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suzdin · 9 months

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Two for One: Chapter Four

Neighbor!Dave York x F!Reader x Human!Max Phillips

Series Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-vampire Max, pre-Equalizer 2 Dave, familial drama and angst, mentions of drug use/abuse, alcoholism!, stalking (don’t do it), voyeurism (so so much), invasions of privacy, mutual masturbation, sexting, oral (m receiving), dom!Dave, soft!Dave, dom!Max, softish!Max, public sex, work sex, some fluff, maybe?, SEA OTTERS!, murder, poison, asphyxiation, let me know if I forgot anything, watch me make up stuff about an aquarium I’ve never been to and also poison.

Word Count: 7,700+

Notes: Sorry this took forever because my brain is dumb. I just want to thank all of you for being so patient. I love you and hope you have a wonderful 2024. 💜 Enjoy and feel free to leave me feedback if you wish! 😊

(Not my gif)

—

You make Max exchange phone numbers as he’s leaving your apartment.

“No more showing up uninvited,” you reprimand him, the heel of your palm planted firmly between his shoulder and sternum as you push him into the corridor of your building, “I mean it.”

He cocks his head to one side, lopsided smirk twisting his lips, forehead wrinkling as he lifts his brows, pausing. He’s staring at your still very much flushed and sweaty face. “You sure about that, doll?”

Your skin heats even more. You hate to admit that his smarmy defiance arouses you in ways that it shouldn’t.

“Max. If we’re going to keep whatever this is ongoing, I’m going to need some compliance here. For my privacy.”

Max’s smirk only grows wider and he beams at you, his gaze sliding down your face to your lips, hands raised in surrender. “You mean so I don’t cross paths with him, is that it?” he asks, quirking one of his brows to the side, knowing you’re fully cognizant who he’s talking about. “Fine.”

“Tell me you’re not bullshitting,” you retort.

“Woman,“ Max begins, wagging a finger at you, “I assure you that I am in no way being deceitful.”

He hasn’t wiped that shit eating grin off his face the entire time he’s been standing in front of you, either.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Scout’s honor?” you press.

“Scout’s honor,” he replies, lifting his hand in a mocking salute.

You sigh and shove him back another step, his back almost flush with your neighbor’s door.

“Goodbye, Max,” you snip, turning to go back to the comfort of your apartment, when that gnawing southern upbringing decides to make a re-emergence once more, and you remember your manners.

With a sigh, you turn to give him one last glance, your visage softening in its regard. “Thank you, by the way. For the drink.” And you mean it, even if it’s likely all melted and weeping on the table by now.

You almost think you see his own features grow a shade softer, and before you can dwell on it, he’s suddenly shifting back into your space.

Your initial instinct is to flinch, to shove him away, because after Dave and him in a single day, your poor fucked out pussy can’t handle anymore punishment.

But he doesn’t grope or manhandle you. Max’s arms grapple you into a snug embrace, his hot breath fanning over your neck. It’s uncharacteristically soft for Max to show this level of affection and you would hug him back if he wasn’t clamping your arms to your sides.

“Thank you,” he whispers, keeping you ensnared for a few lingering moments before releasing you and taking a step back.

“Yeah… no problem,” you offer awkwardly, because what else do you say to that? “I’ll see you around. I work tomorrow, opening to two.”

Max nods, his usual crooked smirk making a reappearance. “See you then.”

“And hey?”

“Yeah?”

“Be nice to my coworkers. It’s the least you could do,” you remind him.

His smirk doesn’t fade, tongue swabbing the inside of his cheek. “I’ll do my best.”

You snort and shake your head, watching as he disappears down the stairwell.

——

After Max leaves, you spend the remainder of the afternoon and evening wallowing around your apartment, watching bad reality television and trying not to think about… well, anything, pouring yourself some vodka with whatever mixers you can scrounge up until your brain mellows to a welcome numbness.

You order take out for dinner because, fuck saving money at this point. Proceeding the earlier conversation with your mom, you aren’t even sure why you’re trying to get back to Texas anymore.

It’s far easier having several states between you, even if you do miss your grandmother and have a wicked hankering for some barbecue right about now.

You check Facebook periodically anyway, not at all surprised to see your mother asking for prayers and attention from all the faceless online entities because she did not receive the validation she sought from you.

You grumble and toss your phone down every time you read a new ‘woe is me’ comment from your mother and you wonder why you’re even torturing yourself like this.

Belly full of chow mein, you settle down into your bed for the remainder of the evening to distract yourself with some mind numbing television to go along with the buzz you’re feeling.

When your phone lights up, you sigh in indignation, expecting a text from your mother as you swipe open to the notifications.

