sweatypapa222

[sweatypapa222]

Insatiable- Caleb/Zayne

❀° ┄───╮

Oh he is so fucked.

All his senses are clouded with such rage that it consumes him enough to set his feet on fire, combat boots pounding the floor as he swerves through the crowd with calculated precision. He knows exactly where he’s heading, and it doesn’t matter whether he’s misunderstood the situation or his gut feeling is painfully correct, one thing will forever ring true: Caleb doesn’t do sharing.

His sights were set on one girl, infatuation so strong it was almost a disease clawing in his throat, drowning him in her presence. Ever since he gained consciousness, she had overwhelmed his sights, his plotting rivaling that of Hades, not to mention he almost had her too, if it wasn’t for that son of a biscuit. Infiltrating smoothly and sweeping the princess right off her feet, it almost seemed like it was Zayne’s second nature to be a homewrecker, but Caleb decides that today would be the last time that would happen. His reign ends today. And there was no way he could escape his death sentence tonight.

The door judders under the pressure of Caleb’s banging, a loud and distinctive sound that wakes Zayne from his afternoon nap, the only time he had to spare in between endless cycles of surgeries and appointments with his patients. Nodding off as he tries coming to his senses, a flare of recognition passes his mind at the sound, attention piqued.

Well, isn’t this a surprise? 

Slipping his glasses over his nose and pushing them against the bridge naturally, Zayne’s hand wraps around the cold metal of the door, pulling it open slowly so the man behind it doesn’t lose his balance. 

“Where is she?” An agonized Caleb bursts inside, sounds close to animalistic. Tsk. That’s not a way to greet someone.

“Before steam starts pouring from your ears, how about you take a seat and we can talk about it like adults?” A stark contrast to the man opposite him, Zayne’s calmness does little to satisfy Caleb’s anger. In fact, he becomes more infuriated at the lack of reaction, especially with the subtle jab at his maturity. In one instance, Zayne is pushed against his wall, hands raised in defeat to diffuse the situation. “If admitting defeat will get you to calm down, then I do so with no further argument.”

“I asked you a question.” Every word is reinforced with the twisting of Zayne’s collar until a sliver of his toned muscles is visible below his loosely knit sweater that’s bunched up around his collar. Caleb fights the instinct to look, mouth running dry,

Clicking his tongue in irritation, Zayne’s jaw clenches in fleeting self-control, however, the heat of Caleb’s body mediates this, a distraction. Of course, the man in questions’ head's so far up his ass that he’s continuing his string of attempted insults and intimidation that hardly rocks Zayne’s mind without heed to their position.

It makes him want to stuff Caleb’s mouth full enough that only pretty sounds could come out, and with a few tears, well… The thought is making his pants tighten, a delicious wave of heat passing over his stomach, the closer Caleb gets. It takes a moment to collect his voice that’s on edge, his hand coming up to Caleb’s shoulders.

“You come barging into my house and demand answers.” His voice is low, forebodingly hanging in the air as he leans closer, mind reeling at how Caleb flinches. “Someone is lacking in respect-” Watching Caleb’s mouth open in reffutal, he interrupts before the thought can form, “And no, she’s not here.”

Surprise flickers in Caleb’s eyes before it’s overcome by anger once more, making Zayne think he’s just looking for an outlet to cope. His purple eyes are attention-grabbing, glimmering in the shadows, almost dangerous, and if someone didn’t know better, they’d be peeing their pants. But from where Zayne is pressed against a wall, Caleb is closer to a puppy throwing a tantrum.

“Respect is what you should’ve had when you went for her.” Caleb’s voice is bitter, but reluctantly, his grip loosens, patting the creases with a half-hearted grin on his face. “But I digress, I’ll take the ‘talk like adults’.”

Zayne’s lip twitches, a smirk surfacing as he gestures his hand towards the living room, Caleb purposefully bumping past him to find a seat. Once they’re both settled on the couch, a cup of tea between them, the room is thick with tension. Whether it’s anger, scents of a crushed ego, or something more… erotic, Zayne can hardly keep his gaze from dropping to Caleb’s hands that have kept surprisingly still, even if the man looks like he’ll explode in any moment.

“You haven’t taken off your work clothes.” The silence is broken by Caleb’s voice, emotions more subtle than previously. Eyes raking Zayne’s figure, his ears flush red, noticing the misplaced creases amongst the perfectly ironed shirt, almost like a marking.

“Late night at the hospital, which is nothing new, might I note.” Zayne nods in response, eyes dropping to the liquid in his cup as he blows gently, steam clinging onto the frames of his glasses. “The fleet?”

“I’m looking to be sent out again in three days, thought I’d visit my hometown before that happens.” Spinning a simple silver ring on his index finger, Caleb reads the cup to filth, tracing the same pattern over and over again, trying to avoid confronting Zayne’s burning gaze. It’s stripping him bare, to the point it’s making the usually stable man nervous, who wants nothing but to squirm under his scrutiny.

“Hm.” It’s noticeable, Caleb’s nervousness hidden behind a facade of subtle fidgeting, and Zayne leans back, stance widening ever so slightly. Good. That got Caleb’s attention. “Are you tired of the small talk?”

“Extremely.” Swallowing a lump in his throat, Caleb attempts to match his stance, but it feels more forced, a mimicking gesture that can’t beat the original. “To be frank, I came here to beat your ass.”

At this, Zayne sighs, almost disappointed at the childishness. Both grown men, physically fighting over a girl, hardly sounds appealing; however, if it were with Caleb… things are bound to get interesting. “Then why haven’t you done it?”

“Deciding.” Caleb's hand flexes on his lap before standing up, the seat squeaking from the released tension, Zayne following suit as he places the cup gently on the center table. Tucking his glasses into his front pocket, he looks almost regal, the situation ironic to his standing.

“I’ll give you the first punch.” Flexing his wrist, he seems almost serene, a princely figure that makes Caleb want to gag in disgust. 

He’s so arrogant it’s making the hairs on the back of Caleb’s head stand, eyes sparkling with more than just amusement now. Caleb was here for the kill. All the possible consequences are flung from his mind at the mere sight of this man, almost making him feel out of control of his body. “You won’t cry?”

Zayne looks at him in disbelief, unable to hide the scoff as he tilts his head in a taunting manner. “How about you land a punch before you act arrogant?”

