"Aight, at the Stain Gala next week! Iāll hold you to that!" Anika said, her laughter mingling with the parting gestureāa playful kiss tossed towards her circle of friends, who, alongside Strato, escorted her to the limousine. Struggling to maintain her composure, her face was adorned with a languid smile, her vibrant personality thriving under the spotlight. Strato, with a gentle yet firm grip, encircled her waist, guiding her into the vehicle while offering warm, engaging smiles to the onlookers.
The evening was awash with the liberal flow of spirits, a setting both were no strangers to. Yet, tonight bore an unusual essence. The familiar grip Strato had around her hips as they swayed to the music carried a new heat, a deeper connection. Anika attributed this intensified sensation to the latest batch of Drops, a privilege her status afforded her early access to. Enhanced senses were making Strato's breath against her neck not just perceptible but electrifying, igniting a cascade of shivers down her spineāa stark departure from the unnoticed. She found herself yearning for his hands to wander further, daring to venture beneath the hem of her dress, with the touch of those clawed gloves caressing the insides of her thighsā¦
"Letās go, my little gem, the night is over." Strato's soft whisper pulls Anika back to reality, though her smile swiftly reclaims its place, her eyes sparkling with determination as she contemplates her next move. In her mind, the night was far from over.
With graceful compliance, she stoops to enter the limousine, Strato's touch lingering on her lower backāa constant, comforting presence, that now Anika could swear was purposefully made to tease her.. Settling into the seat, legs crossed, she leans back, her gaze fixed on Strato as he joins her. The door shuts with a soft thud, and he exhales deeply, methodically removing his clawed gloves and placing them neatly beside him. Anika watches every movement, fighting the impulse to bite her lip in anticipation.
When Strato's gaze returns to hers, Anika leans forward, an expectant spark in her eyes. "Do you have a cigarette?" she whispers, her voice sultry, her half-lidded eyes conveying an interest far beyond the smoke.
Strato's eyebrow arches, his lips curving into a teasing smile. "I do, but I doubt your petty lungs could handle them," he responds, amusement coloring his tone, even as his eyes inadvertently sweep over her, bolstering Anika's confidence further.
"Nonsense. Gimme one," she insists, her body inching closer, hand finding a pretext to rest on his thigh, her intentions crystal clear.
Caught off guard, Strato's breath catches at the escalating tension. Trapped in the confined space, their proximity undeniable, he realizes the complexity of the momentāwith Anika in a state far from sober, seeking closeness he anticipated so badly, but under any other circumstances than current. Gently, but firmly, he captures her wrists, lifting her hands away from his leg. "Darling, I'm not sure you even understand what time is it.. Just sit back and be a good girl until we get you home," he advises, striving for calm even as his gaze unwillingly admires her flushed and defiant expression, the allure of her milky skin in the black dress he starts to hate becoming almost unbearable.
With a pout, Anika retreats to her seat, arms crossed, yet the air between them remains charged.
āFucking disaster," Strato mutters, his frustration evident as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
Anika's response is a mere huff, ambiguous in its causeāwhether it's a reaction to his words or her own irritation at the events.
As the car continues its journey, Strato slowly lets his guard down, lulled into a deceptive calm. However, this is abruptly shattered when he notices, from the corner of his eye, Anika's fingers tracing the slit of her dress, deliberately revealing more of her leg than the fabric initially allowed. Strato's heartbeat thunders in his ears, a mix of desire and dread overwhelming him as he forcibly diverts his gaze to the window, attempting to distract himself. He goes as far as to close his eyes, silently invoking any deity for self-control as he feels an uncomfortable tightness in his clothing. Stratoās cock twitches in his pants, forcing him to shift his position slightly.
"You know..." Anika's voice, laced with a contemplative sigh, cuts through the tension. Her gaze is fixed forward, her fingers now drawing idle patterns on her nylon-clad knee. "I think I've been blind this whole time?"
Her statement hangs in the air, teetering on the edge of a question, seemingly genuine. Strato senses the direction of the conversation and feels a preemptive rush of adrenaline, his heart racing in anticipation yet his mind screaming for a quick cut.
"Sweet, trust me, you better keep that mouth shut until we reach your place," he says, managing to turn towards her with a semblance of his usual assurance, his eyebrows arched in a feeble attempt at levity.
However, Anika's ensuing chuckle sends a wave of unease through him. "Give me one good reason," she challenges softly, her body already shifting towards him with renewed boldness, her movements suggesting she knows he lacks the resolve to resist this time.