Much to your delight, it isn’t your mother, and you let out the breath you realize you’ve been holding in.

Dave: Hey, you.

You smile. Relief washes over you as heat simultaneously slithers its way up your spine.

Dave decides to change to split screen, one side with the recorded footage and the other side with the current feed, and he watches as you smile at your phone, steadily stroking himself, his phone vibrating your response a few seconds later.

You: Hey, you. 😜

You: I was beginning to wonder if you’d made it to VA

Dave: Yeah. Long day.

Dave: You made it worth it, though.

You: Doubt that

That makes him chuckle. He knows you know that to not be true.

He continues to stare at you, your gaze glued to your phone as you await his reply. You’re sitting up in bed now, back against the wall, wearing a different but equally revealing top than the thin camisole you had on earlier, blanket pooling in your lap.

The veins in his dick pulse when he ponders if you’re wearing any pants under the covers, and his eyes flick back to the recording of Max eating you out, a soft, breathy moan escaping his lips. The pleasure on your face is telling.

Dave: You do, huh?

Dave: Maybe I should show you, then.

You bite your lip at his response, quickly punching in your reply and hitting send.

You: Aren’t you supposed to be spending time with your kids?

Dave: they’re in bed. It’s late.

His head lifts from the monitor momentarily—only as long as necessary—taking his headphones off to listen for any sounds of wakefulness from the bedroom. When he finds there is none, he turns his attention back to you, freeing himself from his sweats, tugging them down to his knees.

He quickly snaps and sends a photo of his rigid cock, colored a deep shade of mauve at the head, hand fisted at the base, dark curls peeking out from underneath his palm.

You swallow, your walls tightening and mouth watering at the mere sight of it, breath puffing softly past your lips. And you’re almost surprised how turned on you still are, despite the events of the past two days.

Max is just a phone call away, you tell yourself, quickly squashing that thought right out of your brain just as quickly as it arrives. You’d hate to risk having him spend the night with you. Besides, you should probably give yourself a break.

You: Jesus, Dave.

Dave: All for you, baby

Dave: This is what you do to me. I was hard almost the entire way here.

Dave: What are you doing?

You snicker through your nose at the sudden shift in conversation, deciding to play along anyway. Going back to the picture every so often to admire it.

You: Watching TV

Dave: Anything good?

You: Just reruns of 1,000 Lb. Sisters. It’s a good show, you should watch it

Dave: I would watch it with you if I was there.

Dave: if I could keep my hands off of you

Dave: Touch yourself.

You laugh when the conversation takes yet another rapid turn, but you barely give it a second thought the moment you feel your clit throb with need, firing off a response to Dave before breaching the band of your panties with your fingers.

You: Yes sir

Dave: good girl

Dave drags his tongue along his plump lower lip when he sees your hand disappear beneath the covers, his eyes darkening with lust.

Dave: show me

You throw the blanket back and he’s pleased as punch to see you’re only wearing panties. He watches intently as you shuck them off and toss them to the floor.

You open the camera app on your phone and begin recording, doing your best to get the shot right but it’s difficult to see much from your perspective. You take the video anyway.

Breathing softly, you slide two fingers between your folds and sink them into your entrance as far as you can manage, which isn’t enough and will never be enough compared to Dave or Max, before dragging them back out again to display the shiny coating of arousal on your digits for the camera.

You save the video and send it to Dave immediately.

Dave: Fuck

Dave: Can you get a different angle? I need to see it

He almost tells you to prop your phone up on the window sill by the bed, but he doesn’t want to risk you somehow finding out he’s watching you. It’s possible you would think nothing of it, since he has seen the inside of your apartment now, but he’d prefer not to take the chance.

You frown and stop touching yourself, looking around the room in consideration before scooting on your knees over to the window to prop the phone against the pane of glass.

You hit record and maneuver into position, spreading, lifting your eyes to make sure everything is in frame. Shockingly, it is, and this new angle is so visual and obscene that even your OB/GYN would be impressed.

You record a short video of your fingers circling your clit, letting out a soft, salacious moan.

You still feel very much used from Dave and Max in a single day, but you make sure to keep your own touches as light as possible.

You record about ten seconds of yourself and send it to Dave.

Dave: Fuck

Dave: Need to fuck that little pussy full of me

Dave: We’re getting you an IUD and I’m paying for it

Dave: Fuck

His eyes move back to the side with you and Max, at which point you’re cumming on Max’s face, and Dave’s balls tighten with longing. He remembers exactly how you taste when you hit your high, and his mouth waters in remembrance.

Any jealousy he feels is immediately snuffed out by how much he wants you. How much he needs you.

