourself look fully. And something in you softened without permission.

Clancy’s face, usually so composed, so unreadable, wore something different tonight. He looked uncertain. And underneath the exhaustion, he looked... open. In a way that made you ache. In a way that made you wish he’d look at you like that always.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you answered, your voice low, nearly swallowed by the gentle crackle of the fire and the whisper of the wind through the trees. Clancy didn’t move, but you could feel him watching you, studying you like you were a riddle he hadn’t quite solved.

“Why?” he asked.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t know the answer, but because you did. You were still deciding how much of it you were brave enough to give him.

You shrugged slightly. “Just… thinking about tomorrow.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the truth, either. The truth was sitting twelve inches away from you, watching with careful eyes.

Clancy’s lips twitched, like a thought had almost made it to the surface but lost its nerve. “I didn’t take you for the nervous type,” he said finally, his tone somewhere between jest and contemplative. Like he was trying to decide whether he believed it himself.

You let out a soft laugh before you could stop it, light and breathy, barely there, but enough to break the tension between you like sunlight cracking through a cloud. You turned to him, your eyes heavy, but softer now.

“What gave you that impression?” you murmured.

For a heartbeat, he didn’t answer. He just looked at you, and the look wasn’t unreadable anymore. This time, he was almost smiling.

“You’re brave,” he said.

The words weren’t flippant. They weren’t tossed out to make you feel better. They were spoken like fact. Like something carved into stone. He said them like he meant them and not just about tomorrow. Not just about the war. And the way he said it, like he’d been holding it in for far too long, made your stomach twist and flutter all at once.

Your mouth tilted, a quiet movement like the ghost of a smile, subtle, unsure. The corners lifted just slightly, betraying something softer under your skin.

“I’m not scared of dying,” you said at last. “If that’s what you’re wondering.” The words lingered between you like smoke, curling slow and invisible into the dark.

Across from you, Clancy watched. The firelight caught in his eyes, turning them to molten amber. His brow twitched, just a fraction, just enough. “Then what is it?” he asked, quiet curiosity woven into every syllable. His voice was calm, but there was something intent beneath it, something patient and listening.

Your shoulders sagged in the silence that followed, your whole body exhaling as if the truth itself was too heavy to carry upright. You looked away again, your gaze falling to your boots, then to the glowing sticks collapsing into coal and ash in the fire pit.

You hated that. Hated that your body recoiled when your heart wanted nothing more than to meet his gaze head-on. But your eyes flinched away, traitorous things, even as your mouth opened again.

“There’s just… so much I haven’t done,” you murmured, your voice caught somewhere between confession and surrender. “So many things I still haven’t said. Things I’ve buried because I thought I’d always have more time.”

You felt his stare pressing gently into the side of your face, and it gave you the courage to finally look back. “I need to tell someone something,” you admitted, voice roughening at the edges. “But it’s not the right time.”

There was a beat of silence. Clancy’s expression didn’t shift right away, but then, slowly, it did. The steel in his jaw loosened. The shadow behind his eyes softened. Something inside him gave.

Understanding.

Not pity. Not confusion. But deep, quiet, aching understanding. And somehow, that was scarier than rejection. Because Clancy saw you. And it made you feel naked.

Your gaze broke away from his like it burned. This time, your mind and body agreed, turn away, say something else,don’t let this moment grow too large to hold.

Clancy opened his mouth, something forming there, but you cut in before the words could fall.

“What about you?” you asked quickly, turning your face back toward the fire. You followed the smoke with your eyes, tracing its slow vanishing into the breeze. “Why are you still up?”

He paused. Just a flicker of surprise in the air between you, but then he adjusted, slipping back into place beside you like a river rerouting itself. His body mirrored yours again, both of you hunched toward the flames like they were keeping secrets.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, and the echo of your earlier words wasn’t lost on you.

You glanced at him sideways. “You don’t sleep much. I’ve noticed.”

Clancy turned toward you his eyes narrowing, just barely, something flickering in them. Curiosity, maybe. Caution. “You’ve been watching me?”

“You’re hard not to notice.”

He huffed a short breath through his nose, maybe a laugh, maybe disbelief. “I didn’t think I was,” he murmured.

You held his gaze this time, steady and warm. “You’re always around. Always moving. Always carrying things no one else wants to name out loud. You’re the first one up in the morning. The last one to turn in at night. You look like someone who's been running a long time and forgot where the finish line is. You look tired, Clancy. You look like you haven’t put that weight down in years.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just turned back to the fire, his features drawn in profile, shadows pooling beneath the bones of his face. You worried, for a second, that you’d been too forward. That you’d peeled too much of him back.

“Sometimes when I sleep…” he started, his voice quieter now, almost fragile. “I’m afraid I’ll wake up back there.”