How infuriatingly enticing.

Accepting the offer, Caleb throws an experimental punch without second thought, Zayne not even flinching, taking the hit with barely a reaction. Fist stinging, Caleb notices how color is quickly rushing a bruise over his cheekbone, a vivid purple that makes him hungry for more. “Does that make it my turn?” Caleb had forgotten that Zayne could speak, his mind too preoccupied by the adrenaline from finally doing something about his anger.

“I suppose it does.” This is far more exciting than Caleb thought it’d be, a formidable opponent that matches his instigating energy. Bracing for a punch that never comes, with the flick of Zayne’s hand, an icy blast brushes past Caleb, skin splitting where it meets the fold of his ear. “If I knew we could use Evol, this fight would’ve been shorter.”

It was a head-to-head battle of forces, Zayne being pulled closer to Caleb, where he could land another punch right before having his fists frozen in place. Breaking the ice prison on a nearby wall, there was little care for their environment, a vase dropping with a loud crash from the vibration, splitting every which way, littering the wooden floor. Zayne, too, was starting to lose his composure, knocking down a side table as he pushed Caleb against it.

It seems to be never-ending, the tossing of bodies until they’re both out of breath, a cloud of smoke forming where their exhales mingle. Looking at the flush of Caleb’s ear, Zayne holds back a groan, not a word benignly exchanged between the two as emotions hang heavy in the air. It would only take one word to break the flimsy string of tension, but neither has decided on the next move.

Lucky for Zayne, he’s quick on his feet.

Flipping Caleb until his face is digging into the material of the couch, Zayne’s body easily covers his back, the weight making Caleb stifle a breath against the coarse fabric. A tent is slowly hiking in his pants, that little traitor, every struggle to escape giving a delicious friction that leaves him almost humping the couch. “Are you satisfied?” Zayne's voice rings in his ear, a taunting dance that forces Caleb to press back against him, feeling how they both were in a similar predicament.

Satisfied? Caleb was sure he wasn’t talking about the fight anymore; there was more to his words, drawn between the lines so intricately it would be difficult to miss at a mere glance. Head shaking, Caleb tries refuting, a breathy whine slipping instead when Zayne’s breath hovers around his cheek, tongue darting out to taste the outline of his lobe. Continuing, when Caleb doesn’t respond, Zayne’s breath is more labored. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

“No.” Finally able to vocalize sober thoughts, Caleb lifts his backside against Zayne, a hiss coming in response before his chin is levelled by a brutish hand.

“You’re disobedient…” A thumb rubs over Caleb’s bottom lip, Zayne’s words reinforced by the rolling of his hips. The gasp that comes in response makes Zayne croon, feeling the lips part around his finger. “Begging to be filled?” Teasingly brushing against the entrance of his mouth, Caleb scowls, squirming away from the finger.

“Shut the hell up.” Caleb hates the joy in the other's voice, especially when he feels it twitch in response. 

“Then what a traitorous body you have.” The sweetest sin he’s ever heard, Caleb’s hips jerk when Zayne’s invading hand palms against his arousal, the vulgar words exciting a part of him that lacked common sense. “Tell me, Caleb. Has she crossed her mind at all ever since you were in my company?”

Caleb’s cheeks flushed, a hot heart throbbing in his chest. The answer is clearly no. He hasn’t. He’d been too busy thinking about how to get his revenge from Zayne, hurt him, and now, his mind was preoccupied wth the feeling of Zayne’s thing pressing against him so feverishly. But to remain silent would mean admitting defeat. “This situation says more about you than me.”

“The only difference is that one of us isn’t ashamed of what they want. The other-” Zayne nips Caleb’s ear sharply, hand flicking the zipper. “-doesn’t want to admit it.” The room feels heavier now, thick with promises sealed between words that the Gods would flush and cower at the thought of. But some sick part of Caleb wants this, even if his mind is able to hold onto the sliver of humanity, the rest of him tells a different tale.

“Is this entertaining to you? Got the girl and now you want the man?” Good job, Caleb. We’re deflecting. Well, isn’t this adding salt to the burn?

Amusement rumbles through Zayne’s chest. “As much as I love the banter, I’m running short on patience.” Fingers slipping past Caleb’s lips, Zayne presses down on the twitching muscle of Caleb’s tongue, humming softly. “Hold onto these for me, yeah?”

Protests muffled by the digits intruding his mouth, Caleb's zipper is undone with a quick stroke, cool air rushing where precum is staining the front of his underwear. There’s no excuse Caleb can come up for that, sounds subsiding in his throat at the feeling of Zayne’s fingers rubbing the wet spot.

“What a shame… I thought you’d be more… defiant.”

Zayne’s mocking voice propels Caleb off the edge, teeth biting down on the soft skin as he shakes his head like a dog digging its canines into a toy. There’s a cry of pain from Zayne before he’s elbowed, grip loosening enough to allow Caleb to slip away, rolling onto the floor with a choked sound. Before Caleb can lunge at the door, he’s tossed over Zayne’s shoulder and unceremoniously thrown on the bed.

“It seems you have yet to learn, Caleb.” Zayne’s voice is sharp as he crawls predatorily over him, Caleb’s cock throbbing at the sound of his name and scolding from the usually well-mannered doctor. “Disobedience will get you nowhere.”

Nostrils flaring as spit balls in his mouth, Caleb shoots it at Zayne’s face, watching it slide down his cheek in a ruggish manner. Again, there’s no reaction, only a glint in his eyes before Caleb is choking on the pillow, face sinking into the softness while his ass is perked up beautifully. His words are swallowed by the pillow, forcing him to be silent, especially when his pants are pooled at his knees in a swift move.

“You come into my house, demand to fight without a fair chance, and you expect me to just take it? No, no, no…” Zayne pushes Caleb’s head down, the soft strands of his hair flitting between Zayne’s fingers smoothly.

Even if Caleb had the opportunity to speak, he wouldn’t know where to start: not knowing whether he’d yell at Zayne to stop or test his limits more for the thrill of the unknown. His inner consciousness in disarray, Caleb’s hands fist against the soft cotton sheets, and tug at it until it creases. Gasping when there’s a rush of air, Zayne has outdone himself, dragging down Caleb’s underwear to tease the plump skin beneath that twitches with every touch. 