You: I can pay for it

You: [video]

He’s so distracted by watching Max making you cum, his hand pumping himself more rapidly, that he doesn’t realize you were recording again. Your fingers swirl your bud faster, your hips twitching and coming up from the mattress.

Dave: Jesus

Dave: It will be well worth the money to see my cum dripping out of that tight little hole

You: such things you say, Dave

He smirks.

Dave: use a toy

You: How do you know I have one?

Dave: dirty fucking sluts like you always have toys

Dave: do what I say

Arousal floods your core when Dave’s true colors bleed through, even over text. You can practically see his brow pulling into a hard, dark line; see the way his lips curve ever so slightly into a sadistic and hungry smirk.

You don’t dawdle, leaning crossways over your bed to retrieve your favorite toy from your bedside drawer — you have a few accumulated from your time with Jonathan, since he never got you off — a vibrator with a curve at the end for optimal g-spot stimulation.

You: yes sir

You: [video]

You: is this sufficient

Dave receives a video of you clicking on the toy and sliding it teasingly along your slick and swollen labia, pausing periodically at your clit, your moans quiet yet lewd. All for him.

Dave: fuck. Gonna have to fuck you with the toy in you like that

You: I look forward to it sir

Your words send a rush of heat through Dave as his vision subconsciously slips back over to the side with you and Max, who’s now railing into you from behind like a jack hammer, and he damn near cums on that image alone.

He wanted to kill Max for how he had treated you. But now, watching Max bring you pleasure, and how much you appear to be enjoying it, he can’t stop his thoughts from wandering. Would you let both men inside you at the same time? Would you like it?

Would Max take orders from him like a good boy?

That last thought admittedly gives Dave pause and he shakes it from his mind. He had done things in the military, sure, most of the men had, missing their wives and girlfriends. But that was a side of him he hadn’t acknowledged in years, and he shoves it down to the furthest recesses of his brain, returning his focus to you.

Dave: good girl. Now put in and make yourself cum for me

You slide the toy past your opening with little effort, and you’re so worked up it takes almost no time at all before you’re chanting his name. Dave watches, transfixed, pupils dilated and jaw slack, eyes drifting back and forth between the two images on the screen, a cry departing your lips as you reach peak.

You: [video]

You: Mmm wish it was you making me cum though

Almost like serendipity, you cum on the recorded footage at almost the exact same moment as he witnesses it in real time. He can’t hold himself back any longer, and he barely has time to pull his phone back out to record before he’s shooting like a geyser all over his hand and lower abdomen, thick and milky spend dribbling down the backs of his knuckles.

Dave: Fuck

Dave: [video]

Dave: wish this was all over your fucking face instead

You sigh and fall back, panting, opening the last text with a satisfied grin painting your lips as you watch Dave spill down his hand.

You: Rather it inside of me

You place the phone down and crawl off the bed to go clean yourself and your toy in the bathroom, smiling to yourself.

Several states away, Dave heads to the bathroom in his hotel suite to do the same.

But as the high starts to dissipate, your trepidation inexplicably returns, twisting like a knife in your gut. You like Dave. Probably a little too much. And you shouldn’t. Because the day will come when he hurts you, just like Jonathan did.

You do your best to swallow down your doubt and finish cleaning yourself up, traipsing back into the main room to retrieve your panties and slip them back on.

A new text message lights up your phone.

Dave: Soon.

Dave: Can I call you?

Dave sees you sigh and chew at your lip, one of your hands coming up to the back of your neck. You seem unsure.

Your anxiety triggers his own, making him worry if he’s moving too quickly for you.

You: Sure

Now clad only in his sweats, Dave takes in a prolonged breath, hitting the call button. It rings twice before you answer.

“Hi,” you answer quietly.

“Hi,” Dave returns and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Thank you for that. I needed it after today…”

He switches off the recorded footage and goes back to watching just you. You.

You’ve already moved back under the covers, snuggling up with your back facing the window, one arm drawn up under your chin.

“You’re welcome,” you reply after a beat. “I needed it too.”

Oddly enough, you did, despite how many times you’ve already cum today, which was a welcome end to a stressful day.

That makes Dave grin, and he feels a pang of want as he wishes he were there to hold you in his arms, to feel your back pressed up against his chest.

“I miss you,” he confesses with a soft, nervous chuckle. His change in demeanor doesn’t go unnoticed by you — a man of dual natures, an enigma. “Wish you were here.”

He chastises himself silently for saying too much, but it’s true.

You swallow down the coiling anxiety you feel.

