A Friend with Benefits

FAY

If Tyke weren't an orc, he'd be perfect. But orcs and fairies together is still quite a taboo thing, to be honest. The war between our kind only ended ten years ago, and that's not enough time for a generation to get over it.

It's never been a problem for us, per se. It was a genuine, instant sexual connection. After an accidental one-night stand, here we are, having as many more as we want...

"You like that, Tyke? I can rub harder if you like. Massage it till you spit it..." My plastic cup wanders into the void until it blindly finds a coffee table to land on. I need two hands: one to walk over Tyke's six-pack of flesh and destruction, and the other to tame his heavy-loaded crotch.

"You need to be taught a lesson, little insolent." That husky voice of his... I just can't.

"Bear, you know I'm quite hands-on with education..." I purr, my hands dancing up his partially-opened shirt. They enter beneath the fabric with something very specific in mind: to play with Tyke's nipple rings.

I slip a finger into the loop, softly but greedily pulling until Tyke gives me what I want—a low guttural growl.

Dirty beast...

I release his nipples, driving my hands down his hard bumps, the latter swelling as he breathes. I stop them just above Cock-Mothership and firmly hook my fingers onto his leather belt with no intention of letting go. Fuck, Tyke's got this body. It's one of a giant green bear crossed with a god of abs.

With a hungry lip curving up, Tyke tilts his head to the left—a motion so slow, it screams perversion, vile intentions, and a promise of heavenly sex. "Hands-on...?"

"Hands-on." I bring his torso closer, my thirsty tug on his belt a hint he's bound to take.

"Fay..." Tyke winds a thread of my hair with his big, yet slender finger, his cock stretching beneath his jeans. "I'll give you a private session."

His teaching doesn't wait. His sharp tusks scratch against my burning throat, pearls of sweat licked by a thirsty orc. Then, beneath my dress, a curious hand wanders up my thigh, and, coaxed, a moan pushes out of me.

"Hush, little bug..." Tyke's whisper is nearly in sync with my second moan, which I'm quick to neutralize between pinched lips. This orc is a devoted adventurer, never missing a chance to explore his well-charted territory, and in the most public places...

A shallow rush escapes from my nostrils as he clasps my thong and pulls it up shamelessly, stirring my loins with the kind of pressure that makes me want to clutch him to my chest.

And that's what I do.

"Tyke, I love your explorations, but you're pushing beyond, and it's getting me?—"

"Blaming my cock?" he groans, nibbling at my neck.

"What else could it be?.."

Laughter clatters behind him.

I could socialize with my friends, but I'm plastered against the kitchen wall, my flattened-out wings shedding glitter all over the place. Gotta be careful with Heartsbleed—my pixie dust might be a soother, but if too much is inhaled, people may experience intense lust, let alone intoxication…

I bend my head to one side at my roommate's familiar voice. Donna threw some shade over the city's sickening—and now-canceled—commemoration with one of her Sunday Full Moon parties, and I could never thank her enough.

With music in the background, this dork is drooling over a rather well-proportioned man, taking him down on this poor couch as she glues her lips to his. I'm not even sure he can breathe at this stage. "I would give anything to be yours, Alpha Helios."

"You keep saying that, always teasing me, little flirt. But then you disappear when the lights go o?—"

"Don't you know it was because the lights went off that I ran into you in the first place?"

I chuckle at what I've heard. Donna's lost in the sauce when it comes to flirting—really, it's a disaster. The wolfgirl's a ten, a golden ratio of oomph and brainpower, yet she never gets laid. I'm against interfering with anyone's love life, so I'll be discreet about it. Matchmaking may not be the right word, but fate might benefit from a ripple of some kind. It's just a matter of finding the perfect opportunity...

A clutch of olive-drab fingers swaddles my chin, shifting my focus to a more pressing matter.

"Keep your eyes on me, fairy."

Darkness suddenly falls upon us all as I breathe, "Yes."

Soon, a collective hooting erupts, but Tyke's sweet nothings somewhat overshadow it. "Don't be afraid, Mog G'thazag Cha."

He will protect me from lights going off? I suppress a giggle as I translate Tyke's Orcish words.

Firm, his hands dispatch from my waist to the small of my back. These keep kneading into my love handles, flushing me against him as if we could merge. There's no space left but for a whisper; it's gritty and curls into a silent kiss where it's meant to be, perfectly against my ear, "Donna's generator's gonna kick in."