And then he slaps.

“You- fucker!” Jolting with a groan, Caleb’s voice can be heard clearly through the pillow, and with another slap, his cock is straining against his stomach. It’s a humiliating experience, being shamed 

“Then how come this little guy enjoys it so much?” A teasing whisper, Zayne’s smooth voice drifts into his ear, fingers ever so slightly running around his puckered hole. “I’m gonna make you scream my name.”

It’s getting harder to defend himself, Zayne’s hand tracing the head and then slowly inching closer to the base while chuckling in dismay at the man beneath him. Caleb’s struggling to breathe through the pillow, every breath a sliver of air that comes only if Zayne permits so.

“Poor, poor little boy, hm? He doesn’t know how to ask.” The feigned sympathy was driving Caleb insane, his hips bucking into Zayne, who simply continues to laugh at his pathetic state. “I’m not interested in waiting either.” 

His middle finger rims the bundle of nerves, feeling how it expands, demanding to be filled by Zayne’s fingers. Even if Caleb was unable to be truthful, Zayne knows his body could never lie, replacing a thousand words and feeding his growing ego. A hand snaking around Caleb’s throat lifts him slightly from the pillow, privileging him a few words. “Sick bastard, I’ll bite your dick off!”

Although usually able to mask his emotions through practiced facades, Caleb’s reaction was bringing out an animalistic side of Zayne, reducing him to nothing but a lust-craved epitome of sin. As if sensing the impending doom, Caleb is starting to get desperate, writhing to the point that the bed squeaks under their weight.

“So feisty.” Another sharp slap echoes off the walls, a crispy sound that reverberates in Caleb’s ear, Zayne drinking in his expressive reaction that travels straight to his groin. It strains against his pants, begging for relief, but since Zayne liked to play with his food, he was used to demonstrating self-control. “Is that any way to talk to me?” Caleb doesn’t have time to think of a snarky remark before Zayne’s hand lands on the same spot once more, leaving a stinging sensation.

A pocket of silence between the two is filled with heavy breathing, Caleb’s pale skin reddening where he’d taken multiple hits. God. What a sight to see.

“No.” Words almost sarcastic, it’s not enough to satisfy Zayne, but it’s enough to know he’s getting somewhere at least. Fine, Caleb’s rear is saved. For the meantime, anyway.

“Then fix the attitude.” Caleb is struggling like a caged animal, fighting against Zayne’s grip relentlessly, almost in pure desperation, and yet… “You haven’t used your Evol this entire time. Are you perhaps into this?”

“Don’t make me spit on you again.” Growling through the pillow, Caleb’s hand swings back to hit Zayne, but is quickly stopped when the sound of a buckle coming undone makes his heart drop, his body freezing as if caught in a spell. But his traitorous cock throbs, tense against his stomach overtaken by neediness and waiting for help that only Zayne could give. “You couldn’t even bother to prep- Ah…!” But Zayne interrupts his sentence when his hips dig into Caleb’s, earning a muffled whine.

Caleb has never been treated so brazenly.

And he’d never thought he’d enjoy it as much as he was right now.

“Tell me, are you so deserving to be treated so nicely?” Zayne is clearly holding back, hips rocking in a controlled manner to allow Caleb to get used to the size before ravishing him properly. Whenever Zayne’s hips meet Caleb’s rear, he instinctively jolts at the feeling of skin brushing over the parts that were spanked raw.

“You make it… ah fuck… sound like I need to beg for mercy.” Caleb’s voice is strained, his body expanding to accommodate Zayne with great effort. Caleb’s back muscles strain, flexing with every thrust, but hidden beneath his form-fitting shirt. The outline makes Zayne fight the urge to trace the muscles and feel how much stress he’s putting on Caleb’s body. But then again, it would be too rewarding for a brat.

“Caleb,” He practically purrs, leaning close enough to whisper in his ear, “When you beg to God for mercy and open your eyes to see him, I’ll make sure it’ll be my face you see.” It’s not even an if. “You like the idea… hah… you’re practically clinging onto my dick.”

Fuck. Caleb clenches even harder around the length, every thrust more punctuated than the last and leaving him a mewling mess. So much so that drool had begun seeping where the cover was between his teeth, face drowning in the pillow to hide his embarrassing sounds. Zayne was disappointed. If he couldn’t enjoy the fruits of his labor, then what’d be the point of putting himself in such a situation?

“Tsk.” Slipping out, Caleb is forcefully flipped on his back effortlessly, where Zayne can see the outcome of his word: a flushed man whose eyes are unfocused, hooded from a lustful haze that’s all-consuming. Fighting the position, Caleb’s forearm falls over his face right before it's torn away and pinned above his head. “Let me see you.” 

Patience running thin, a predatory glint in Zayne’s eyes works otherwise; rather than scaring Caleb, it excites him to no avail. In a single thrust, Caleb swallows Zayne’s length, his warm walls twitching in reaction. The force of the intrusion is enough to reward Zayne with a moan that cracks in Caleb’s throat, interrupted by the sound of their skin slapping, a beautiful disarray of music that features Caleb’s sweet sounds.

Zayne wants more. Caleb is trying to convince himself he doesn’t.

“Ah… Hngh…” Stubbornly keeping his eyes open to resist against Zayne’s declaration of power, he’s chewing on his lip in an attempt to swallow the sounds. But Zayne’s size is mind-numbing, enough that Caleb doesn’t even notice when the hands pinning his wrists migrate to his hips as Zayne is pounding mercilessly into his abused hole.

“Ah… Such a good whore…” It feels less of an insult when coming out of Zayne’s mouth, he had a way of making anything sound like a manipulative praise, that almost creates a surge of pride wash over Caleb. “You’re so tight… hah… Don’t wanna let me go?” He’s being arrogant, reveling in how Caleb’s walls cling onto him with every thrust, the muscles tense from the constant pleasure.

“Bitch…” The word sounds more defeated, and boy, was Caleb loud. His sounds bounce off the walls, even triumphing over the chirping of birds who argued for a neat bowl of seeds hidden in Zayne’s yard. And Zayne was almost convinced Caleb had given up, if it weren’t for the spark in his eyes, a reminder that his resolve wasn’t weak. Caleb was just biding his time to make his next move.