“Yeah. That would be great,” you proffer gently. You change the subject as seamlessly as you can. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”

He notices, but doesn’t point it out. “Taking the girls to the aquarium.”

You actually do soften at that. You always loved visiting the aquarium as a kid.

“Oh, how fun! I love aquariums. I know there’s one here… I’ve never been.”

“I’ll take you sometime,” Dave suggests. “We’ll make it a date.”

Your skin heats and you take your welling emotions and stamp them down as deep as you can. “Yeah.”

“What is your favorite marine animal?” Dave randomly asks.

“What, why?”

“Curious.”

You think it over for a moment. “Sharks,” you reply, “I like sharks.”

You hear him chuckle. “Figured you for more of a sea otter type.”

“Sea otters? Do explain, Dave.”

Although you can’t see it, he shrugs. He’s still watching you, fixated on the way your fingers fidget with the covers.

“Women usually like the cute sea animals. And sea otters are cute,” he says.

“Because I’m a woman, I’m not allowed to like things that aren’t, by your definition, ‘cute’? That’s sort of sexist, don’t you think?”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “You’re right. My bad.”

“Your bad? Well, what is your favorite sea animal, then?” you press.

“… Sea otters,” Dave answers without any additional thought, and you can’t control the burst of laughter that erupts from you. It makes his heart vibrate with affection hearing the joy in your voice and watching the way your nose crinkles when you smile.

“Oh, fuck off!” you tease, and he can’t help but laugh along with you.

“You need to go to bed,” you tell him as soon as the laughter dies down.

“What if I’d rather stay up all night talking to you?” he counters.

“Then I imagine tomorrow will really suck,” you quip back.

“It will be worth it.”

“Dave,” you begin in a more earnest tone, “I have work in the morning. Early. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

Talk…masturbate mutually. Either way.

Your buzz is starting to wear off. Dave sees you rub at your eyes as you reach for your cigarette pack with the other, lighting it up and taking a long drag.

He knows you’re guarded and he supposes he understands why. He hopes you’ll let your walls down sooner than later.

“Okay,” he sighs in resignation. “But I’ll be thinking about you all day tomorrow.”

You tap the growing head of ash against the edge of the empty plant tray you’ve been using as a makeshift ash tray.

“Me too. Goodnight. Have fun tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah. I’ll try,” Dave replies honestly, and you exchange your goodbyes before hanging up.

He continues to watch you. And not just until you’ve finished your cigarette or gotten out of bed to — presumably — have one final pee.

He watches you plug up your phone and set your alarm. He even watches you as you curl into a fetal position, clutching one of your extra pillows against your torso, and he wishes it was him instead.

Soon, he reminds himself.

He doesn’t stop watching until he’s sure you’re completely asleep. And even then he lingers, only stopping when one of the girls — his youngest, Alice — rouses from sleep in absolute hysterics, loud enough to wake the dead. Something she had started doing around the start of the divorce process.

He sighs, slipping back into dad mode, swiping a hand over his sleep weary face as he shuts his laptop down and heads to the bedroom.

——

Like clockwork, Max is at The Beanery around 7:30 AM for his morning caffeine fix.

You’re grateful that it’s slow and that Audrey and Vincent are in the back room folding boxes and chattering away about god only knows what. Almost like you’d planned it that way. Like you gave them each monotonous side work on purpose.

You knew Audrey was working today and you wanted to stave off the inevitability of admission that you don’t really have the power to ban Max as long as you could. Or resist him, for that matter.

You’re also grateful that Audrey was able to hide your hickies and bruises using the expensive foundation she brought to work just for you, at your insistence, with the incentive that she could leave two hours early with pay today. A decision that would probably bite you in the ass later.

You didn’t tell her who or what they were from and she didn’t ask.

You receive a text from Dave mere moments before the chimes hanging over the door signal Max’s arrival, causing your blood to heat and your skin to pebble.

It’s an image of Dave in a steamy bathroom, fully nude, hand curled around the base of his stiffened cock, with the caption: Wish you were here

You respond with a very underwhelming selfie in your work cap and apron, to which he replies almost immediately: You’re fucking adorable

You can’t help the heat that crawls up your cheeks.

You slip your phone back into your apron and start cleaning the espresso machine when Max traipses in, strolling up to the counter like he owns the place.

Or like he owns you, more like it.

“Morning,” you greet, and the remaining traces of your flustered state swell once again the moment you see Max in his primped and tailored three piece, donning a flashy paisley red tie. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him not adorned in a suit, aside from when he’s naked.

“Your usual?” you query, starting on his Americano before he even has a chance to respond.

“Morning,” Max parrots, smirking as his eyes bore into you. “And add whatever you want for yourself, sweetheart.”