I play coy and snort, amused, "You think I'm afraid of the dark?"

"Are you?"

"Don't you know it's because it was dark that I ran into you?" Subtle, Fay... You'll thank Donna and her inability to flirt later.

"What dark? I saw nothing that day but two glowing moonstones billowing into me." I lower my gaze at the heat in his words. "Bug..." A fingertip, the largest, tacks under my bottom lip. "Happy or not happy?"

I smile as he raises my chin, moving my attention elsewhere than the crack of our joined bodies.

How does he do it? Tyke is always hyperaware of my moods and how quickly they shift––every time, inching closer to a secret garden I'd rather keep hidden. And I have to give him credit, because once again, he's sniffed out an underlayer of my mind. The truth is, power cuts remind me of too many things. Blackouts punctuate our lives, reminding us twice daily how energy can be taken from us at the snap of a finger. Several media reports have mentioned thieves tampering with power meters, a handful of what they call "wild" orcs on the other side of The Wall, having discovered the benefits of arcane electricity.

Other underground media have talked about poor economic management and corruption, but I don't want to believe either story.

Tyke's reading me. A head tilt, back hunched, golden eyes prosecuting my own. I'm at a trial where I always end up feeling guilty. He's getting better at it, or maybe I'm slacking. I cock my head, mirroring his expression; perhaps I want to be mocky, or maybe I feel cornered...

Confounded, the tone of my answer could easily be mistaken for a question. "Happy."

He breathes heavily and turns his head toward muffled gossip as if lights going off had this ability to shut people up.

Soon, Donna's voice breaches the hushed atmosphere. "Wait for it, guys." Tyke submits to her comment, nodding and releasing a loud sigh through a thin, exhausted smile. "Five, four..." Soon, her entire wolf pack joins her shenanigans. "Three, two, one. All hail Fidr!"

Cringes fill me from the inside as electricity returns. Fidr is our president, and her actions have changed the Faerhan nation for the better. Yet I know what they think of her; I'm not stupid. I know how the country is nearly split in half, with those who applaud Fidr and those who want to revolt against her.

"Third time today. Power cuts keep increasing by the year," observes Tyke.

"It's okay. Hard times, hard measures."

"Fay, why the leg shakes?"

I lift my eyes to meet ones with a medium of seriousness made of black patina. And I'm reluctant to engage in anything serious with him because he makes things visible. He's too real, and I need to keep us simple. I really do. Tyke is the distraction I need, my escape from my cluttered mind, thoughts like jackstraws with teeth allergic to anything nice.

"Gnomezcal," I grin mechanically.

"Liar."

Yes, I am.

I'd rather lose myself in eyes full of stars rather than open up.

And I do.

"Fay, you're overthinking again." Tyke's lips start painting soundless words on my skin, and a beat of mine skips. "Would you care to know what my obsessive thoughts are?" And now a kiss on my left temple... "There's not one morning..."

I shudder.

Swallow.

"Not one afternoon." His hands clasp my face, and I feel myself melting in them, "or evening that I don't breathe for you."

I am nothing except the control of air coming from me. "The words you say... I thought orcs had a strong resistance to alcohol, but it appears your liver's weaker than mine," I mumble before feigning laughter, needing to wipe away this seriousness.

He shakes his head, his lips flattening as he licks them. "Not my liver, bug; my heart."

Heart... My own snaps, hammering so hard, I'm pretty sure it's a beat away from gutting my chest in half.

"Smitten, orc?" I taunt, clearing my throat as I avoid choking on what I am sure are rib fragments.

Tyke bows his head, and a soft sigh drifts down my shoulder. "If it were the case, would it go against your rules?"

I suck in my cheeks. Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't.

"Tyke, you know, it's not?—"

"I thought you hated deep talk," he cuts. Tyke never liked my rules. He smothers me with a stinging smile, his glare pining me at the wall before priming me with weighted hip waves, no less, chastising me with lips nipping at my earlobe. "I can slow down," he has to cruelly add.

"No." My teeth are aching to bite, mouth to drag kisses and tongue across the heat of his skin, the pulse of his racing heart…

He's making me want it—this peace and stability I know he can offer.

Need it.

Require it.

But my mind doesn't, and I'm left begging with my body, my nails digging into his pectorals as his shirt riffles in two star-shaped fractals. "What you do to me..." I bite down on my lip to the rusk of his voice, near imperceptible, shy as it strokes my jawline.

