Its beautiful.

Seated snugly in a navy blue, velvet cushion, it doesnt quite twinkle up at her, but it does look brilliant caught in the rays of August sunlight streaming through his window.

Its blinding, though not because of its size, which is perfectly balanced for a hand and finger like hers. All she can think is whos it for? She hadnt heard a whisper about anyone from anybody, but she knows that might mean nothing with him.

Shes being absurd, because the hops, skips, and jumps her mind are making are closer to leaps and bounds, but in her minds eye, she has a vision of someone like her lying in a bed somewhere else — across the state or up the street, she cant be sure — waiting for him. Missing him the way she used to. Resigning herself to the fact that this is his life, and wondering if theyre cut out to be in step with him, and walking away when he makes the decision for them.

"Put that away."

She jumps, and when she looks over her shoulder, box still clutched in her hands, shes more surprised his disposition is calm where his order should be steely. Hes not asking where she found it, why she was snooping through his things.

Mind, she wasnt — at least, not uninvited. In the quest for something to wear in lieu of her own shirt thatd earned an unfortunate splash of blueberry syrup over the breakfast she shouldve never stayed over for but that, for the past month and a half, shes had more than once, shed found the box tucked underneath a stack of neatly folded shirts in his drawer while digging for the specific one she remembered liking.

(The fact that she shouldnt even have been searching for a shirt she liked is another matter entirely for her to consider.)

He pries it from her hands without a word, and the snap when it closes is explosive before he replaces it deep under the pile of shirts.

"Got what you need?" he asks, nodding to the shirt thats slung over her arm. He nods again, but whether hes taking her lack of response as confirmation or hes avoiding the discovery she cant tell.

All the times he never says anything, and all the times he should.

She follows him on his path back to the living room, noting the slight, defensive hunt in his broad shoulders just before he drops onto the sofa.

"Are you seeing someone?"

Its the most polite, least accusatory way she can come up with her inquiry, but he still looks downright annoyed.

"No," he says. "I'm not."

The image of someone, somewhere, curled up waiting for him vanishes, and the pressure thats been sitting on her chest lifts some.

"When did you get it?"

Did you get it for her? She wants to ask, but even the idea.

Theres a tick in his jaw when he clamps it in refusal to answer, and her fingertips tingle.

"Fine," she says, balling the shirt in her hands up and tossing it forcefully onto the couch beside him. "I'm leaving."

"Youve got syrup on you," he says with a sort of self-assurance that makes her boil. When she jams one of her feet into her sneakers and yanks it up the back of her heel, he leans forward.

"Stop that," he says. "Jesus Christ, it's just a ring — it doesn't mean anything!"

Is that supposed to make her feel better? That whoever it's for, it means nothing? Though the knowledge that nothing's sacred to him answers the question thats been weighing on her mind for months, more spring up like Hydras heads.

Her purse is still abandoned by the side of the couch and when she stalks, stride wide, to snatch it, he stands simultaneously, grabbing her forearm, and his hold tightens when she tries to wrench it out of his hold.

"I bought it a year ago," he says, holding tighter when she jerks her arm again. "Before you broke up with me. And I didnt want to tell you, because I didnt want you to change your decision because you felt obligated to. You didnt want to be with me anymore, and—"

"You cheated on me!" she exclaims. She tugs her arm with another almighty twist of her body and she slips out of his grasp despite his scrabbling fingers. "Thought that made it pretty clear how you felt about us."

He shakes his head. "I didn't."

"What?"

His eyes are round and sad and his shoulders are slumped with defeat when he says, "I didnt cheat on you, Id Id never I love you."

Her skin prickles and she worries the thin leather that connects the tassel to the zipper of her purse.

"I didnt cheat on you," he repeats dully, face wearing more lines than he has years. "Id never I love you. I wanted to marry you, why why would I cheat on you?"

Her legs may as well be stilts in Chicago for how much his admissions shaking her to her core.

"You were gone," she says, sure shes right — she has to be, otherwise. "All the time, even when you didnt—"

"Had to pick it out, didnt I?" he asks. "Know how hard I looked for it?"

She swallows convulsively. "And the phone calls?"