He’s certainly starting off early today, isn’t he?

“That isn’t necessary,” you say.

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” he tuts and slams his card down in front of you. When you go to retrieve it, he reaches out to grip your wrist gently, and your eyes snap up to meet his.

He can see the affect he’s already having on you just by proximity alone, his cock already growing rigid in his pants.

“Thanks,” you squeak out and ring up Max’s drink and yours with your free hand, running the card and handing it back to him.

“Good girl,” he purrs in a rich timbre. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night.”

And he really couldn’t. He doesn’t oft have a habit of bringing women to his place, opting for theirs or someplace else instead, but he couldn’t stop thinking about you in his bed, waking up next to him that morning so he could make you sing his praises first thing.

“Let me get your drink…” you tell him, attempting to take a step away, but his grip on your wrist holds true, tightening infinitesimally, thumb circling your pulse point.

Max leans forward, a single elbow rested on the countertop. “Or,” he suggests, his voice low and barely an octave above a whisper, “you can meet me in the bathroom in two minutes.”

His eyes flash and he releases you, shooting you a stilted grin before heading to the small bathroom in the corner.

At first, all you can do is gape in disbelief, your jaw slack. Did Max Phillips really just come into your place of business and ask you to meet him in the bathroom?

You turn to listen to the sounds coming from the back room; Audrey and Vincent seem to be prattling on about something, oblivious.

You sigh and resign yourself to curiosity, to self torture, checking to see that the coast is clear.

“Hey, Vince, listen for the front, please. I… I’ll be right back,” you call out and take in another prolonged breath.

“10-4, dinosaur!” Vince chimes back and you roll your eyes, rounding the corner of the counter and heading over to the bathroom.

As you approach, the door swings open and Max pulls you inside before you can even reach for the handle.

He barely gives you time to react before he’s locking the door and crowding into you, pushing you back against the wall and pinning you as his hips grind your thigh hard. He starts to grab at you, everywhere, pawing at your clothes, your body. His mouth finds your neck and when his teeth start to bear down, you protest weakly.

He doesn’t listen; or maybe he’s just so overwhelmed with his desire to be inside of you that he’s lost any semblance of composure.

It doesn’t take you long to realize you don’t want to do this here. Not at work and not when your body needs a break, still so sore and overwrought from the last couple of days, and you attempt to push him away. He only pushes right back, unwilling to hear your pleas, because he thinks it’s what you would want.

“Max,” you groan and you feel your resolve slipping although you shouldn’t, “not here.”

“Come on baby,” Max growls, gently nipping at your earlobe, “let me inside of you.”

He pins your arms above your head at the wrists with one of his hands while the other begins to undo your belt, moving swiftly, his breathing desperate and heady.

He hasn’t been able to get you out of his mind for two whole days and pining over a woman isn’t something Max Phillips does.

Your resolve is rapidly waning and just about gone, arousal welling up within you. But with your last remaining shred of dignity, you’re able to shove him away and grit out, “Max, lavender,” your safe word.

Part of you expects to be ignored regardless, as Max has a habit of doing whatever the fuck he wants, and what you suspect to be very few morals. To your surprise, however, he does stop.

He releases you and takes a tentative step back, lips parted, hurt and uncertainty twisting his features. With nothing to say, at least for a few brief seconds.

His eyes meet yours and he lifts his hands in surrender, a frown creasing his brows. “Fine. That’s fine. I just figured since you came in here…”

“Max, shut up,” you say as you step towards him and you’re the one undoing his belt this time, positioning him with his back to the sink. “I just didn’t wanna— I mean, I want a break, but let me just… do this instead,” you further explain as you successfully get everything undone, sinking to your knees in front of him.

Understanding settles over Max and he nods, eyes growing a shade darker as he watches you finagle his slacks and boxers down, hardening cock springing free after a moment.

Of course none of the tile on the floor is even, so you have to adjust slightly to prevent the edges from digging into your knees and make yourself more comfortable, your hands sliding down Max’s thighs as you look up at him through your lashes.

He gently places a palm atop your head, fingers curling into your hair. “That’s it, doll. Be my good girl, now.”

He has to stifle the loud moan that reverberates from his lungs as you spit directly onto his shaft and grip him in your fist to begin slowly jacking him off, swiping the flat of your tongue up his length, his entire body vibrating.

You pause at the head, circling it, lapping at the pearl of precum that collects at the slit. He grasps your hair with a firmer hold, tugging at the roots.

“Don’t be a… fucking tease… or I’ll fuck you anyway,” he warns and in spite of yourself, you moan, and almost break.