Strato recoils slightly, despite every instinct urging him otherwise. "Sweetheart..." he begins, only to be interrupted by her soft laughter.
"Don't bother, I know you don't have one."
Strato's mind teeters on the edge of panic, his breath catching as Anika toys with the collar of his jacket, her fingers gently fidgeting with the fabric. As she leans closer, his thoughts spiral, heart pounding at the prospect of their lips meeting. Yet, in a fleeting moment, Anika's movements shift, her face gliding just past his, compelling Strato to instinctively lean in, yearning for a kiss that evades him. Instead, her whisper caresses his ear, igniting a desire within him to embrace her, to explore the intricate designs of black metal on her bare back she constructed with her own hands. To forget everythingāthe demands of work, the boundaries they've set. This was the essence of Anika, constantly pushing him to the brink. With her, it was a paradox of ease and challenge to let go. The real struggle lay in how crucial she was to him, too significant to let her make such a mistake.
Anika shifts again, her leg sliding over his, sparking a curse under Strato's breath as his hand instinctively finds her hip, only to retreat swiftly to grip the seat's edge. Their interactions, even in moments of inebriation, had always respected the limits they established. But the Anika of tonight seemed to navigate beyond those boundaries.
Strato clears his throat, his gaze averted, wrestling with his next move. Her touch was rendering his mind feverish, as he was painfully aware of every inch where her body makes contact with his. And now, as she practically straddles him, the friction of her inner thighs against his makes him want to groan. He knows he must stop her. The temptation mounts, yet, with a deep breath through nostrils, Strato steadies himself, his hands clenching into tight fists for a moment until veins on the back of his hands are even more visible and then relaxing.
Lifting his gaze to meet Anika's, he's nearly overwhelmed by the intensity there. It's not the dulled, unfocused look of intoxication he half expected but a clear, deliberate gaze. Damned seductress, her presence toys with his senses, leaving him defenseless. Then, as she leans in closer, the lights shut down in Stratoās mind, all thoughts eclipsed by the softness of her lips, the mixed taste of alcohol and the sweet hint of her lipstick.
Strato's groan is involuntary, his hands moving without his mindās command to encircle her. One arm snakes around her waist, the other cradles the back of her neck, drawing her closer as he desperately leans into the paradise her lips are offering him. The imminent regret shadowing this moment of bliss. He knows he will hate himself tomorrow for allowing this to happen. Damnit, heāll hate himself for that in a few seconds, but God, how divine the sensation of her tongue dancing with his, her back arching, molding her delicate body into his embrace, forces all thoughts of consequence become momentarily irrelevant.
Hands roaming across her back, as his fingers tracing the cold metal that follows the line of her spine. Startoās hips jerk up frantically in a mindless attempt to feel friction and that is what snaps him back to reality.
As Anika's whine melds into their kiss, Strato's hold tightens, a mixture of pleasure and agony etched across his face. It takes him a few seconds to drink out the last drops of that sweet nectar of the intimacy sheās providing, even if those werenāt the last in her possession, but the last heād let himself have, before he manages to pull away, despite the protest echoed in her whimper. His hands unwrap from her body and heās quick to gently but firmly cup her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.
Her confused hum, parted lips and eyes heavy with desire, nearly convinces him this is all normalāthat their kisses are a regular occurrence rather than a boundary crossed. Strato, however, steadies himself, thumbs caressing her cheeks in a bid to ground them both in reality.
"Heyā¦" he prompts, seeking her full attention. Anika's eyes open wider, a frown forming as she realizes the restraint in his touch. Her attempt to close the distance again is met with gentle resistance.
"No, no, no, sweetheart... Anika, look at me. You're drunk. We can't," Strato implores, his voice a mix of firmness and care, a testament to the love driving his caution.
āAnd why is that? Have you ever been sober while sleeping with someone?ā
Her retort, half-serious, half-teasing, attempts to trivialize their dilemma. She shifts provocatively, though Strato remains resolute, his focus on safeguarding her from making mistakes. Anika huffs with annoyance, met with another obstacle.
"Isn't this what happens between all friends at some point? You want me, I want you, blah-blah-blah, letās fuck!" she challenges, the nonchalance in her voice mounts Stratoās confidence in belief that what is happening is not a good idea.
Strato sighs, his touch descending to her arms, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Yes, I want you. So much, you have no fucking idea," he breathes out, his tone tightening with emotion and he almost grits his last words trough clenched teeth, before exhaling to relax his jaw.
He leans back in seat, icy eyes never leaving hers.
"But tomorrow you will wake up with a headache in that pretty head..."