"Jewellers," he says with an air of patient explanation. "Costs and sizing and all that."

The rooms tipping on end and she feels like shes going to be sick off the edge of it.

"Oh God." Her throats constricting and she covers her face to hide the flush she can feel creeping up. "Why didnt you tell me?" she asks. "Why didnt you—?"

"Broke up with me," he says hoarsely. "Said I cheated, I didnt didnt think you should be with someone you dont trust."

"But you didnt?" she asks, feeling hot from her mounting distress and hotter still when he shakes his head. "Why did you let me?"

"Figured it was what you wanted anyway," he says. "Thought you wanted an out."

"No!" she whimpers. An out had been the last thing on her mind until she thought it was on his and that hed slipped through the opening without her.

Seven months with less heartbreak and less room in her bed, because half and half means nothing to him, and, "Whats yours is mine and mine is yours," and hes always given her the shirt off his back.

Of all the times to not say anything.

"Please dont cry," he says, shuffling forward even as she shakes her head with deep, sucking inhales. "Baby, please."

His palms are warm on her cheeks and she grabs his forearms to tightly ten new moons make themselves known.

"Hey!" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "ts okay," he says with another kiss. "Its okay, you didnt know."

If thats his only Band-Aid, her wounds too bloody and fresh for it to take hold, and frankly it sounds like more of an excuse than a reason. Who cares if she didnt know? Why did that matter? Why didnt she take even a moment to ask when it could have saved them both so much so much.

"Stop!" He sounds firm, but desperation gleams in his eyes. "Please, stop!" He kisses her softly, quickly, pleading for her to stop, please, just stop. "Dont want you to cry," he says against her mouth. "Hate when you cry baby, please."

For the first time in eight months, she opens her arms to him in a way she hadnt despite however many unwise breakfasts theyd spent together, and her sticky shirt smashes to the front of his formerly clean one. Shed been screaming in her head, but now its just stilted breaths and gently smacking and releasing lips and the creak of the floorboards beneath their feet.

Keep him.

Hold him.

Dont let him let her go.

His bumbling, fumbling fingers pluck the strap of her purse from her shoulder. It lands on the floor with a thud when she drops her arm, and she understands the way he swings her in a tight 180 degree circle so her back faces inside and away from the door to be a silent decision that shes staying right here with him.

"Get this off," she says, twisting her fingers in his shirt, the fibers sticky and tacky from the mess that transferred from her shirt.

"Kay," he breathes, breaking just enough to hook his fingers into the back of his shirt before pulling it up over his head. Her hands find his torso like magnets drawn to the hot skin, and she feels his chest expand with a short, sharp inhale as he cups her face again. "C mere," he mutters just before covering her mouth with his. Its demanding and deep — the kind of deep that reaches her stomach like a tree taking root and it makes her sway on the spot with the softest moan in her throat. He breaks with a quivering breath she can feel against her mouth and when he backs her up, she complies, stumbling and grateful hes got a hold on her to keep her from falling entirely.

The sheets are still twisted when they retreat back to his bedroom and topple onto the mattress, and while she struggles with her shoes and for breath, he wrestles with the button on her shorts.

"Fucking tricky little."

It cant take more than five seconds for him to free the button from its buttonhole and to tug her zipper open with a hurried flick of his wrist, but as shed opened her arms for him in a way shed been avoiding, shes looking at him — really looking at him — for the first time, too. Hes got the most intent look on his face as he fights the metal, lips parted, brow furrowed, hair falling onto his forehead with a careless little swoop that mimics the track her stomachs on. Looking closer, deeper, theres a frenzied sort of haste hidden there, and it occurs to her she doesnt know if its because shed walked out before or she was about to again.

When his eyes dart to hers, she freezes. Each breath is shallow when his fingertips skate up underneath her shirt and over the stomach shes always declared to be too soft through wriggles, squirms, and sucking-ins, but that hes always nuzzled, kissed, and spread his hands over like he didnt believe her.