He didn’t have to say the name. You knew. Dema. The place that twisted everything it touched. The place that still clung to him like ash under the skin.

You turned to him fully, your face crumpling at the edges, sympathy blooming across your expression like a bruise.

“You won’t,” you said, your voice firmer now. Not because you were sure, but because he needed someone to be. “After tomorrow, that place won’t touch you again.”

“Do you really believe that?”

You hesitated. “I need to.”

Clancy stared at you a moment longer. Then he nodded slowly, the lines in his face easing just slightly. “Thank you,” he said, and the words felt too sincere for something so small.

A quiet, bitter laugh slipped out of you. “For what? False hope?”

“For staying,” he said simply. “When you didn’t have to.”

You looked at him, and the weight of everything unspoken swelled in your throat again. “I wanted to,” you whispered.

Boldly, maybe even recklessly, you reached out.

Your fingertips hovered for a breath over the curve of Clancy’s hand, then lowered, deliberate but shaking. The contact was barely a whisper, skin brushing skin like a question asked too quietly.

He flinched.

It wasn’t violent. Just a small, reflexive shudder, like his body hadn’t been warned tenderness was coming. His hand twitched under yours, pulled back slightly as if burned, not by fear, but by surprise.

You recoiled instantly, shame rising like a flood.

“Sorry,” you said in a rush, voice breaking over the word like a wave over rocks. “I didn’t mean to-… scare you or anything.”

“It’s okay,” Clancy cut in gently, but the words felt paper-thin against the hot embarrassment curling in your stomach.

“No, I shouldn’t have,” You stood too fast, the world tilting slightly as your blood surged to your head. Panic was climbing your spine, tight and dizzying.

“I’m sure you didn’t come out here to talk to me,” you said, words tumbling out too fast, brittle and defensive. You were already stepping back, fumbling for your exit. “I’ll let you be.”

You turned on your heel, eyes stinging, ready to disappear into the dark like a coward. Your hair whipped around your shoulders, your boots kicked up dust, and you almost made it a full step before-

“Wait.”

You felt it before you saw it, the sudden, solid weight of his hand wrapping around your wrist. Not tight, not demanding. Just... present. Anchoring.

You froze.

Your name left his lips like a plea. You turned back slowly, he was still there, still seated on the log, eyes wide with something that looked dangerously close to longing.

“Don’t go,” Clancy said, voice barely above a whisper. The fire lit his features in soft, amber gold, jaw clenched, lashes low. Vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. “Just... stay. Sit with me. Please.”

The last word shattered something in you.

You nodded before your voice could catch up. “Okay,” you breathed. “Yeah.”

You moved back toward him, slower this time, like approaching a wounded animal. You eased back onto the log beside him, the same spot you’d jumped from seconds earlier, but neither of you spoke at first. He didn’t let go of your wrist immediately.

His grip wasn’t forceful. It was hesitant. Like he was afraid letting go would undo whatever thread had been pulled taut between you both. After a few long, firelit seconds, he exhaled, eyes dropping, and finally released you. You swore you still felt the ghost of his hand around your skin.

“You should tell them.”

The words pierced through the quiet, soft but certain.

You blinked, brows pulling together like the sky before a storm. You turned your head toward Clancy slowly, searching his face for meaning, for context.

“What?” your voice came out hushed, winded, like you’d just missed a step.

Clancy’s eyes didn’t leave the fire at first. He spoke slowly, deliberately, like the thought had been sitting on his tongue for too long and now, at last, demanded air.

“You said earlier… you needed to tell someone something, but it wasn’t the right time.”

You nodded, barely.

He turned to face you then, finally, fully. His voice was softer than it had any right to be. “You should tell them.”

There was a pause, one of those full, loaded silences that stretch and strain and hang between two hearts like a thread that might snap with the wrong breath.

Your head lowered, gaze falling to the shifting glow of the coals, as if answers might be written there in ash and ember.

“We don’t know how much time we have left,” Clancy continued, his voice threaded with something aching and honest. “You shouldn’t die with that kind of regret sitting in your mouth like a stone.”

His words were heavy, too heavy, and yet they made you feel weightless. Like you could float away on them, like they mattered more than you were prepared for. You loved how they sounded. Thoughtful. Poetic. Spoken with the kind of conviction only someone like Clancy could carry.

But still, something inside you twisted. You had the distinct feeling that this was his way of asking, no, begging, for you to say what he already suspected.

Like he was trying to open the door for you so you wouldn’t have to reach for the handle yourself.

You shut your eyes tight.

Enough.

Enough hiding behind half-smiles and subtle glances. Enough swallowing the words that had been burning holes in your throat for weeks. The end was crawling closer every hour. You were done pretending time was something you had.

Your voice was quiet, breathy. Almost too soft to be real. “I think about you,” you said, “Sometimes.”