You grin to yourself and take him deeper into your mouth, still holding him steady with one hand at the base as you adjust to his size, slowly pistoning your head forward and back.

“That’s it. Ohhh yes, good girl, sweetheart, good girl,” Max pants softly.

You slide your tongue along the underside of his dick, pausing at the fold of skin at the head as you rock forward, causing his hips to shudder and you eventually bottom out.

He grunts and grips the back of your neck, holding you flush against his groin, the dark and manicured thatch of hair tickling at your nose.

You can smell and taste the soap he uses; woodsy and light, nothing over the top nor underwhelming, but he’s as clean and well groomed as you would expect a pretentious man like Max to be.

He releases you when your eyes start to water and you murmur a noise of protest, allowing you to take a short break for air.

“Come now, darling, you can do better than that,” he notes with a small pout.

You nod in agreement and wet your lips, placing your hands on his hips as you take him back into your mouth and his head rolls back with a sigh, hands going to either side of your face.

You bottom out again and manage to hold better this time, hollowing out your cheek bones and breathing through your nostrils, relaxing your jaw and throat as you do so.

“Good girl… good… fucking girl,” he praises, nary louder than a whisper, running his fingertips along your scalp.

You tremble at the attention, moaning as you taste more precum dribbling onto your tongue, bobbing your head faster—as fast as you can—to get the job done as expeditiously as possible.

He groans and grasps your cheeks tighter, stilling your movements, holding you exactly where he wants you, and without any prior warning, starts rutting into your mouth.

“That’s right, that’s right… you can take it, can’t you? You can take it,” he growls, and there’s little else you can do but let him use your body as he wishes.

You can get the job done quickly but Max can get it done faster, knowing you’re on a time crunch.

You slacken your muscles as much as you can, as much as your body will allow, breathing through your nose and trying not to gag, especially considering you can feel and hear him nearing his release.

He starts to sputter what mostly sounds like nonsense words to you, gripping your cheeks and neck tightly in his large hands, rutting into your mouth with wreckless abandon and all you can do is sit there with the uneven tile digging into your tender knees and take it, letting go of his thighs to find purchase on the vanity behind him.

Finally, his hips begin to catch and then eventually seize, and with a low, guttural growl he spills hot and thick into your mouth, and you accept everything he has to offer you, swallowing it all with ease.

“Good girl… good girl…” he puffs, chanting your name softly on his tongue.

You milk him of every last feasible drop and a line of spittle connects you as you pull away, bringing your hand up to swipe at your mouth and breaking the string in the process.

He’s still panting as he helps you to your feet; you move to step to the sink so you can clean your face and rinse out your mouth. Without warning, Max grabs you once more, different than only a moment ago, ensnaring you in another tight hug and pushing you against the wall.

“Max… hey—“

He hasn’t even pulled his pants up yet. He squeezes you, lips ghosting over your skin as he presses his nose to the soft space between your neck and skull, inhaling your scent. And just… holds you like that, in an embrace, not at all dissimilar to yesterday.

“Thank you,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, and you’re once again struck with his sporadic shift in demeanor.

“Uhh… you’re welcome,” you reply and he breaks the hug, a single hand coming up to cradle your jaw, thumb dragging your bottom lip as he stares at it, contemplative and fixated.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to return the favor?” Max asks.

“Um… no… I need to clean up and get back out there,” you explain, causing his hand to drop from your face.

“Yeah. Yeah, right,” he says, almost appearing crestfallen — almost — as he tucks himself and his shirt back into his work slacks, buckling his belt and giving himself a cursory once over in the mirror.

You turn away and ignore him as you smooth down your clothes, splash some water over your face and rinse out your mouth and when you’ve determined you don’t look super fucked out, you confirm with Max that you’re each composed enough, giving him one last glance as you step out.

You feel fingertips against the small of your back, almost like he wants one last point of contact with you before you have to go back to the real world.

And what you both step into is a sea of chaos, the lobby now bustling with people needing their various morning addictions, and you cast Audrey and Vincent an apologetic glance as you rush over to assist them.

God, you really need a cigarette and a stiff drink.

They pass each other a look when they see you and Max coming out of the bathroom together and you inwardly sigh because you had hoped you could keep all of this on the down low. Well, that plan was pretty much out the window now. And there was no saving it.

Max stands to one side and waits patiently as you rush through making his drink, passing it to him when you’re done and your skin burning as you feel his gaze dwelling on you one last time before he dips out for the day.

The rush stays steady for about an hour and you’re actually kind of thankful for it, as it helps to keep your focus off of everything that’s happened recently.

——

You’re walking home when your phone buzzes with a new text.