Knocking Zayne to the side, Caleb flips their positions, sinking onto him with a long sigh, the man beneath grunting as his hands shoot out to stabilize Caleb on top of him. Caleb’s sweating, a bead of water tracing down his collar to where his chest his heaving with heavy breaths from the physical labor. Although feeling successful, it’s short-lived as he notices how Zayne doesn’t even look shaken.

No. His hand traces a small bump visible on Caleb’s toned stomach where his arousal protrudes, a hum of appreciation buzzing from his lips, with the other hand resting carefree behind his head. It’s almost like he expected this, Zayne’s eyes silently raking over Caleb’s body with no rush, as if waiting for him to continue. Neither said a word, looking at one another, utterly broken down to nothing but their primal selves, but not one of them wanted to address it. Fuck it, it was already inside, wasn’t it?

Licking his chapped lips and thinking about how much he would come to regret his next decision, it appears Zayne has caught on, raising an eyebrow in acknowledgment at Caleb. “Need help?”

“You wish.” Caleb snaps, arms loosely hanging over Zayne’s shoulder as he lifts before descending in a quick motion, a guttural groan erupting from the depths of his throat. “Fuuuck.”

For once, Zayne bites his tongue, words stinging to be released, but he doesn’t want to mess up the flow they have. Not when Caleb is riding him so gracefully, head tossed back, leaving himself vulnerable, almost comfortable. It’s a sight Zayne knows he won’t be able to see so soon, hips raising slightly to meet Caleb’s, watching how his shoulders tense at every drop. Zayne doesn’t know whether to praise him or punish him for being such a tease.

But at Caleb’s attempt to stroke himself to satisfaction, Zayne’s hand slaps him away, eyes narrowing in a silent order. A flash of anger in Caleb subsides to a moan when Zayne’s hips jerk up sharply, meeting Caleb’s in a rough motion. 

“If you’ll finish it’ll be from my cock and that alone.”

‘Please’ dances on the tip of his tongue, making him so ashamed at the mere thought that Caleb growls, pinning Zayne’s hips down in an attempt to control the rhythm. It’s worse when Zayne isn’t fighting the grip, eyes appreciating where their bodies connect, a low moan settling in the back of his mouth. Caleb is pissed. He grasps Zayne’s chin, fingers slipping over his eyes to impair his sight.

“Mm… hah… feeling shy?” Zayne teases, not struggling against the new adjustment, but Caleb can hear how his voice is far more breathy, all his sensations piqued as he stares into the darkness.

Instinct is starting to take over when Caleb exhales a heavy breath, leaning in to swallow Zayne’s lips as they kiss, tongues pressing against one another in a vicious battle of dominance. There’s nothing pure about it, sounds contrasting one another as Caleb’s movements become sloppier, inching towards his release. Everything was so beautifully wrong, coming together in a melodious discord that only the two could make work.

However, Caleb was starting to forget this was a punishment.

“What the fuck?” He snarls, twitching when he feels Zayne pin his hips down, hindering his movement. Hands wrapping around his throat, Caleb makes a failed attempt to intimidate the doctor, cock painfully pulsing from just barely reaching euphoria. “Ngh…Zayne!”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” He’s smirking, pleased at Caleb’s worked-up state that leaves him mumbling curses. It’s a stalemate, neither man wanting to give up their ground, but demanding the same pleasure that must come at the expense of something from either of them.

Teetering on the edge of release, Caleb’s chest heaves into Zayne’s, every breath more desperate than the last. His nails are drawing blood from beneath the sweater, grip so tight that Zayne just barely winces at the grip. Eventually, Caleb’s hands drop, resolve broken as his forehead rests against the headboard of the bed.

“Mmm.. don’t be cruel… let me come.” It’s as close to begging as Caleb’s willing to go, but it hardly does much to fill the insatiable energy of Zayne, who chuckles mercilessly, shaking his head. It’s not enough, not when Caleb makes it sound like a demand. 

“Didn’t quite catch that, what was it?” Zayne’s hand wraps around Caleb’s arousal, pumping it just to the brink of release in slow, calculated movements. And then he stops. 

“Just let me-” Caleb’s writhing on Zayne’s lap, voice breaking with emotion, but Zayne is relentless, his thumb slipping over the slit to prevent his release. “Ah…Zayne…!”

A patronizing chuckle follows, and Caleb knows Zayne doesn’t plan on letting him come any time soon. But Zayne would be lying if he said his name didn’t sound so sweet when coming out of Caleb’s disrespectful lips, leaving him wanting to fill Caleb to the brink with his seed. And then do it again. And again. And again… Zayne’s frustration clings to the back of Caleb’s head, his hand tugging the strands.

“You want release?” Hearing a defiant growl, Zayne’s grip tightens painfully, the man hissing in pain. “Beg for it.”

“I’d rather die.” Caleb’s voice rings, eyes shooting daggers at an already short-tempered Zayne. This man was testing him in every corner. Not to say Zayne didn’t like it.

Hooking one of Caleb’s legs over his shoulder after successfully flipping their positions, Zayne’s hand pins Caleb to the mattress, reinserting himself just to pound mercilessly. His grip over Caleb’s thigh was tight enough to leave bruises, the muscle beneath flexing in an attempt to break free, with little luck. There was no escape from his consequences now, Caleb realizes, having fucked up to the point of no return.

There was little back talk now, there couldn’t be when Caleb’s eyes threatened to roll back, mouth hanging open against the pillow, misshapen in his hands as a muffled grunt escapes Zayne when Caleb’s walls tighten around his length. But right as he’s about to come… Zayne’s hand is back on the tip, pressing down.

It’s another story for Zayne, who groans in the crook of Caleb’s neck, emptying his load inside with a victorious grin. He’s panting animalistically, hips starting to find that controlled rhythm once more that leaves Caleb mewling for even the slightest of release. “Silence.” Caleb almost shuts up immediately upon hearing the tone.

Slowly pulling out, Zayne smirks, watching himself spill from Caleb’s abused hole, the slickness staining his bedsheets in such a lewd manner that he feels himself growing again, even if he had just finished. Caleb’s eyes are lined with tears from the lack of release, head lolling back into the mattress with a wimpy groan, but the fire in his eyes undeniably begging for more. Zayne caresses his cheek, watching Caleb chew on his lip, tugging at the dried skin that was quickly swelling as a result of his lustful coma.