Clancy didn’t move, didn’t speak. You could feel the way he stilled beside you, utterly still, like a held breath.

“More than I should.”

The flames blurred before your eyes, but still you didn’t blink. You couldn’t risk looking at him. You couldn’t risk seeing something in his eyes that would break you.

“I want to see you more than I should,” you continued, the confession bleeding out of you in a rush now. “I like you more than I should.”

The silence after that was devastating.

The fire cracked, something popped. But Clancy said nothing. The air between you was thick and aching.

So you filled it.

“I don’t know you nearly as much as I want to,” you murmured, finally tearing your gaze away from the flames to stare down at your boots, your hands. “And you don’t know me. Not really. But I admire you, Clancy. So much. You’ve done so much, for all of us. For me.”

You ran a hand through your hair, the motion sharp, almost desperate. Your lips curved into a frown that felt too familiar, too practiced.

“But it’s too late now.”

The words cracked on your tongue like dry wood.

Your shoulders sank, your body folding in on itself. You let your head fall, eyes shutting tightly against the sting behind them. You stared at the dirt. At the soles of your worn boots. At anything but him.

Then warmth.

A touch.

You felt it first beneath your chin, a careful hand, tentative fingers guiding your face upward, like you were something fragile. Your breath hitched as your eyes opened, and there he was.

Clancy.

Closer now.

His eyes glowed gold in the firelight, deep and endless and searching. His thumb brushed against your cheek with something bordering reverence.

Your lips parted slightly, stunned into stillness. You looked up at him like he was the last beautiful thing in a world you’d already mourned.

He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against yours. “It’s not too late,” he whispered, so low you almost didn’t catch it, but you felt it like thunder in your ribs.

Then he kissed you.

It was soft at first, so soft it felt like a promise. A question with no words, a tremble of vulnerability wrapped in warmth. Clancy’s lips brushed yours with a gentleness that ached. Tentative. As if he thought any more pressure might splinter you into pieces.

So you took the leap.

Your hand rose slowly, almost reverently, to the nape of his neck, fingers sliding into the mess of hair there. You pulled him closer, deepening the kiss with every inch closed between your bodies. The shift was sudden, hungry. All the quiet yearning you’d spent days, weeks, months, silently nursing now poured out of you with desperate abandon.

Clancy responded like he’d been holding his breath. Like this was something he’d wanted longer than he could bear.

His free hand slid to your waist, splaying across your side with a careful kind of urgency, like he was grounding himself in your warmth. He kissed you back with mounting fervor, his breath hot and shallow, puffing against your mouth in rhythm with his racing heart. Yours answered in kind, thudding, wild, impossible to contain.

And then you tasted it.

Him.

Salt and smoke and something uniquely Clancy, the hum of him vibrating through your mouth, buzzing against your lips like electricity caught in your chest. His tongue skimmed your bottom lip. You gasped softly, and that small sound was all he needed. You met him eagerly, mouths melting together in a tangled, breathless rhythm.

Between kisses, he whispered against you: “I think about you too,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. “More than I should.”

His words wrecked you.

His mouth broke away from yours only to trail down your neck, pressing a slow line of open-mouthed kisses to your throat, the underside of your chin, worshipping you in soft, devoted movements. Your head tilted back with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers gripped at the neck hem of his shirt.

Every place his lips touched burned like starlight. Every breath you took felt shared, no longer yours alone.

When he finally pulled away, your eyes cracked open reluctantly. His face hovered inches from yours, pupils blown wide.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

You simply breathed.

Fast. Shallow. In sync.

The night air around you felt thick with unsaid things—desire, fear, maybe even hope. Then Clancy, still catching his breath, suddenly grasped your hand, interlacing your fingers like it was instinct.

“Come with me,” he said, no hesitation this time. His voice was low, raw, firm.

You didn’t ask where.

You followed.

Your legs felt strange, unsteady beneath you, your body light and thrumming with adrenaline and anticipation. He pulled you gently, yet insistently, across the darkened camp. It was the same churning, breathless energy that had twisted in your stomach all day, but now it didn’t feel like dread.

The tent flap rustled as Clancy slipped inside, holding it open for you. You stepped through the threshold without a word, and the moment the fabric fell shut behind you, the world was swallowed in black.

For a second, you could hear only the sound of rustling, the faint swish of movement. Then, a flick. The rasp of a match.

A small flame bloomed, a match cradled between Clancy’s fingers.

You exhaled softly, watching him in the glow. He was crouched low, his expression illuminated in soft amber light. The sharp lines of his face softened, eyes shadowed but still impossibly expressive. He looked up at you, not saying anything, but everything was there in that look.

You didn't know if you'd ever been seen like that before.