You take in a breath and fish your phone from your purse, hoping it isn’t your mother. Wishing it isn’t her. She had already texted you earlier that day to let you know Garrett was out of jail, no thanks to you, and you made a point of ignoring it.

You expect another dramatic text from your mother as you’re opening your phone, but you’re relieved to see it’s from Dave this time, thank god.

You open the text to see an image of Dave crouched down in front of the jaws of a rather large shark, Alice perched on his knee and Mollie standing to one side, all three of them smiling for the camera. You try not to let the sweetness and normalcy of it affect you, and you can hardly believe that this is the same man who had practically broke you and stitched you back together multiple times.

You: looks fun

A few minutes later you receive more texts, popping up as you get close to your apartment’s wifi. The first is a video of the girls in front of a shark tank, babbling at a nurse shark, and then a second video of a reef shark swimming overhead in a tunnel, with the caption: sharks for you

You: Cool. I love them! See any sea otters?

Dave: no 🙁 But we saw penguins! 😍

You cover your mouth with your hand as you snicker at his reply, typing in a quick response.

You: Penguins? How feminine.

Dave: Okay smartass

You: Just dishing out some of what you were serving last night, Dave

Dave: Watch it, sweetheart, or you’ll really see what I can dish out when I get home

You: Promise? 😜

As you enter your apartment building and Dave texts back with I would love nothing more, you try to keep reminding yourself you aren’t falling for him.

——

With the girls dropped off safely with Carol, at the house which is still in his name, that he still pays for, Dave shoots you a quick text before pulling away.

Dave: I’ll be back in town in a day or two. I have a work thing

He fishes out a burner phone and punches in the address for your ex, Jonathan, who lives on Long Island. Which is good — perfect, really — as it’s en route back to Boston. A quick rendezvous there to take him out and then straight home. Or what he could consider his home, nowadays.

You make it feel like home to him.

The hit shouldn’t take long. It was an ideal situation, if he was being honest. The woman Jonathan had left you for had pulled the same trick on him as he had on you, leaving him high and dry after he had up and moved states, and now he lived alone in a small garage apartment at the back of a property that was flanked on all sides by woods.

Perfect.

He would be arriving long after nightfall, and he would bide his time in the woods until it was late enough to slip in and out undetected.

Dave did not care that Jonathan really wasn’t a bad person, aside from being the asshole who broke your heart. He couldn’t give two shits, really. He only wanted to take retribution for Jonathan’s slights against you, on your behalf, because you were too kind and gentle to do it yourself.

As he pulls onto the highway to begin his journey north, he can’t get your beautiful face out of his mind.

——

It turns out Jonathan is a night owl.

Dave has been in the trees at the perimeter of the property for hours. A single window at the back of the apartment shines a pale yellow, denoting lingering wakefulness from his mark. It’s the only available illumination aside from a lone street lamp near the front of the property.

And aside from his phone. He’s been watching you off and on all night, to pass the time. You’re alone, and have been for days now. You haven’t had Max — or anyone else for that matter — in your bed since the last encounter, which means you stopped seeing Max entirely or you had simply taken to fucking elsewhere. Max’s apartment?

He isn’t sure which, yet.

Currently, Jonathan is getting stoned and painting. Dave is far from being an art expert, but even from his vantage he can see the strokes on the canvas are broad and messy; calling it abstract would be a stretch. Infantile, maybe. He couldn’t have been the artist of the painting you have hanging in your apartment—the style and technique just wasn’t right.

He wonders, not for the first time, if you were a gifted artist as well as being a gifted writer.

Jonathan orders a pizza at 9:09 PM and it’s delivered at exactly 10:00 PM. He spends an hour eating, his motor skills slowed due to being so fried, attempting to masturbate after that — much to Dave’s abject disgust — gives up, and goes back to painting.

Dave can feel his patience growing thinner by the second. You’ve already retired to bed so he no longer has anything to occupy his mind as he waits. He would prefer to strike while Jonathan is sleeping, but it’s either now or never; anything close to daybreak would be too risky.

Given up on being discreet, he slinks like a cat out of the woods at around 12:30 AM, head on a constant swivel, gun holstered at his hip in case he needs it. He’s hoping he doesn’t.

He’s opted for the more difficult to trace route as the actual means of execution — a syringe with 100mg of potassium chloride, the same drug used in prisons — tucked away neatly in the pocket of his black hoodie.

The nearer Dave draws to the apartment, the louder the indie rock music Jonathan is blaring becomes, a band Dave doesn’t recognize. That’s a good thing, though, it will work in his favor when he picks the lock at the front of the building, arguably the riskiest part of this entire mission, due to its proximity to the street.