“You want to come?” Zayne pulls Caleb’s lip from his teeth with his thumb, grinning condescendingly, with the subtle shake of his head. “A punishment isn’t meant to make you feel fulfilled. I hope you learn a thing or two now.”

.

.

.

.

.

From that day on, 

Caleb continued testing Zayne’s limits.

╰───┄ °❀

[sweatypapa222]

Magnum Opus - Caleb/Reader

❀° ┄───╮

Your paintbrush sweeps across the blank canvas, a trail of soft lavender bleeding onto the coarse material, pleasant to the eye. The soft bristles of the brush dip into some more paint, a beautiful burst of color just barely forming before your grip slips, an uneven streak slashing the middle of your piece. A grumble bounces in your throat, nifty fingers that caught the paintbrush mid-air smear your fingers, giving the previous collage of yellow and pink company. Your soul had been held captive by the canvas in its sirenic song that urged you to drown in its water, but that tie had just been broken. Now that your mind is no longer preoccupied, all the thoughts come crashing back, like waves retracting before slamming on the sand harder than before.

Judging eyes scrutinize the piece, your eyebrows furrowing in disappointment at the faint outline of a tiger lily that has a bright orange running right down the middle. Even without distractions, you’re unable to produce pieces that are able to reenact the vivid imagery that swirls in your head, colors dull once mixed with one another. You let out an exasperated sigh, shifting on the stool as you outstretched your arms, neck leaning from side to side slowly, earning a delicious crack. Creaking from stationary limbs nips at your eardrums, sending a shiver down your spine, and a rush of embarrassment at your lack of physical exercise. Nothing felt right today. But there was nothing to worry about: homework was complete, all relationships were at peace, and you’d done all the chores that could’ve possibly bothered you. Yet anxiety clawed in your throat at the reminder of a familiar person, which left a burning feeling that you couldn’t quite explain. Your thoughts are interrupted by a voice, perking up at the sound as a soft sigh escapes your lips.

So much for finding an isolated place.

“About time I found you!” Tara folds over herself after pulling open the door, a beaming and jumpy girl who always drags you away from your paintings, talking about ‘take a break’. “Caleb was looking for you, he almost beat someone up thinking you got asked out.”

Oh boy.

“He needs to find better things to do in his free time.” There's amusement in your voice even as you scowl, dropping the paintbrush in a foggy cup of water. Stirring the stick a few times before leaving it to soak, you prepare yourself for a familiar voice, which, of course, is accompanied by noisy steps.

“Thought you were hiding from me, pipsqueak, almost had to send the cops out to find you.” 

Caleb’s warm voice travels through the room easily, hugging you from all sides of the room while he bows his head ever so slightly to enter the room. A staggering 6-foot-4 man stands in front of you, a goofy grin etched on his face.

“I know you said you wanted space today, but he kept pestering me until I agreed to help him search.” Tara bows, a sincere look on her face begging for forgiveness, like a puppy caught in crossfire. You offer an understanding smile, which pleases her enough that she leaves timidly, leaving the two of you in silence.

When you turn to Caleb, he’s looking pleased with himself, arms crossed triumphantly, until your artwork catches his eye, receiving a hum of appreciation. The slightly ajar window invites a faint breeze that brushes his bangs over his eyes, causing you to shake a disgusting thought out of your head. It boiled in the back of your mind, resurfacing enough to force you to confront it.

I envy the creator who got the blessing of painting you. 

As you’re about to speak this out loud, the words die in your throat, watching him turn to you, excitement buzzing in his eyes. His thumb has a tint of orange, a stark contrast to the pale color of his skin, which he approaches you with menacingly. He continues holding his tongue, eyes speaking for all the words he couldn’t find, something you’d become accustomed to. That only means one thing…

“Don’t-”

“Did you make an oopsies, pipsqueak?” You don’t get past the first word before his hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek fast enough that you hardly process what’s happening. Your hand swats him away, his grin only growing more by the action while you vigorously rub the paint off. 

“I know this isn’t the only reason you came for me, so what is it?” You give him a look that was disappointed but not surprised at his childish antics, arms crossing right below your chest.

Wiping his finger clean on your apron, Caleb pouts like a child, leaning down to get eye level with you. The movement was sudden enough to make your heart flutter before it shamefully settles back where it was before. His sterling purple eyes bore into yours momentarily, reading your face before he huffed, looking elsewhere. He’s upset. But you were too far in your emotions to notice this, your mind going through the motions, trying to comprehend the feeling in your stomach. It couldn’t possibly be anything significant, right?

“You promised me, basketball game. Remember?” Crap. You did not remember. “See? I knew it! I told you you’d forget!” The pout comes back full force, taking over his face, leaving him looking like a puppy who was refused treats. Guilt overwhelms you, but to not let him know, your hands squish his cheeks lovingly, distracting him.

“What are you talking about? Of course I remember!” He wasn’t buying it, lips pursed as he let out a dramatic sigh, hand brushing his bangs that bounced back over his eyes. The hint of a smile tells you he considers giving another chance, which, with the help of a little pestering, earns a heartfelt chuckle before he grumbles reluctantly:

“I’ll hold you to it.”

The bleachers are overflowing with students, their heads becoming small dots in the sea, hardly able to tell the other apart as they adorn bright school colors. Your vision is blurred slightly by the plethora of waving blow-ups that become a blur as they’re wildly shaken, building energy in the enclosed room. It’s almost suffocating, but once your friends catch your eye, your tense shoulders drop, a wide smile forming on your face as you jog over. They had snatched up the best seat in the house, standing before the barriers that isolate the court, the ball being passed almost in front of your face, sending a slight breeze in your direction. But that isn’t what you’re here for, your eyes training over the players before a familiar figure peaks your attention, his smooth wink threatening to steal your footing from beneath you. 

It was the finals, a deciding moment that would determine whether your school would move on to championships, however, all the trophies in the world couldn’t satisfy Caleb’s greedy soul. He isn’t shallow enough to yearn for a materialistic trophy; his competitive heart is constantly chasing the thrill, barely stimulated by mundane classes. He just wants the people he loves to support him and soak in their limelight in a way that only he can make look natural. Your response to his wink is a flushed face that you can excuse for the lack of personal space as you clap until your hands match the red of your face.