He brought the match to the kerosene lamp. With a low whoomph, light filled the tent, dim, golden, quiet. It cast everything in warmth. His hair gleamed like copper at dusk. The air between you glimmered with tension.

Your eyes followed him as he looked up at you, his gaze unreadable beneath the flicker of lamplight. With a slight tilt of his head and a quiet nod, he gestured to the makeshift bed at the back of the tent, a couple bunched up sheets, blankets and pillows bunched together in the corner. It wasn’t a command, but something softer. A request.

So you moved, albeit hesitantly. Your limbs felt too stiff, too aware, as you sat on the edge of the bedding. You didn’t know where to place your hands, didn’t know where to look.

He remained kneeling in front of you, still as a held breath. His eyes roamed over you with an almost clinical precision, but there was nothing cold in it, just something painfully earnest. Clancy watched you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this moment. Like if he blinked too long, you’d vanish.

It made you want to look away. To shrink under the weight of his stare. But you didn’t. You let him see you, every fracture, every unspoken ache.

Let him dissect you if he had to. Let him learn your bones like a poem.

He inched closer, the air between you charged and fragile. You expected him to speak, to soothe the silence somehow. But the quiet stretched on, coiling between your ribs, making every shallow inhale feel loud, ragged.

Then his hands rose, slowly, gently, framing your face. His thumbs hovered just beneath your jaw, warm against the tremble in your throat. You thought maybe he was checking if you were real. Or maybe he just needed to feel your pulse to remind himself you were alive. That he was alive.

And in that moment, you realized something: Words had nothing on this.

This was louder than language.

The way his gaze swept across your face, memorizing every freckle, chasing every crease, lingering on the curve of your lips. The way his mouth found your skin like it had a map etched beneath it, pressing soft kisses to your neck, pausing under your jaw, finally brushing against your lips like a whispered vow.

His hand slid to your waist, grounding you as he leaned in further. He gently guided you backward, your body sinking into the worn bedding beneath. One hand braced against the ground beside your head, the other found the hem of your shirt, hesitating for the briefest second.

His eyes met yours again, seeking permission, not possession.

His head dipped lower, soft tufts of hair brushing your collarbone, lips ghosting your skin as he started to lift your shirt, inch by inch, as though he was unwrapping something sacred.

But then, you stopped him.

Your hand curled around his wrists, gripping tight. Your whole body stilled, the air caught in your chest like a bird with clipped wings.

Clancy froze instantly.

His eyes lifted to meet yours, his expression softening into something painfully tender. From this close, you could see every fleck of amber in his irises, every crack in the armor he usually wore so well. His chin hovered just above the seam of your pants, breath warm against your stomach.

“Are you-…” you began, voice cracked and low, “are you sure about this?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, uncertain, propping yourself up on your elbows so you could see him. So he could see that this mattered.

His lips parted, and for a moment, he simply breathed.

“Yes,” he said, no tremor in his voice this time. Just truth. He shifted up, hands moving to either side of your head, caging you in with nothing but presence. Your noses nearly touched, eyes locked so tightly you didn’t dare blink.

“I need this,” he murmured. “I need you.”

His hand slid back down your side, grazing the edge of your ribs, shirt trailing after his fingertips. His voice dropped lower, words brushing your ear like silk.

“I need you now,” he breathed, “just in case-”

A shiver ran through you as his lips grazed the curve of your ear, his voice soft and sacred.

“Just in case,” he said again, and pulled back, just enough to see you. Just enough for you to see him.

He dipped his head, and the tip of his nose traced yours, slowly, deliberately, until his lips hovered over yours again.

And then he kissed you.

Not like before. Not tentative.

This kiss was claiming. Honest.

You gasped into it, flushed and feverish, as warmth bloomed through your chest and bloomed outward, reaching your fingertips. You were burning and floating, grounded only by the weight of him pressed above you.

When he finally pulled back, barely, barely, your voice emerged in a whisper, breathless and trembling.

“In case what?”

You already knew. But you needed to hear it.

Clancy’s hands tightened around your waist. His lips lingered at your temple before he whispered the answer against your skin.

“In case I don’t get this chance again.”

You barely had time to react before his mouth was on yours again, urgent, alive.

“Let yourself live before we die,” he said into the kiss, voice rough and full of something infinite.

Your arms rose instinctively above your head, the fabric of your shirt peeling away in Clancy’s hands with a soft rustle. The cold air met your newly bare skin like a ghost, swift, biting, and your shoulders tensed, breath catching as goosebumps bloomed across your arms. But the chill wasn’t the only reason you shivered.

It was him, his hands skimming over your ribcage, warm and instant. It was his eyes, tracing every inch of you like they were trying to memorize you.

Your bra unfastened with a tug behind your back, his fingers confident, precise. In contrast, yours trembled as they reached for him, landing unsteadily on his shoulders.