Without waiting, two hands land on my rear, evenly sloping over my bum cheeks, and I try not to give out a moan, though the words that come out of me might sound like one. "Can never compare to what you do to me."

He huffs a laugh and lifts me up the wall for our eyes to spear each other. "This is the best part of the week for me, fairy." I tilt my head back, counting the second until kisses fall on my throat. "No..." And they come on time. "Best part of my life."

"The beauty of friendship," I add uneasily, needing to remind him of my boundaries—nothing serious because life is already too serious, and I can't take any more.

"If you say so..."

Don't go too far with this, Tyke. I beg you...

"Hey, lovebirds!" Donna barks, and Tyke and I stiffen, biting into our smiles. "Get a room. We can hardly breathe." Embarrassed, my smile drops straight away. Donna knows I can't control my pixie dust, something that only enhances how I just don't fit in with my kind.

"Your place, Tyke. It's too loud here."

"You don't want to keep the party going?"

"I want to keep the party going on your mattress."

A throaty snicker later, Tyke picks me up orc-bride style, swinging me over his shoulder, very much exposing my backside as my hair flops down his back, and I gasp, bleat and chuckle all at once.

"So be it."

"By my axe, Fay, I'm going to make you scream." Tyke throws me onto his bed and I'm heating up big time, my excited wings spraying pixie dust all over the mattress.

As I turn to face my fuck friend in front of the bed, I find an orc with lust flashing across his eyes, his two feet deep-rooted on the floor. I swear, he's worth watering.

"From head to toe, I'm going to make you elastic, fairy," he rasps, cocking his head as if undecided about which part of me he's going to fuck first.

I should be chuckling at this way of talking—his choice of words, his Orcish accent, grunting the Rs and exhaling the Ks and other Cs—but I can't. There's a lingering hunger in his growl, and that only turns me on more.

"Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi."

"Sorry, Tyke... come again?" I can't avoid squeezing out a laugh. Every time Tyke drinks too much, he switches to Orcish, and I don't understand shit.

"Do not die in bed."

"Depends how you're going to punish me with this..." I say, bringing my temptress voice to bear, pointing at the massive bulge behind his pants, "axe of yours."

"Blonde slaves don't talk; they suck."

As I thought.

My hands slither against the sheets as I crawl forward, my wings fluttering. He loves them, so I indulge. A little kink of his, I guess.

The sound of a zipper flying down his jeans later, I finally free the beast.

The hold of it, a proper truncheon, but me and this monster are pretty good friends. We know how to work around each other. And as soon as I wet its head, it vibrates with joy.

Sliding it in, I thrust my head deep down—down enough to hear that grunt, which is a signal for me that the engine is warm enough to smear me.

My eyes widen as Tyke lifts my head with a finger under my chin. "Fairy."

I look up, meeting his unnerving gaze. It's unmovable, a little cruel, searing hot...

And then, the joining of my thighs throb with the galloping beat of a behemoth when Tyke shapes the most salacious, hardly shaped, moan-inducing smirk. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Won't," I whisper, drool trickling down my chin. And as my lips around his cock sneer, "Want," Tyke presses my head deep against his crotch.

"Well, then, ensure to take it deep like a good little slut."

Good slut, it is.

My nails claw at his thighs—because obviously, proper grip is essential. And I begin to twirl my tongue, swirling it around the rim, as if seeking a flurry of whipped cream.

Ferocious hands soon clasp my head. Tyke wants it deeper.

Oh... I can do better than that. I can go abyssal!

As he helps me cry out the strength of the thrust, Tyke removes my dress—though his definition of undressing strays quite a bit from mine. I know from experience that whenever we plan to fuck, I need to buy the cheapest garment in the shop...

He takes a proper command of my head with a fistful of hair and frees his other to tug down my dress, tearing it half its length.

And there goes another one...

He knows my bras, and he struggles with them. Thus, he effortlessly shoves it down to my waist, freeing my breast—true apples in every size and firmness. Sadly, nature wasn't too generous with them, but they've got pulp, and that's all that matters.

I gasp when he grabs one of my wings, making my back arch like I'm desperate for the pounding.

And it looks like he is, too.

"Ass," he grates.

Roger that, Captain Tyke. Anything for you...

I slip this gleaming cock from my swollen lips and execute myself like a good little fairy.

As I turn around to show my impatient backside, my wings tap at his nose, the dust they produce jazzing up his sex craze.

And indeed, the sound of wet friction suggests he just grabbed his cannon and is loading it, the groan that follows an ode to my impending ruination.