Hes doing that now, inching her shirt up bit by bit, and when hes got her midriff naked, he prompts her to sit up so the rest of her can follow and she can be his twin. Sticky cotton is thrown aside in favour of his heavy, hot body slanting over hers and open-mouthed kisses searing her skin as he keeps his hand spread wide across her stomach, and a lump swells in her throat. Every indiscretion save for the first had been full of mumbles — teasing questions that made her toes curl and answers that had his hips snapping to hers almost as tightly as his eyes closed. Theyve been loud, if only because he wouldnt let her be quiet, and that, she thinks, has drowned out every thought that could lead to every feeling.

But with his mouth wrapped around her nipple — shed forgone a bra and hadnt anticipated leaving his at an hour anyone would see her to notice — the pull of it as earnest as the squeeze of his hand just under her ribs, shes got no choice but to be overwhelmed by the softness of his hair wrapped between her fingers and the muted groans caught in his throat with each slow, purposeful stroke of his tongue that hints at some reverence thats been cloaked by egotistical demands.

Shes told herself it was physical this whole time — purely about good sex, because they knew each other better than anyone and who better to get it from? Except he was going to ask her to marry him. He was going to ask her to spend the rest of his life together — to spend all their years until there was nothing physical left.

She claps her hand around his bicep with a frantic shake of his head when he starts to descend along her body with smacking kisses to her sternum.

"No," she says tersely. "No, not—"

She flails beneath him, twisting, arm flung out and grappling with the pull-ring on his bedside table. The drawer rattles when she opens it and she strains her wrist reaching inside to pull out a cardboard box by the tips of her fingers. It tumbles onto the mattress, but she snatches it up again and pushes it into his chest. He holds it, dropping his eyes to look at it and then back to her.

"Please." Shes wriggling her hips, wrenching her shorts past them as quickly as she can. He blinks once, twice, mouth turned down slightly at the corners, but makes no move. "Please!" Her voice cracks and she kicks her legs to free herself entirely of the denim and polka-dotted silk constraints. She needs him, but more important still, she needs to give him something after taking everything.

For a moment she thinks he really wont, and she thinks she might actually cry, but then he turns onto his back, pulling a condom packet from the box before shucking his shorts, cock smacking his hip softly. Hes hard, but not quite enough, and she watches him with hooded eyes and a mouth watering with the offer to give some assistance as he fervently pumps and strokes. He grunts occasionally and she spies his hips starting to lift in time with his fisting hand, and when she whimpers with a soft kick, he lets go and tears the square open.

Once its rolled on, he scrambles back onto his front and climbs over her with his elbows, When hes got the rubber rolled on, he scrambles back onto his front, climbing over her with his elbows between her open legs.

"Easy, easy," he says, patting her thigh when she tightens her legs around his waist. Have to there you go. He kisses her, and though shes still digging her blunt nails into his back, the tension thats knotted through her shoulders relaxes some. "There you go," he mumbles.

Her mouth parts under his when the head of his cock presses against her, and she hears a faint groan before he pushes forward — slowly, but deliberately — into her cunt.

"Oh, fuck!" he pants. Beneath him, shes still as can be, doing her best to keep her quaking thighs from tightening right back around him. He thrusts once, deep and smooth, and the force it takes to swallow back a cry leaves her breathless. He, pauses, holding himself still in her, apparently overwhelmed, and sponges kisses across her collarbone and neck, adjusting his weight but somehow feeling heavier. When she undulates her hips under his, though, to try to encourage him to move, he sighs against her earlobe, sending a chill down her spine.

"I'm not punishing you," he says, voice deep and clear. She opens her eyes and locks them on the ceiling over his shoulder. His whole body racks with his next breath and she presses her palms tighter into his back, which feels sweatier under her clammy hands. "I'm not, I—"

He pulls back before sinking down again and this time she does cry out faintly from how far it feels like hes driving. He groans gutturally, but rather than wait this time, he thrusts again, and a third time, barely pulling out of her each time, staying close and grinding against the nerves she can just feel pressure on.

"It's not a punishment," he says through his teeth. "You want one, dont you? Want me to be a dick? Want me to cum first? Think you deserve it and itll make it better?

Out of sight, her toes curl in response.