Then his lips were on yours again, grounding you.

He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, and none of it. His mouth found the curve of your neck, that sensitive place just above your pulse. Then lower, chasing the line of your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. Each kiss a brand. A benediction.

And still, he didn’t stop. His hands roamed downward, slow and hungry, learning every dip and rise of your frame. His knuckles dragged sparks across your stomach, then lower, gripping the fabric of your pants in his fists. You arched your back wordlessly, hips lifting in silent permission.

Clancy's voice broke the silence, low and hoarse with something deeper than lust. "You know…" he began, his knuckles grazing the inside of your thigh, "I never let myself think about you.”

Your breath stilled. He looked up at you, the firelight flickering in his eyes like something primal.

“Especially not like this.”

The muscles in your thighs clenched as his touch ghosted higher, and for a moment, he paused, pulling back to let his hand rest on your knee. He lifted your leg, cradling it gently as he guided it over to rest against his hip. His lips pressed to your knee, feather-light, a kind of admiration in every motion. His gaze darkened with longing and a hint of ache as he spoke again.

“I couldn’t let myself get attached,” he confessed, his eyes narrowing as though he was trying to see into you, through you.

“But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined this…” His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path up your inner thigh, barely brushing the edges of heat. “Imagined you, like this. At my mercy.”

The confession left you breathless. You swallowed hard, lips parted in awe, in want, in disbelief.

"I will say," he continued, his voice roughened by desire, "you’re far prettier from this view than I ever dared to picture."

Your heart skipped and then stumbled, a single press of his thumb against your clothed clit jolting your entire system. Air fled your lungs, your ribs strained against it. Your eyes locked with his, mouth parted as your lips quivered on a word that never came.

His cheek brushed against your knee as he leaned closer, lips dragging along your skin.

"You're shaking," he whispered, almost to himself, eyes fixated on your trembling thighs.

And you were.

You'd seen him shattered, bloodied, cracked wide open by grief and rage. You'd seen him worn down, afraid, burning with resistance. But this? This, being unraveled by his hands, his voice, his care, was something else entirely.

A sigh left your lips, breathier, needier this time. Your teeth caught your bottom lip as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them off with slow purpose.

His thumb returned to your clit, this time direct, circling softly, steadily. The sound you made was involuntary, needy. Your hands clawed at the ground beneath you, gathering the sheets like you were trying to ground yourself in the fabric of reality.

"Is this okay?" Clancy asked, voice hushed. His eyes never left your face, watching every twitch, every flicker of expression as his thumb continued its rhythm.

"Yes," you gasped, hips arching ever so slightly into his hand. “Please, yes.”

He gave a faint, crooked smile.

“Stay still,” he said softly, though there was command buried beneath the sweetness. His control cracked at the edges, breath heavy now, fingers trembling as he pushed further.

His middle finger dipped between your folds, pressing gently, carefully, until he was inside you, up to the knuckle. Your entire body tensed around him.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, voice shaking, your head falling back against the bedding, lashes fluttering shut.

“That’s it,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. One hand stroked your thigh as he leaned closer between your legs. “Eyes on me.”

His voice didn’t just speak, it coaxed, soft and sinful, threading itself through your nerves like smoke. And you obeyed. Even as your eyelids fluttered and your back curved in aching response, your gaze stayed tethered to his.

Then he slid another finger into you, slowly, deliberately, curling them inside you, and pumping in and out like he was playing a rhythm only the two of you could hear.

There was no mistaking the pleasure he took in watching you unravel. It was written in the way his breath hitched each time your body clenched around him. In the sharpened focus of his eyes, how they flicked between your face and the place where you came apart beneath his touch. And still, he watched. Like he was studying every cause and effect, every flush of skin, every stuttered breath, every tremble. He knew where to press, how to angle. He learned your body as if it were scripture written just for him.

And that thumb, God, that thumb. It never stopped moving in those tight, devastating circles over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to a cliff you weren’t sure you wanted to survive.

Sweat collected at your temple. You needed to be closer, needed him, not just his hands. This was exquisite torment, but it wasn’t enough.

Your hands, unsure but aching, slid from his shoulders down to the stole that draped loosely around his neck. The fine fabric wrapped around your fingers. You clutched it, wound it around your hand, berthed yourself to it, and pulled.

The kiss you stole was urgent, messy, mouths colliding in half-breaths and heat, your desperation spilling into his lips. It was short, but it left you breathless, like you’d sprinted through a dream and woken up wanting.

Clancy's pupils dilated. His irises darkened, hardened, like a shell casing clinking inside the barrel, cold and dangerous.

He pulled back, just enough to look you in the eye, to let the weight of his words settle into your bones.

“Do you know what I enjoy more than watching you squirm?” He asked it like a secret. A sin he was inviting you into.