But Tyke knows to take it easy with me. I'm a petite thing, and he... well, he's a mountain. I believe he's racked up my saliva from his baby maker because he's smudging some liquid thrill onto my channel, massaging it with devotion, ensuring I can welcome him without pain.

I moan in acknowledgment. Chewing the insides of my cheeks, I try to keep my cool. It usually takes Tyke only one finger to make me climax whenever he toys with my folds. And indeed, he's not overstaying.

Sliding his cock inside me, he grunts, "Sma Kurv..."

I let out a cry, the walls of my being reminded of his size, sturdy, imposing… extreme, its width pushing sputters to ripple out my lips as my pussy eagerly clenches around it.

Desire is rising too fast. I try to keep hold of myself, synching my nails into the sheet, but it's pointless. Tyke is imposing his rhythm in slow, dense thrusts. He loves it heavy and deep, and I can't agree more. But, like anything love, it can be torture. And right now, it's excruciating.

By far, Tyke's the most competent tormenter I've ever met, and, once again, he ensures my ordeal lasts. Heat coming from a touch that is never one begins to hover over my skin, already burning with fever. I close my eyes, thinking about work, the tasteless texture of soy yogurt on my tongue, anything to salvage our session, but the funneling of his cock, my panting, and the grit in his breath doesn't help. I shiver between gasps as his hands continue to sweep over my abdomen. Neither grip nor gloss, just raw desire pulsing from his fingertips. In reality, all Tyke wants is a little fairy gleefully taking control of the traction. And as my famished cunt sucks him in and out, my breathing increases, morphing into awkward mumbles—an entire repertoire of moans and grunts I can't control.

My core shrinks on itself, my channel constricting around his shaft. He feels it and slaps my ass. "Come when I tell you to."

I can't hold it any longer. On my fours, I release the mattress with one hand and slip it under me. Seizing the birth of his length, I add pressure and begin to drag the slider of his cruel cock back and forth, hoping my plan works. "You treat me right," he grunts, returning the favor with increasing thrusts.

To this a rough hand snakes around my throat and lifts me.

My tongue curls, my clit over-throbbing. This is my favorite moment.

While my back presses against his chest, I sip in the metallic sensation of his nipple rings and their chain brushing against my skin. Tyke's side profile grazes against my cheek, his lips pressed at the corner of my eye. These rift as he takes a sharp intake of air. "Come."

A cry falls off my mouth as my head jerks up from another fistful of my hair. Tyke begins veering inside me, tapping faster, the slapping sound of his powerful hips against my ass hinting at the speed things have taken. My coil splinters, my scrawled moans mingling with his constrained breaths, muscles bunch, pleasure… edging out! "Tyke!"

The buzzing sound of a radio hammers my brain as I die emerging.

"Good morning, New Orc. Today will be another fantastic day, with temperatures reaching eighty-six degrees. The sun is high, and we hope your spirits are, too. And now, today's news with our ray of sunshine, Joan."

"Thank you, Dean. Another macabre discovery near Central Arc. A body, believed to be from the fairy community, was found by a harpy child as he flew to Perch School on Friday morning. The police are?—"

I hit the damn thing with my fist. It's entirely too early for any type of fear mongering, and my brain just can't handle the idea of a child finding a dead body. I breathe deeply and open my eyes, catching the water marks littering a dull ceiling.

Fuck! I'm still in Tyke's flat.

He's making breakfast, the smell of bacon an omen to the same old conversation. One I just don't have the energy for right now.

To the sound of his footsteps growing in the bedroom, I quickly bundle under the blanket and place a pillow on my head. My whole body function's short-circuited, and I don't want to think about last night, even less project myself receiving a sermon from Tyke. 'You shouldn't drink so much.' 'You were sick again.' It's all just blah, blah, blah. Why? But I mean, why didn't I go home last night?

"You're up?"

"Can't you see?" My pillow muffles my snarky reply.

"Get up, Fay. You're going to be late."

"Why d'you care?"

Tyke wanders under the cover and snatches my ankle.

"Tyke, what the hell!" Dragged down the length of the bed, I fall flat on my face.

"Up!"

"Yes... Yes, I am. Thanks!"

I wrap myself in the sheet, the smell of coffee luring me to the small kitchen backing the bedroom. As I hoist myself onto the only stool in this modest place, I loop a couple of fingers around my mug's handle and wait for it.

"Fay..."