He reaches the second story landing and pulls his lock picking kit from said hoodie, adjusting the black beanie away from his eyes as he finds the right tools. He manipulates them into the lock, ear pressed to the thin door so he can better hear what he’s doing.

The music continues, and so far as Dave can tell, he hasn’t been detected.

He pops the lock within minutes and the door slowly shimmies open, his hand going to his hip on instinct as he pushes the door the rest of the way with the toe of his boot.

He’s met with a short entryway that veers off to a dimly lit living room. So far, Jonathan hasn’t noticed him. He’s on another planet entirely—exactly where Dave wants him. Thank god for brain altering substances.

Dave stalks forward and soon arrives at the opening of the main living space which is littered with various articles of trash and other clutter, skillfully dodging as much as he can so as to not alert his presence, or give detectives anything to go on.

What he finds is Jonathan hunched in front of a canvas, paintbrush perched between nimble fingers, painting god knows what, because Dave sure can’t tell, his back facing him. The sheer abundance of luck at his mark being in such a vulnerable and unawares position is so goddamn sexy Dave can hardly keep his dick in check at the presentation.

But even with Jonathan being as preoccupied as he is, it would be imprudent to dawdle, so he doesn’t.

He quickly closes the space between the two of them, one arm coiling like a large python around Jonathan’s throat and the other disabling his limbs.

Jonathan looses a low bellow, most of which is drowned out by the music and the reduced flow of oxygen to his lungs, nearly knocking over the easel the canvas sits on in his rush of panic, but thankfully does not. In Dave’s experience working cases for the CIA, signs of struggle are often harder to hide than one would think.

He attempts to fight back, body trying to twist away, but Dave is larger, stronger and more experienced in disarming than Jonathan is in fighting…well, anything…so it isn’t as difficult as Dave had feared it would be.

It isn’t exactly a cake walk either, and Dave knows he needs to get him to the ground as soon as possible to fully disable him, arm tightening around Jonathan’s throat as he wrestles the smaller man to the floor. He puts Jonathan in a sleeper hold, adding a second arm for leverage and bringing a leg up to ensnare his lower half.

“Just let it happen. Let it happen and it will be easier,” Dave grits against the shell of his ear. “Don’t fight me.”

He doesn’t listen, of course, hellbent on breaking the grapple, and failing. That pesky self preservation always did aggravate Dave as much as it excited him.

Jonathan’s vision starts to blot away, music fading to a low and persistent hum, his body finally giving in to the asphyxiation now that the adrenaline was a fleeting thing.

This is exactly what Dave needed to happen, and as he feels Jonathan’s body growing slack in his clutches, he removes the syringe from his pocket, biting the lid off and grasping it between his teeth as he readies the needle.

It isn’t hard to find a vein due to Jonathan’s heightened sense of agitation and panic, inserting the needle into the soft flesh of his neck and sinking the plunger before he can struggle away, flooding his bloodstream with the full dose of potassium chloride.

Within moments, attempts to free himself devolve to little more than faint body tremors, and Dave doesn’t release him until his body has fallen completely motionless and limp in his arms.

He checks Jonathan’s pulse a moment later and when he’s satisfied he’s gone, he drags the corpse to the recliner on the opposite end of the room, manipulating him into a position that makes it appear as if Jonathan succumbed to cardiac arrest.

Once done, he finds Jonathan’s cellphone and begins to thumb through the recent calls and text messages.

He finds you in there, as well as a string of messages to you begging your forgiveness and for your return, which have gone wholly unanswered by you. Dave smiles to himself. You must have blocked him after the breakup. Good.

He knows there’s a very real chance cops will question you regardless. But Dave decides to delete the messages and any other snippet of information he can find about you in Jonathan’s phone anyway, just to be safe.

As he repockets the empty syringe, he gives the room a final comb to ensure that not even a hair is out of place. When he determines everything is satisfactory, and that he hasn’t left behind any evidence or traces of DNA, he turns to make a hasty retreat.

He leaves the apartment exactly as he found it, making sure to lock the door behind him, leaving nothing out of place, no loose ends unraveled.

He jogs down the stairs and makes the mile long trek through the woods to return to where his car is parked, working up a sweat even with the cooler air but not at all concerned about it, pulling the beanie off and tossing it to the passenger floorboard when he finally makes it to the car.

Palming himself through his dark jeans, he pulls onto the road, with you being the only thing on his mind as he begins the arduous six hour journey home to see you. You.

And he can barely fucking wait.

——

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#pedro pascal #writing #fanfic #smut #author #romance #pedro fanfic #dark romance #max phillips #dave york

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