Below, his fingers pushed deeper. The wet, obscene sound of them inside you filled the space between your whimpers. He watched the way your body welcomed him, how your legs spread wider, hips lifting, silently begging him to go harder. And he did. With pure, deliberate satisfaction.

Each thrust matched the frantic rise and fall of your chest. Your lungs couldn’t keep pace with what your body wanted.

"Making you squirm."

The words were growled into your ear, the heat of his breath chasing goosebumps across your skin. His cheek grazed yours, stubble scraping lightly. The low rumble of his voice reverberated through you as your body began to unravel.

You whimpered. You couldn’t help it. The sound tumbled from your lips, half-drowned in a moan. Your knees were faltering, your entire body teetering on the edge, frayed and undone.

Your back arched, lifting you from the makeshift bed, your chest pressed flush against his as you gasped for air. He was everywhere. Inside you. Over you. Breathing with you.

You clawed at the sheets like an animal caught in a snare, your nerves firing in frantic, directionless pulses.

“Clancy,” You exhaled his name. Tears welled, not from pain, but from pleasure sharp enough to carve you in half.

He felt it, knew it, and doubled down. His fingers pumped faster, deeper. He curled them just so, dragging across that spot again and again until your vision blurred and your voice gave out.

Then his mouth closed over your nipple.

Your hips jerked. His tongue moved in circles, sucking gently before switching sides. The wet, sudden chill against your neglected breast sent shivers across your skin. When his teeth tugged and then let go with a snap, your whole chest rippled with the shock.

Your hands flew to his back, scratching through the fabric of his shirt, up into the roots of his hair, grounding yourself in him. Giving yourself up to his torture.

And then, emptiness.

His fingers slipped out, and the loss made you sob out a breathless protest.

“What are you-”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then bit. Sharp enough to make you jolt, thighs trembling.

Everything inside you felt combustible. A slow, pulsing fire that started in your stomach and stretched out to your fingers, your toes, the sweat on your brow.

He leaned in again. This time, his face sank between your legs, and he hooked both of them over his shoulders.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he murmured, voice velvet-wrapped steel.

“Let me take care of you.”

His tongue met your clit in one soft, slow stroke. And your entire spine bowed from the feeling of it.

You choked on a cry. He smirked against you, lips already slick with you.

So he did it again. Evan slower this time, more purposeful. Taunting.

He stared up at you, eyes narrowed in focus, as if he was memorizing every twitch your body gave in response. The predator. The artist.

One hand braced over your lower abdomen, holding you still even as you writhed under his mouth. His tongue moved with unbearable precision, soft licks, then flattened ones, then tiny pulses of pressure that made your thighs clamp around his head.

And still he didn’t stop.

You were trembling, soaked in sweat, hands buried in his hair, mouth open in a silent moan. He pulled another whimper from you, and another, and he wouldn’t let up.

You were his to break. And he was doing it so gently.

A deep rumble rolled from Clancy’s throat, feral, satisfied, and resonant, vibrating through your cunt as his tongue dragged slow strokes along your slit. He lapped at the evidence of your undoing, savoring you like a secret he’d finally earned the right to tell. The sounds, the scent, the heat of you, he revelled in them. He was on a mission now, his only objective: to drive you completely fucking insane.

He groaned again, low and wrecked, and it echoed against your skin, a vibration that struck sparks through your spine. His thumb found your nipple again, brushing over it with lazy affection, before his hand curled into something firmer, needier. Fingertips dragged across your flesh, digging in, releasing, grasping again, like he didn’t know if he wanted to comfort you or destroy you.

"Still with me?" he rasped, pausing only long enough to glance up. His eyes were molten. You nodded softly.

"Good girl."

You moaned something incoherent, threading your fingers deeper into his hair, tugging, urging.

Your legs spread wider without you meaning to. The plea was silent, but your body was loud, begging for relief.

And Clancy obliged.

His fingers slid back inside you, rougher now, his knuckles dragging against soaked walls that clenched at the intrusion with desperate gratitude. You gasped, a choked, high-pitched sound, as your hips lifted to meet him, seeking friction, chasing that ever-elusive peak.

Your clit throbbed against the hot press of his mouth. His tongue flicked, circled, sucked, slow at first, then faster, more merciless. He alternated between maddening pressure and featherlight strokes, keeping you teetering at the edge of ruin.

“God, Clancy,” you whimpered, your voice hoarse, eyes squeezed shut. “Please, don’t stop.”

He hummed against you, lips curling at the corners like he was smiling. He wouldn’t stop. Not until you broke again. And again.

Your hips ground against his face, chasing friction like it was oxygen. A bead of sweat rolled down the arch of your throat, over the curve of your collarbone. Your vision blurred, lashes fluttering, blinking through stars.

Every nerve lit up. Every breath was a battle.