His smile, surprisingly easy to feel tender, softens the tension as he brushes a stray lock of red hair from her face. "And a bag of regrets. Iām not going to be one of them," he asserts, ensuring his words resonate, seeking understanding rather than compliance.
The shift in the atmosphere is palpable as Anika processes his sincerity, eventually relenting in her pursuit. Strato exhales in relief, carefully adjusting their positions, helping her back in her place, to ease the intensity of the moment without alienating her. His biggest fear is making her feel rejected, yet he knows Anika too well to believe she'd easily feel unwanted.
Touching her chin, he seeks her gaze once more.
"Let's get you home, Annie."
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Might be too late by now.
Not a fan of pointless labels unless they designated the lines of oppression, Hobie often veiled his emotions, letting them fester in the shadows. Many would think that a soul as raw as Hobie would lay his heart bare with a blunt "I think I love you" amidst the mundane act of sharing fries in a cafeteria. But not with her. This girl, a ticking time bomb of chaos and entwined emotions, had more audacity than him, admitting her love during one of their surreptitious nights in her parallel universe post-mission.
"You know, I've been in love with you, right? Almost from the beginning.ā
She'd smirk, brushing off her confession as if testing him, echoing the very nonchalance she believed he'd portray.
Hobieās response was cryptic, a distant smile, as if saving her words in a vault, weighing their worth. She wasnāt his first entanglement, nor would she be his last.
Anika, though cloaked in naivety, was no fool. The chasm between them was evident - the anarchist and the elite's offspring. A warrior of truth against a seductive deceiver torn between two worlds.
It was her rebellious streak, her defiance against her father's silver-tongued lies, that kept her afloat. But even with her skepticism, it was hard for her to decipher the cryptic truths hidden within Hobieās talk of justice.
The jolt came to him one fateful day when the void of her absence gnawed at him. He yearned not for the adoration she was always eager to shower him in, but for the fire in her eyes, the storms she conjured when he irked her, and the subsequent calm of her apologies. The memory of her lost in thoughts, playing with her elongated bangs, and her vulnerable moments of fatigue in the HQ lounge haunted him.
A month of icy silence, and the voice in Hobieās head grew louder. The realization struck him like a dagger - had they truly been shadows to each other for that long? Question marks punctuated his every thought. No shared missions, no stolen moments in the labyrinth of HQ's corridors. It stung, the possibility that Anika might be evading his presence.
The day he trapped her in the corridor, after a relentless chase that only confirmed his doubts, he seized her wrist, pulling her into his grasp. But the Anika he met was a mirage; her once-vivid eyes now held a void, her lips no longer bore traces of their playful banter. The haunting tranquility of her gaze stirred a profound unease within him.
Words were prisoners in his throat, choked by the maelstrom of emotions. Their silent exchange, though brief, was a tempest of unsaid words and buried feelings.
In the shadows, they parted ways.
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He was a liar.
He senses itāthose moments when the chasm between them widens into an abyss she can't ignore. His glances are shards of ice compared to the warmth she remembers from the other Hobie, the one she's half in love with or maybe more. He's flying blind, guided only by the scraps she's thrown him about his alter-ego, a shadow from another universe.
If only he could pry into the mind of his doppelgƤnger, hack into those comforting gesturesāthose fleeting touches, the weight of an arm around her shoulder while they endure Miguel's monologues. Then he could puppeteer her emotions more deftly. As it stands, he's forced to watch her, hesitating, her eyes seeking answers in his before her lips curve into that hesitant smile.
He gets lucky sometimes. His essence is, after all, cut from the same cosmic clothājust colored by different shades of hell. Those instances, those fractions of seconds when their habits born of survival overlap, he sees her body language uncoil, sees her let down her guard.
Occasionally, his fingers will lift her chin after their conversations, a shared intimacy he never meant but she recognizes. And for that instant, her eyes ignite, betraying what words were never meant to express.
He toys with the idea of unraveling around her, letting his uncalculated instincts sync with her reality. But he knows the precipice he's onāthat one wrong move could snap the tenuous thread connecting them, making all his sugar-coated lies worthless.
Anika's naive, but not a fool. If the discord between the two Hobies becomes glaring, even her raging passion won't salvage the wreckage.
Hobie is a man more often at war with the world than with himself. His decisions, usually calculated to the nth degree, rarely leave him in limbo. But as he lies on her bed, staring at the ceiling while she's out fighting her own battles, he's tornāwrestling with whether his newfound vulnerability is a tactical move or a desire he dares not admit.
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