Cheering for him until your voice is sore, he steals the ball in fluid motions under the opponent’s nose, easing it into the basket with no trouble. Hanging on the net in a dramatic flare, you catch his eye again, that emotion bubbling in your chest. There’s just something alluring about this man, how even in a room where your shoulder pressed against the person next to you, it felt like there was nobody at all. The silent secrets exchanged through sneaky glances, the subtle flexing of his muscles while his hands curve around the ball, as if putting on a show just for you. However, any silly thought in your head dissolves with one thought. His restless hands aren’t used to the gentle grip of a paintbrush.

The buzzer signaling the end of the game yanks you back into reality as the people around you break into a roaring cheer, where, through the confetti being thrown from all sides, Caleb was looking right at you, a ditzy smirk on his face. 

Told you. He mouths before his tongue runs over chapped lips, hand coming up to shake the sweat from his hair, which clings onto his forehead. Your eyes trail down his arms that are accentuated by his jersey, muscles rippling as he hangs a towel around his neck, when his teammate steals him for a conversation. You’re sure he doesn’t even notice how he fidgets with the bracelet you’d gotten for him from a cheap souvenir from a small market. And he doesn’t notice how you know it’s his good luck charm, even if he won’t say it out loud.

“So, no party tonight?” You tease him by bumping into his shoulder as he accompanies you to your car after his post-win shower in the locker room. Poking him all over, he finally has enough when he gently takes hold of your wrist, leaning down to help your open palm rest against his head. He’d been running for an hour and a half straight, but there was no sign suggesting so, other than the trophy half hanging out of his gym bag.

“There was one, but it’s invite only, so I thought we’d celebrate some other way.” His tongue pokes out as your hand ruffles his hair rewardingly before falling to your side at his words.

“I’m insulted that you’d assume such a thing.”

“Ohoho, and you’re saying you have an invite?” His eyebrow cocks in amusement, but noticing how your expression remains the same, he whistles lowly. “Someone’s been busy building connections, hm? You jealous I might mingle at the party?”

These jokes were common between you two, but something about this time makes you bite your cheek, huffing in denial but unable to form the words. Your body says otherwise, however, feeding his growing suspicion of you, a blunder mistake because all it does is satisfy him. Face twinkling in realization, he veers from the topic smartly, nodding his head in thought. “Alright. Party it is, but we better hurry, Pipsqueak. I know you like your alcohol, and there might not be any left if we leave any later.”  

Mellow beats feed from the house, vibrating the streets surrounding it, audible through the closed windows of Caleb’s truck. Looking out the window at the people trickling into the home makes you bubble with excitement at what the night promises, and although you try keeping it to yourself, Caleb notes the change in your demeanor, pulling into a free parking spot, a small scowl on his face. He’d expressed his disdain for your outfit that night, claiming that Grandma would hate it, but little did he know, Grandma was the one who approved it in the first place. He can’t stay angry for long, though, a smile creeping onto his face whilst opening the door chivalrously for you. A protective arm hangs over your shoulder, steering you through the crowd of people towards the kitchen, bottles neatly organized on the island counter already half drunk. It’s bound to change as the night progresses, an image flashing of how the morning will come.

While pouring out a glass for yourself, you feel his arm slip off your shoulder, head tilting to find him being pried away by a friend. “I get it, you hate me.” Rolling your eyes playfully, he mumbles a giggling sorry, lingering until you give him an accepting nod before letting himself get dragged away. A new friend quickly replaces him, distracting you, but not enough to tear your gaze from him, mouth exerting a soundboard of words before tipping the cup against it. You swallow, feeling the acidic liquid bubbling in your throat and nose scrunching in distaste. It hadn’t been that long since you drank, right? Thinking nothing of it, you tip the glass until the last of the liquid gold brushes against your lip, immediately getting pulled into the center of the crowd to join the group of dancing students.

The clock ticks, darkness swallowing the house as the moon overtakes the last sliver of light, a mass of heat, bodies, and dim lights trapping your pliable mind. Everything was going well until a wave of anxiety washed over you, making you blink in confusion, wondering why things were catching up a second later, almost delayed. The dim lights make it worse, just barely allowing you to make out unfamiliar faces that are so peaceful, you almost want to yell at the injustice. How could everyone be so calm when your heart was anything but? I need Caleb. That was it, the only thought consuming your every sense, which rewards you enough sobriety to push a path through confused faces. You smile absentmindedly at friends before looking over the crowd for a familiar face, finding Tara instead. It will do for now.

“Caleb didn’t leave, did he?” Sliding against the wall, your eyelids droop, unable to maintain eye contact for a second before continuing their search. Tara is clearly alarmed at your condition, but you maneuver away from her quickly extending arm. “I need him.”

“He was by the pool, but hey-” She snaps in front of your line of vision, the gesture catching your attention. “He’s with a girl, try not to do something you’ll regret.” 

A girl? He talks to girls other than me? You mumble incoherently to yourself without thanking her, stumbling into the backyard when a sight for sore eyes spots you, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion at your state. Only when he turns can you see the figure hidden behind him, courage sinking. It doesn’t matter that he’s wading towards the edge of the pool towards you without acknowledging her; the fact that she’s there in the first place is answer enough. You slowly sit against the edge of the pool, legs soaking in the cold water, seeping into your sheer tights. You think about calling out his name to say something, anything, but the girls’ interested eyes shred the words in your mind.

“All good, pipsqueak?” His signature smirk adorns his face, arms crossing on the concrete by the pool before he follows your eyes to glance at the girl behind him. “Jealous?” Great, he thinks this is amusing.

You don’t realize your expression had contorted into one of disgust, pupils dilating once he comes between the two of you, head feeling heavier. The silence prolongs as darts between your restless face, putting the pieces together with great caution. You can see it in his body expression, the exact moment he comes to a realization, whether it's of the jealousy or rigged drink, it doesn’t matter; his attention was finally back on you, where it should’ve been the entire time.

“I think I had too much to drink.” The words are simplistic compared to your kicks that cause the water to wash over onto the concrete, feeding the thirsty material. Head lolling with each kick, you’re unsure what to make of the situation, wanting to defend the girl, but everything in you screams to rip her face. It’s a primal thought, one that lacks common sense, the dissonance making the kick of your leg almost send Caleb reeling back. His hand wraps around your ankle, aligning between your legs as he squeezes, a silent reminder to breathe. Like a traitor, your body listens.