"Because I was going to ask you t-to marry m me," he manages between grunts. "To be my wife, was. Was going to—"

Hearing the words — marry me, wife — out loud leaves her cold and wishing the mattress would swallow her up. Marry me, marry him, spend their lives, make their bed, lie in it every night, stay in it every morning without—

"Always fucking running!" he declares with a wheeze. "Always, arent you?" he asks, pulling back farther and fucking into her deeper. As he picks up speed, the faint squeak of the springs in the mattress gets ever so slightly louder between gulps and gasps.

"No," she croaks.

"Yes," he says. "Always always Jesus, you feel good!" Its the first time he sounds like hes giving in instead of giving a lesson, and the raw confession makes a knot — a thick, heavy knot — pull tight in her stomach.

When he stops short, then, with tight lips, closed eyes, a straining jaw, and flaring nostrils, one vein popping in his neck, she gapes at him and wonders if shes gotten the better of him. His mouth smashes into a thinner line when he exhales, though, and he barely opens his eyes, withdrawing an arm from where its found its way underneath her. Hes staring unwaveringly when his fingertips brush over her clit before pinching softly, and she hikes her legs up high, thrashing her head.

"There," he says, stroking and circling with quick, upwards hooks of his fingers that resemble the flicking of his tongue when hes dived between her legs. "Close, arent you?"

"No," she repeats her earlier sentiment, digging her nails in hard and attempting to shove him off despite the jerk of her legs. "OhmyGod," she whispers in one breath, clamping her jaw against the urge to shout when he pulls his fingers faster, easily gliding over the sensitive nerves.

"Yeah, you are," he all but coos, huffing in his efforts to stay with her. "I know you are please, baby."

Shes not sure if its worse that hes right or worse that hes still, even now, taking care of her. Shed thrown their relationship in his face and out the window, and the one thing shed wanted to do for him — to offer up as apology in the only way she could think to give — hes not allowing.

How could she ever think this man did anything less than adore her? How could she think anything less of him period?

She sucks in sharply when the first pulse sweeps through her and she clutches his arm suddenly with the next one accompanied by a strangled cry and wide eyes.

"Good!" he urges hotly against her jaw, steadily rubbing despite how eager and overly excited he sounds. "Good! Good, thats it."

She barely hears him through the drumbeat thats her heart, and her vision swims hazily as that knot in her twists tighter and tighter, until at last it snaps.

"Oh, fuck!" she pants, keening, and when she lifts her hip slightly he pushes them down with his, withdrawing his hand with some difficulty to drop his weight back more event between his arms as he hovers above her.

Whatever semblance of control and ration hes managed to hold onto appears wiped in her brief glance of his pinched face before he buries it in her neck. Eyes falling shut, she turns her face into the soft tufts of hair and pulls him closer — not that he needs help, because she swears hes so close they wont be able to pry each other away. His breathing is rapid, uneven, and wet against her skin, and she can hear mumbles she cant make out. If his thrusts had been deep before, theyre nearly splitting with their force now as he succumbs to whatever reckless abandon hes been holding back on.

"Oh, fuck!" he chokes. "Sh— no—!"

He squeezes his arms underneath her and she feels the whole rest of his body go tense before he positively shakes, and she knows hes just filled the thin layer of latex that separates them.

"Fuck!" He repeats with more remorse before he goes lax on top of her. Every bit of air is knocked out of her already heaving lungs, and stars swim in front of her eyes from the crushing weight of him. Hes holding on so tightly, though, that shed be afraid to move even if she could.

At last, though, her needs win out, and, in a strained, quiet whisper, she says, "H-hey," tapping the back of his shoulder before a firmer, "I cant—"

He groans deep and thunderously in his throat, but lifts off her, and she gratefully takes a deep breath, filling her lungs to the brim. She grunts when he cups her cheek and repeatedly smashes a kiss to the opposite one, each one harder than the last. Its smothering, but rather than shrink away from it, she turns to catch them with her mouth.

"Im sorry."

Its so soft even she wonders if shed said it — if it had made it out during the few seconds between lip locks — and she whimpers her frustration.

"Im sorry," she repeats, louder. "Im sorry." Her breath hitches and she closes her eyes, his nose skimming her but kisses ceased for the moment. "Im so sorry."

//WORD COUNT// 3597

OMG YASSSSSSSS