WHISPERS

LOST IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

WARMTH COMES AND GOES. here, he feels it across his face. the air that spill from her nostrils, the bundles of joy she gifts him from both of her lips. it grows with their proximity and exacerbates when she binds him between her arms and legs.

he’s drinking again. this time the intoxication is overpowering. something about human touch. physical, intimate—something he hasn’t felt for weeks if not months—excites him. it’s one of the few comforts money cannot buy.

and it settles in his chest. the heat that flushes in his cheek resonates with his thumping chest.

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
illeana reyes

WHISPERS

LOST IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

SHE SQUEEZES THE LIFE out of him. both metaphoric and literal. the great seviper that dominate hoenn’s wildlands can’t hold a candle to her. fernando finds himself knee deep in dangerous territory, swallowed every time her legs straddle him against the confines of the kitchen counter top.

he can seldom wriggle, forced to reveal his own blush as fabric tickles against her inner thigh. only his upper body is able to scale against her vice, hands up her back, one against her nape, desperate to hold on in an illogical fear she may part.

it’s him who breaks first.

he leans against bound ankles, giving them a few inches to breath and stare back. his eye never let her go, rising when his breath hitchens.

“illeana, look at me.”

his forehead comes down on her again. he can feel her bangs tickle against his exposed forehead. uncertainty finds a way to bleed through his narrowed eyes. he’s probing. looking for something.

he’s not quite sure what.

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
illeana reyes

WHISPERS

LOST IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

HE DOESN’T FIND IT. whatever it is that he’s looking for. it’s not here. or, he doesn’t know how to identify it. all he sees in is the clear of her eyes. bright, brilliant, bold.

nice but a far reach from what he wants. but when he tries to articulate what he wants to see in her—he can’t put a word to it. there’s no way to describe it. just, he’ll know it when he sees it.

“i trust you.”

the hand that clings to the scruff of her neck glides around to cup her by the chin. as if to raise it so their stare is perfect. a straight line. diagonal from their contrasting heights.

“so i need you to be honest,” he claims while running his thumb against her lower lip. it takes a snail pace to reach the center from one end. and it dabble a bit too far, threatens to enter, to expose her inner lip.

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
illeana reyes

WHISPERS

LOST IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

HE CAN FEEL HER. the wet cusp of where lip ends and mouth begins. he stays away from toying with it, intimately familiar with the damage she can do. his mood is already riled up at the thought and acknowledgement of what he’s going to do tonight.

“about this.”

he tilts her chin to the side, away from him, forcing her eyes elsewhere. his eyes resume searching but their effort is futile.

“that this isn’t coercion because of our positions.”

he doesn’t find it so he tilts her in the opposite direction. away from him. poised to reveal a clear view of her jawline, cheekbones, ear and neck.

“because of our power dynamic.”

he leans in to leave supple kisses against her exposed neck. soft, wet, preparational kisses as he looks for that sensitive little nook that makes her shiver whenever he applies pressure. he doesn’t have it memorized. not yet.

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
illeana reyes

WHISPERS

LOST IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

“BOSS.”

when he feels her quiver, he stops his wandering. there’s no need to.

“councilman.”

now, he applies pressure. his kisses lose their flowery hover. teeth graze against moist skin and when she pulls away, he latches on.

“mentor,” he murmurs against the crook of her neck.

he leaves a parting gift, intention and insidious: a red mark that goes against the very reason he delays the inevitable. he can feel it underneath his lip.

“i need to know that this goes beyond that.”

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
illeana reyes

WHISPERS

LOST IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

HER CONSENT makes a palpable excuse. a small exchange, innocent, romantic even. it gives enough insight for fernando to hatch an exit plan should he ever need it.

but what she doesn’t give him is the ability to dismiss the lingering doubt left by the WISH TAG’s wake. it may not reside in him anymore but just like the desire that imprints juvenile hickies against fair skin, his actions prove otherwise.

i’m in control, he tell himself as his lip slides around her helix.

i can quit at any moment.

the sense of adventure that comes from pursuing someone. the satisfaction that comes from being desired, being validated through physical acts of service. attraction, physical and mental.

they’re nice. a splurge. something he wants, now, but can disregard if needed.

that’s what he tells himself despite the way he feel enamored by the smell of alcohol on her breath. the way her breathing hitches when he touches her a little too hard.

“illeana.”

he leaves another mark. this time unintentional.

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
illeana reyes

WHISPERS

LOST IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

FERNANDO WILL ALWAYS deny being possessive. just like pokemon or material goods, people are unneeded. these bonds he’s built are ‘nice to haves’ but wholly unnecessary. that same line of thought convinces himself that his will is stronger than impulse.

but what he believes and what is true don’t always align. small actions, given very little thought of analyzation, point him solely in the other direction. it’s why he leaves visible love bites knowing full well the intrusion and implication it leaves on others.

it’s to mark his territory.

“lay back.”

when he releases her to admire his work, satisfaction riddles his bones. blood pulses and a need to escalate throbs within. but the canvas of her neck and ears gives him little to work with.

he needs a bigger playground.

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
illeana reyes