“Nights over, come on.” Muscles flex under his weight when he eases out of the water, a breathy groan carrying straight to your stomach, water rippling, battering the edge of the tiles. All your senses are on high alert, teetering on the very edge of release. Of what, you have yet to decide.

What a dangerous man.

Forgotten, the girl continued floating where Caleb had left her, her expression hardly readable from either the alcohol or your vision declining over the years. Regardless, you conclude: you don’t like her one little bit. That feeling claws at your throat, burning when you swallow, so you clench your fists in an attempt to redirect it until a voice pulls you back. Caleb was staring at you, concern hidden behind a slight upturn of his lips as his hand was outstretched, waiting for you to take the bait. When you intertwine your hands, you make sure to leave enough space between you two that she sees what’s happening. Still want him? Cute.

Time seems to skip over in colors that blur when he weaves you through the party, legs running on autopilot, trying to keep up with his larger strides. Noticing the small jog you do to catch up, he slows down, matching your unsteady steps until you’re both outside, a faint breeze casting goosebumps all over your exposed skin. Everything felt numb, taking a tremendous amount of energy just to catch your breath from the physical labor it took to get there, but before you can apologize to him, a jacket slips over your shoulder, the material swallowing you in a wave of spicy cinnamon strong enough to leave your head in a daze. The icing on top is when his arm tucks you closely to his side, a catalyst that sends you back to those nights with nothing but the two of you in each other’s arms.

There wasn’t a time without him, his comforting arms open so you could hide from the rest of the world. And he did so without complaint, fingers playing with strands of your hair, a gesture that’s as calming as it’s possessive. Dangerous. Another wave of sobriety washes over you, your body tensing against him before there’s distance separating you. Disappointment is etched on his face with the fall of his hand that was awkwardly hovering where your shoulder had been. There’s a thought that crosses your mind momentarily before dissipating, your body falling limp against him. Right before you lose consciousness, you hear his heavy sigh and feel something press against your head, almost like a tender kiss. It’s like you can’t avoid him even if you tried.

It’s the afternoon by the time you wake up, sun dancing between the horizon, a teasing game that’s played only twice a day. The bed creaks from your movement as you attempt to sit up, but something pulls you back, an unrelenting grip of a hand over your waist that speaks mine. Familiar breathing anchors you, a sigh escaping your lips while your finger taps on the calloused hands. When it refuses to move, the tapping turns into light scratching over his knuckles, a heavier sigh accompanied by you being pulled even further into him.

“Caleb.” It feels weak, softer than you had intended.

“Pipsqueak.” An involuntary shiver runs down your spine, a husky edge to his voice as he just barely opens his eyes, face buried into your hair. You feel a cold breeze when he inhales your scent, rough lips brushing over the curvature of your neck, mapping the skin. “As much as I love being the knight in shining armor, it appears you get riskier with all the freedom I give, no?”

“What are you insinuating?”

“Do I need to keep you by my side so you don’t get into trouble anymore?” Almost instinctively, his grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but to remind you of your position against him. There’s a pocket of silence, communication barred as your back is to him. What was it last night? That feeling where your throat burned, as if you inhaled the powder of a spice and it wouldn’t come out? Whatever it was, it keeps coming back, mocking you.

As if sensing your conflicting emotions, his grip weakens almost defeatedly, fingertips dancing along your waist as he decides whether to continue his train of thought. There’s distance now, so shouldn’t you be happy? But being this far, even if you can still feel his every breath cascading against your back, leaves a cold feeling. Like he’s letting you go. Your hand nervously hovers over his timid one, pressing it to tell him it’s okay, but he withdraws, making you tense. There’s soft ruffling behind you, and you can feel exactly when the mattress rises ever so slightly, a reminder of his mark next to you. When you finally build the courage to turn to the other side, there’s a dent in the bed and the lingering scent of his cologne on the pillow.

“He just left?” An emergency meeting with Tara means you two sit opposite each other, a drink in hand, while you blurt your heart's desires at her perceptive face. “But he left a note as well as hangover pills, didn’t he?”

“He let go of me so easily, Tara.” Your voice sounds deflated, shoulders drooping, while your hand plays with the cup sleeve of the drink. A finger flicks at the bottom of the flimsy cardboard, denting the material, voice threatening to tremble, so you swallow the built-up emotion. She gives you a look of pity, and you almost want to cry, eyes burning, waiting for the release that never comes.

“Wouldn’t telling him take the load off of your heart?” Her expression is hopeful, body invading your side, causing you to lurch back into the seat, cup slamming on the table in exasperation. Telling him? She makes it sound so fucking easy. But instead, the words that come out of your mouth tell another story.

“Tomorrow.”

Well, tomorrow comes and nothing has changed. You run through the motions of classes, break, just to move right onto the next class, a never-ending cycle that worsens the throbbing in your head. You had thought about Tara’s suggestion, stomach flipping at the mere vision of his face, tongue running dry if you ever so thought about the words to say. If she wanted you to be publicly shamed, she should’ve made you write a poem and proclaim your love in front of the entire school. Whilst leaving class, there he is again, as if sensing your imprudent thoughts of him. Was he following you? This would be the third time you bump into Caleb, as you slow your stride, watching him approach you with something hidden behind his back.

“I have a surprise for you~” He sings softly, and if he were a dog, his tail would be wagging, knocking down anything in its proximity.

“I’ll take it then.” The response is curt, unlike yourself, as you extend an open palm to collect it. There was no point in humoring him anymore; he chose to leave himself, and that’s where he would stay. But a part of you aches, refusing to let such an anomaly ruin what there was before.

A whine bubbles in his throat, “Close your eyes first!”

In no mood to argue, they flutter shut, a cylinder object resting against your skin, smooth as it rolls slightly. Your hand closes around it and your mouth parts, intaking a sharp breath. He had given you a paintbrush, the soft bristles brushing against your fingertips and light flooding into your vision as you looked up at him. He’s holding his breath, in anticipation of your reaction, a sight that you don’t get to see very often. It means he chose this specially, the entirety of his heart translated through a mere object, which speaks for the words he can’t find. He knows you’re not looking at the paintbrush, and he knows that it barely matters in this moment where the world disappears, even if it’s for a moment. You hear his breath hitch, finally breaking contact when it’s placed back in his hand with the shake of your head.

