Feelings

Nikolai

It was a sight, seeing him without his glasses.

His preppy, pretty-boy features were perfectly outlined. I could see every line, every curve, every stupid little imperfection that made him him.

I could feel it, my fingers itching to trace them. Down his face, down to his collarbone, before closing around his throat. Not gently. Not kindly. Just enough to knock the oxygen from his lungs.

His chest rose and fell. Slow. Calm. Like he had no idea who was in his apartment. Like he hadn’t ruined my day. My week. My control.

Okay, that was a lie, I had no control.

But still, my pride was hurt, that this cheap little thing had managed to knock me out.

I crouched slightly, moving closer. The smell of him, clean, faint cheap soap, that faint trace of coffee from earlier, hit me. Delicious. Infuriating.

A smirk tugged at my lips. He wasn’t expecting this. Couldn’t expect it. Didn’t even know.

I reached out, just brushing his hair back. My fingers lingered, testing. Tempting. The tiniest touch, enough to get him to feel.

He was indeed pretty… that was something undeniable. And subconsciously I found myself tracing and lingering around his lips, seduction causing his breathing to pace up.

Inhaling and exhaling softly through his lips, the sight shot through my body and went straight to my dick.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Bloody motherfucker, fuck!

Did my dick just fucking respond to some cheap waste of space?

Immediately I withdrew my hands, staring at him, as his chest rose and fell, and his lips…

Fucking no shit, Niko.

Okay, I’m definitely losing my mind.

I stood up, taking a step back, clearing my throat, and I probably needed to get my head checked.

I swallowed, where for some fucked up reason, I turned uncomfortable.

Pushing my gaze from him, I redirected it to his tiny apartment, which wasn’t even half the size of my bathroom.

The place wasn’t decent.

Papers everywhere, some half-finished notes on the desk. Clothes draped over chairs. Empty snack wrappers. How could someone live like this and still look so… clean? So put together?

I crouched, moving slowly, deliberately, letting my eyes roam over every inch of his space. Drawers, shelves, the little cubby by the bed. Every small detail was a window into him. Into how stupidly… perfectly annoying he was.

And then I saw them.

His glasses. Sitting on the bedside table.

I picked them up, weighing them in my hand. Smooth. Ordinary. Mine now.

A smirk tugged at my lips. “Oh, you’re not getting these back,” I muttered, slipping them into my pocket. Think of it as me keeping it as a souvenir.

I ran through some of his things, which was absolutely useless and dumb, just like him.

And though I didn’t want to admit it, the amount of books which I spotted piled up at his bedside was impressive. No capping, he was indeed smart if he spent half of his time reading this shit.

I slipped some other few stuffs of his just to mess with his head. A pen. A notebook. A couple of those tiny party favors he had tossed on his desk. Silly, useless little things—but mine now.

Moving back to his bed, I crouched down, and for some other fucked up reason, I was back at observing him, and my dick reacted.

Shit, my pants already formed a tent.

And those lips…

I shook my head, standing up, my throat tightening. I needed to get out of here.

I turned around.

“Please don’t leave me…..” his soft moan.

I paused and turned around.

He was twitching under the blanket. Frowning. Lips parting in a soft, broken moan. His hands curled into fists at his sides, fingers clawing at the sheets.

Fuck. He looked so vulnerable and edible.

Stepping back to his bed, I leaned closer…

A single tear rolled down his fair cheek.

Fuck.

Even asleep, he was a mess. A perfect, soft, fragile mess. And that little tear… it hit something in me, something dark and possessive and completely uncontrollable.

I wanted to wipe it away. Wanted to trace it with my fingers, wanted to make him look at me while it happened.

But I didn’t. Not yet.

I leaned closer, hovering, my shadow falling over him. His chest rose and fell faster now, little tremors running through his body. He murmured again, soft, broken syllables, caught somewhere between fear and dream.

A smirk tugged at my lips.

“You’re mine, Nathaniel,” I whispered.

Mine to fucking break.

He shifted slightly, curling in on himself, and I could almost feel the heat radiating from him.

I stood back, letting the words sink in, letting him writhe in his own little nightmare.