Clancy’s hand slid from your cunt to your face. With terrifying precision, he pinched your chin, forcing your head to tilt back. Then, without warning, two fingers, still slick from you, slipped between your lips.

“Suck,” he ordered, low and dark.

You did. You hollowed your cheeks around him and moaned as the taste of yourself bloomed on your tongue. His skin was rough, callused from a life spent surviving, but the underside of his fingers was soft, warm, familiar.

And the sound that came from him. It was primal. A deep, guttural groan that vibrated through the air and settled deep in your stomach.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he gritted, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

He plucked his fingers from your mouth, his digits almost immediately getting back to work, buried deep inside you, his mouth was relentless on you. It only took a matter of seconds for you to cum.

Your whole body clenched. Your thighs tightened around his head, your toes curling, nails raking down the fabric beneath you. A broken sob ripped from your throat as pleasure flooded your system in waves that left you breathless and blindingly alive.

Clancy didn’t stop. Even as you trembled. Even as slickness coated his chin, dripping onto the floor in a hot, glistening mess.

Your hips twitched beneath him, involuntary, as your cries softened into deep breaths. And still, he licked and sucked, until you whimpered out something half-like a plea, half-like surrender.

Only then did he pull back.

A final kiss pressed to your overstimulated clit. The faint pop of his lips leaving you. And then: stillness.

He exhaled hard, lifting his head with a look of feral pride carved into every line of his face. His lips were wet. His jaw was shining. And his eyes…they locked on yours with terrifying focus.

You’d never seen him look more sure of himself.

He dragged a hand slowly down his face, wiped his chin, and let his gaze linger on your dazed expression, your wrecked form, your trembling legs, your unsteady breath.

And before you could catch your breath, before you could register a thought, he surged upward.

His mouth crushed into yours, his tongue sweeping past your lips and giving you no room to protest. He tasted like you, sweet, heady, tangy, and it only made you cling tighter, your arms flinging around his neck, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

He held you close, one hand beneath your thighs, the other pressed to your lower back, anchoring you as if you might float away.

Your body folded into his as if you were made to fit there.

In a frenzy of mouths and hands, tangled in sheets and hunger, you peeled Clancy’s shirt from his body, fingers fumbling in your haste, driven by a storm beneath your skin. The fabric fluttered somewhere behind you, discarded without care, forgotten as soon as it left your hands.

Your palms mapped him like scripture, reading the ridges of his spine with worshipful reverence. Fingertips skated the trench that ran down the center of his back, dipping into valleys and dragging over belt loops like a cartographer plotting every inch of him you’d yet to discover.

His belt gave a heavy clink as the metal slipped from leather. His pants were halfway down his thighs before you could blink.

Then his lips melted into yours again, raw, unrelenting, as the weight of him drove you into the ground. You both moved in chaos, hands tripping over each other in desperation, hearts pounding like war drums, beating in synchrony for the first time.

“I can feel your heart,” he murmured into the column of your throat, voice rough with wonder. His palm pressed flat against your chest, just above your racing pulse. “I can feel you breathe.”

He drank you in like this, skin against skin, as if it proved you were real. His lips trailed lower, soft at first, whispers of kisses over your collarbone, then your breast, your ribs, then rougher, hungrier. His teeth sank gently into the curve of your shoulder. He nipped, tugged, leaving pinks and purples in his wake like you were something he could mark, could claim.

You gripped him tight, your hand wrapping around the thick length of his erection. He groaned lowly, choking on the breath that caught in his throat, and a shudder ran through him like a quake. The tip pulsed against your palm, slicked with a bead of precinct. He rocked slightly into your closed hand, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Fuck” he groaned, forehead pressing to yours.

You strokes become a little faster, and his entire body stiffened, muscles twitching under your fingers. His arms nearly gave out, his mouth falling open with a helpless sigh as he buried his face in your neck.

Then he braced himself, grabbed your hips, and aligned you with purposeful hands, fingers splayed against your skin. He pushed himself inside you.

Slowly. Torturously.

The head of his cock parted you, the thick stretch of him sinking into you inch by inch, carving space for himself until he was fully seated, deep and hot.

Your mouth parted in a soundless cry, breath stolen. Clancy’s head dropped between his shoulders, jaw slack, whispering some half-formed prayer against your chest.

“Shit-…you feel-” he tried, but couldn’t finish the sentence. Could only groan.

Every detail of him was etched in that moment: the way his brows knit tight in concentration. The tremble of his arms as they held him above you. The strands of damp hair falling across his forehead. The way his hips twitched once, reflexively, just to feel you squeeze around him.

He rocked out, slow, just a taste, then slammed back in, all at once. 

You gasped. He groaned.

Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, ankles locking as you arched beneath him.

Clancy studied you like art in motion.