Here we go…

"Gubuk, I'm not happy with you." Standing behind the countertop with his arms spread wide, hands flat on this impeccable white granite, Tyke looks as if he's about to arrest me—the police visor hat between us adding definite drama to his poise.

Maybe he will throw me in horny jail like he did last week...

"Are you going to put the bracelets on?" I pout, sliding my wrists toward him.

Tyke lowers his head and bores his dark golden eyes into mine. The slight tilt that comes with it gets me feeling ready for more, and my teeth sink into my lower lip, for I need him to know I want something else to sink inside me.

"Dae'mon..." he husks, darkly smirking my way.

Another of our famous eye-wrestling matches, then.

Upping the ante, I lean forward and slit my eyes, trying to get a chuckle or, at the very least, a coffee-infused simper, anything to drag Tyke away from the conversation I know he desperately wants to have.

He's so good at this. His eyes keep smiling, yet turn dangerous, narrowing, as if his mind was teeming with everything carnal. There's a gleam in them, unmerciful, and like fire starters, they set me ablaze.

I bite into my smirk.

Tyke steals it, swapping a molten kiss in its place, and I'm glad I'm on a stool because that was knee-buckling. He leans back, now proudly wearing the smirk I had seconds ago. "I could look at you all day, Fay."

My eyes dart sideways while my uncontrollable wings do me dirty. Flitting behind my back, they sprinkle glitter on the floor like the bastards they are. It's Tyke's way of getting me to back off, and my head does it just fine. These fluff words—and that kiss!—irk me to no end, and he knows it!

A cough-wheeze later from my own damn pixie dust, my smile finally returns, though, to be honest, I have to force it quite a bit.

And so, grinning like the witch who lives on the first floor, I reach for Tyke's cap. "Here, put it on."

While my arm seems to wave a police hat with the weakness a six a.m. muscle is made of, my eyes, on the other hand, are on track—his tracks, to be precise. Muscle-bound, those veins stream up his arm, pumping hard blood into his orc biceps.

Did I say Tyke is perfect? Well, now it's out in the open.

The orcs of Kor'kron are said to come from an elite guard lineage. As is customary for his kind, Tyke has none of the fat troll physique associated with Haresh'ti descent. Slim, with just the right amount of meat, there's no denying his looks are devilishly delicious in every way.

My fantasies are cut short by the hem of a shirt, but I won't let it stop me. Nothing stops a fairy, nothing except maybe an orc named Tyke.

My gaze relaxes on his bulging pecs, his shirt a second skin. Gods...

"Like what you see?"

I shove my gasp into my coffee, which spits right back at me.

"Girl, you have to st?—"

With the hat in my grip, I smoosh it against his face. Nope, not having this conversation. I know perfectly well where this is heading, and that's in a cluster-fuck. Last time he breached this talk, I ignored him for three weeks.

"Tyke, let's make a deal. You don't do this now, and I'll be a good fairy tonight."

A groan sounds faintly from beneath the cap.

By the god of orcs... Tyke has the most delicate iron hand in the softest velvet glove of all New Orc City. Gentle and measured, he snakes his powerful digits around my wrist, carefully sliding my hand down his face, along with the hat. And just like that, the simplest of touches leave me feeling numb.

"Lords, put your hat on already, handsome!" My giggles spread like wildfire. It's contagious enough that a sweet one escapes between Tyke's tusks.

"Fairy..." he grabs his hat and places it back on the counter, far from my reach, "I'm serious."

"No, you're not. You thin your eyes like a cold-blooded killer when you're serious, but here, you can't see, but just there, right there..." I tip-toe on the footrest and climb onto the counter while an amused Tyke blindly pushes my mug to the side.

And as I motion my thighs toward him, he smooths a hand around my waist, his liberated exhale mutating into a throaty snigger. "Little bug, what are you doing?"

"Hold on." On my knees, with an arm around his shoulder, I land a fingertip under his eye. It traces a line below its rim, groveling at an eye of gold. "Those eyes, Tyke..." I whisper, "they're smiling at me."

My heart trips over its own beat as our gazes merge into one, and everything shuts down. Only the feeling of Tyke's touch against my skin exists, quieting the worries that started to seep into my troubled mind, and soon, even that doesn't matter anymore. I'm losing myself in his infinite night, an endless rain of embers smothering my everything...

Maybe I detect a smile recessing on his face.

I pull my eyes from his soul-sucking ones and land on his silent parting lips; these begging to scream, 'What the hell is going on?'