“I can’t possibly accept this.” Before you can run away, his arm catches yours, turning you around abruptly. His eyes widened, as if surprised at the speed of his actions, his hand raised in the air after letting you go. There’s guilt in his eyes before the fire sparks, and when he takes a step closer to you, you can’t find it in yourself to step away. 

“You’ve been doing this all day, Pipsqueak. Talk to me, what’s wrong?” The pity in his voice makes your jaw clench, head shaking reluctantly. He doesn’t believe you, expression softening, leaning down to catch your eyes that avoid him. “You can tell me.”

“I have a project to finish, we’ll catch up later?” It takes everything in you to muster a sincere smile, slipping away from him, his hand clenching beside him as if to control his reaction. He’s learned from his mistake. He hums a response, matching your smile, but it feels more distant. 

Your steps feel heavy on the marble floor, and you’re almost disappointed when you don’t hear any following you, your journey both cold and isolating. Back burning from being watched, it almost feels shameful how easily you could walk away, but you couldn’t think of a better choice. It’s greedy, wanting him to shower you with his affection, to chase you down the corners of the world just for a second of your attention. What a silly thing to ask for.

In the comfort of the silence, you readjust your position on the stool before your paintbrush presses against the layered painting from two days prior. This time, you know that there’ll be no disturbances, and that’s why headphones are pulled over your ears, the soft music guiding your brush to the very last stroke. Every movement is methodical, like strings are attached to your limbs, moving where the puppeteer wants you to go. When your hand pauses with the last flick, the entirety of the painting comes into focus. It’s breathtaking, the perfect tiger lily, with not a stroke out of line.

And yet, your tongue clicks, your hand that holds an array of colors trembling with the movement of your leg propped on the bar of your stool. Within a minute, there are two things that you feel: a hand stabilizing the tray, while the other gently traces the skin of your thigh, soothing the skin in careful circles until it falls still. You don’t need to turn to know who it is, leaning back against his chest as his large hand covers yours, leading the brush to a vibrant orange before tracing it over the piece. Only then do you relax, realizing your breaths are synchronized, eyes closing as you feel his hand continue to move, loose enough to allow you some freedom. When your eyes flutter open, he’s turned to you, only inches away.

“What’s wrong?” The music is louder than his voice, but you read his lips attentively, subconsciously licking your own. How would they feel against yours? All reason has at last escaped you, body leaning in closer, begging for him. 

“Why couldn’t I have been the one to paint you?” Your playlist reaches its last note, silence now vibrating in your ears as the words you’ve been wanting to say finally make way. His smile is warm, surprise evident with the subtle rise of his cheekbones.

“Who’s to say you can’t do it now?” You can feel the way his Adam’s apple twitches once the cold substance grazes over his skin, tracing an unstable line down the length of his neck. There’s a rush of confidence now, body turning on the stool until you’re face-to-face. When your hand drops, he catches your wrist, paintbrush clattering on the floor in response as he nuzzles his cheek into the palm of your hand, kissing the tips of the fingers his lips can reach.

It’s like he’s willingly surrendering himself to you in a bare display of affection, similar to one of a tamed wild animal. The boy in front of you seems easier to read now, his heart no longer hidden in a guarded safe that only he holds the key to. “I want you, Pipsqueak. I’m tired of pretending otherwise.” You feel his breath over your skin, thumb brushing over his uneven skin, in thought. You want nothing but to drown in him.

What’s hard to say in words, you decide to say otherwise, pulling him closer until you can feel his lips against yours in a tender kiss. There’s a moment of pause where neither of you moves, confronting the position you’ve put yourselves in. And then slowly his eyes flutter shut, allowing you to decide the pace and get used to the foreign feeling, his self-restraint redistributed to your waist, where his fingers dig into the flesh. But it’s fleeting, you can tell when his tongue brushes against your lower lip, coaxing your mouth to open before he angles your face enough to slip his tongue. And yet, it doesn’t feel like you’re being rushed in any way, making you think you might not regret this decision after all.

It reminds you of waves, tongues brushing against each other before retreating, unable to be distant for long before they return. He’s so gentle, you almost can’t recognize the man in front of you, someone who can barely sit still, is taking his time with you. You feel naked in front of him, laid bare and vulnerable in his hands, his lips following yours and pulling your waist closer as he looms over you. If he feels you slip away, he tugs you closer, only letting you go once he’s sure you’re unable to breathe.

“I thought you liked the attention.” He teases, licking his lips where your taste lingers, nose brushing against yours. He tries to act put-together, but you can hear him trying to catch his breath, even if it looks like he’s about to devour you right where you are.

“I couldn’t breathe.” You can’t help but chuckle at the situation, at the absurdity of your words.

“I like knowing I have control over how much you can breathe.” Caleb’s finger brushes over your bottom lip, pulling it slightly as he relishes in the small gasp you try to swallow. “But what I like more-” He leans in, face more serious than you’d ever seen in your life. “-is that pretty flush on your face that only I can see.”

Tracing your hand over the orange streak of paint, you’re lost in the sound of his voice until he tilts your chin, bringing your attention back to him. You try to say something. “That kiss was nice.” It sounds stupid when you say it out loud, hardly as poetic as what he’d said, done with his lips.

“Just nice?” He muses, chuckling warmly in disbelief. “Pipsqueak, you were under a trance, I think it was more than ‘nice’.”

“You’re right.” You match his amusement, bringing his face lower. “It was… nothing like I’ve ever experienced.”

“My beautiful artist.” He hums against your cheek, feeling sun-kissed as he peppers them all over your face. “I'm not leaving you.” It’s his apology for leaving, for letting you get drugged, for scaring you, and for hurting you. Every kiss seems to melt away that heavy feeling in your heart, helping you find your words.

For a moment, you’re embarrassed by his affection, feeling weak, but his thumb brushing over your thigh is soothing. “My Magnum opus.” He grins widely against your lips at your words, a satisfied hum giving him courage to push his luck, trapping your lips in a sloppy kiss, swallowing your soft sounds in his wave.

Every artist's dream is to make that one piece that speaks a thousand words and makes you choke in emotion. For you, the greatest painting was him.

╰───┄ °❀