Every movement of your body was mirrored by him, a dance of pressure, adjustment, surrender. If you shifted, he shifted. If your breath hitched, he eased. When you clenched, he pressed harder.

You raked your nails down his back, leaving red streaks, and his mouth fell open in a silent snarl. He loved it.

“Again-” he panted, voice raw. “Do that again.”

You obeyed, dragging your nails again, and he snapped, rutting into you harder.

His hips ground deep, his cock pulsing inside as your walls squeezed him tight. You could feel his control falter. He was unraveling.

But still, he watched you.

Always watching. Like he couldn’t bear to miss a single flicker of pleasure across your face.

Like every shiver, every cry, was another proof of something sacred between you.

The slap of skin filled the tent, the scent of sex and sweat curling around your bodies like incense. Your moans mingled with his grunts, filthy, gorgeous music that no one else would ever hear.

He shifted, grinding in, finding that perfect angle, and your cry broke into a mewl. His rhythm adjusted instantly, rolling his hips against you, your cunt clamping around him tighter with each push.

He traced your jaw, tilted your chin, and kissed you again, tongue plunging into your mouth in perfect time with his thrusts, deep and desperate.

“I love making you sweat…” he whispered against your cheek. “I love feeling you release…”

His biceps flexed as he slipped an arm beneath your neck, lifting your upper body so he could watch as he sank in, slow and deep, again and again. Your mouth hung open in wordless pleasure, a sheen of sweat glistening on your chest.

“I love hearing you say my name.”

“Clancy-” It tumbled out broken, not enough, too much, all at once.

“Yes,” he groaned, eyes blazing, “Just like that.”

He slammed into you harder, one hand clutching your ass to push you into each brutal thrust, your body bouncing in his grip.

You bit into his shoulder, muffling your scream as tears burned behind your eyes. His taste, his heat, the salt of his skin, it was too much. He was too much.

“Look at me,” he gasped, almost pleading, his hand cradling your head as it lolled. “Please, I need to see you.”

He buried himself deep. His teeth gritted. His hips stuttered.

And even as you came apart beneath him, he held on, devouring every flicker of emotion on your face.

Your mind blurred. Your limbs stopped responding. Stars bled into the edges of your vision, your whole body going liquid under his unrelenting pace.

“Fuck” he groaned, voice breaking as your name tumbled from his lips like a psalm.

You felt yourself coming, again. Your body seized, your muscles clenching around him like a vice.

His name split the air, your final cry echoing through the fabric walls as he came, hard, cock twitching as he emptied himself deep into you.

He trembled. Cursed. Clutched you like you were the only thing tethering him to earth.

It wasn’t weird, the eye contact. Not with him. Not now. You wanted him to see. Wanted him to witness what he did to you, how he made you come apart in every sense of the word.

His cheeks flushed, his lips parted, and for a moment, everything stilled.

Then his body softened. His cock slowly slipped free, leaving you open, dripping, aching. His head dropped to the pillow beside you.

And for a moment, neither of you spoke. Just breathed.

Held.

Felt.

The silence settled like dust in the air, slow, weightless, unshaken.

Clancy’s chest rose and fell beside yours, still breathless, as if the echo of what you’d just done lived in the rhythm of his lungs. His arms remained tightly wound around you, his fingers twitching in the aftershocks, the pads of his thumbs tracing lazy circles along your hips.

The tent was thick with heat, air fogged by sweat and sex and skin. But neither of you moved to pull away. There was something sacred in the stillness,something neither of you dared to disturb.

You shifted just enough to see his face, flushed, damp, eyelids heavy. His lashes fanned shadows against his cheekbones, but his gaze found yours like it always did: unrelenting, soft, sure. You were both ruined. You were both whole.

He leaned in and kissed your forehead, nothing rushed, nothing ravenous. Just a tender press of lips to skin.

“No matter what happens tomorrow,” Clancy finally murmured, his voice low, steady. “I’m glad we could do this.”

Your eyes blinked open, focus sharpening on his face. Your throat tightened.

“Me too,” you whispered.

He exhaled a shaky breath through his nose, dragging the edge of the blanket over your bare bodies. The soft rustle of fabric barely cut through the thick quiet, but it felt like a balm. His hand found your waist again, slipping under the blanket like it belonged there, because it did.

He pressed his lips to your shoulder, a lazy kiss without pressure, and you felt your limbs begin to settle, like the storm had finally passed, leaving behind only warm rain and the steady sound of calm.

Outside the tent, the world remained distant. Blurred. Somewhere far off, a night bird called and was answered, and the wind passed gently through the fabric walls. But inside this small shelter of heat and breath and softness, time forgot how to move forward.

Your fingers found the back of his hand beneath the blanket, laced between his without a word. He squeezed once, and you knew he understood everything you didn’t say.

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