The fuck they are because I don't know, either!

"See, told you." My fake nonchalance is cringy as hell, but not as cringy as what just happened. Tyke is just a friend. A simple friend... with many benefits, yes, but a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

A vague gasp escapes Tyke as he gently nods. "Please, listen. I'm worried about you."

Join the worry-club then, Tyke! There is an abundance of members, but I won't entertain it. I can't...

I struggle back onto my stool, slipping over the black leatherette. There's a nagging urgency from god knows where, making my hands clutch the mug tightly and hold it close to my heart.

"Tyke, the principle of our..." For a semblance of confidence, I switch my morning fix to one hand, now swirling it like some shady villain as I try to figure out what to say. "Friendship means not having to worry about anything. In this case, me."

"Friendship. Okay," he grumbles. After that, he simply flips the bacon slices over in the frying pan, leaving me hanging in awkward silence.

My shoulders slump. It doesn't seem to be a problem for me. Everything is working fine between us. Isn't it?

"Woof!"

I jolt in my stool, the slime currently drooling down my leg would for sure disgust me if not for those adorable little paws scraping my skin.

Under my bedsheet dress, familiar snouts, warm and wet, are sniffing my leg. "Baby Cerberios! There you are, little fluffs."

I bend over and pick up the adorkable three-headed pup standing on his back legs. "Yes, yes, I want a kiss, too, little imps. You little fuzzy-wuzzy babies." I wish I could kiss soft puppy bellies all day, every day...

The sound of dry kibble dancing in a bag and yapping forces me to release the tiny but mighty wrestling beast. "You want breakfast, too?"

My eyes crease in wonder. I love this dog. Cerberios is just so damn cute, the way this puppy skitters toward his bowls, his big honey-blonde paws slipping all over the place. This is one of the reasons why I love coming to Tyke's—beyond a change of scenery from Donna's flat and her constant nagging to call my parents or save my money. She won't let me get a dog—something about not being emotionally ready or responsible enough—so I've taken Tyke's failed police mutt as my own.

Riding my gaze up Tyke, I'm quick to stuff it back into my mug's content.

No way am I looking up. I am not feeding this exchange any further. Nope, I'm out.

Instead, I focus on what sits in front of me. If there is one thing Tyke is good at, it's coffee. No female alive wouldn't lock up this barista in their kitchen. But I keep him safe, away from any form of relationship that smells even kinda like matrimony. And I'm pretty good at it...

"Fay."

With its dark and rich notes, I let this freshly ground brew run on my tongue, enveloping my palate like an orgasm of sultry nuttiness...

"Fay?"

And as I swallow this nectar, my gaze rests on the brown mini-whirlpool forming in my mug. If only I could swim in this amber-colored pool... deep, deep down.

"Fay!"

"Yes, Tyke?"

Taking a few steps back, Tyke nearly face-plants an open upper cupboard. "Duhkal." His way of saying shit. Shutting this eager slapper, he grinds out, "I want to ask you something."

"I'm all ears, green bear." I'm so not.

Slowly scanning me, his eyes eventually settle on the stove.

There's a moment of silence as he stares at the sizzling pan, his slumped arm ending with a dangling spatula.

A smell of burned meat soon fills the kitchen.

"Tyke, the bacon. It's on fire!"

"Ah, yes. Bacon." Tyke pulls the pan off the stove and turns on the sink's tap to douse the flames. I grit my teeth. Bacon is expensive, and Tyke can barely afford dog food or toothpaste.

"I worry, Fay. Friends worry about friends," he says across a burst of steam.

My face heats. "No need, I promise."

Tyke releases the skillet's handle. I don't know what's louder, the clanking of cast iron against steel or his sigh. "Bug."

"What?"

He glides a hand over his scalp. Taking in his slanderous fingers, I watch as they smooth over a shine of straight, silky hair, stopping at a tight top-knot attached high on his crown. My blinking slows, my heart beats tranquilizing. How lovely the world would be if it were all black and green...

I squint at the hair tie, my eyebrows crinkling at my discovery. Is that my scrunchie?

Seeing me goggling his hairstyle for a frightening ten seconds, he gives me the come-on look. "You need to get a hold of yourself."

Very not well, Tyke!

A rattle throat later, a dejected me blows, "Hey, bear, we're friends with benefits. We enter a different kind of category, one where there are no worries because there are no?—"

"Donna had a word with me last night."

Shit.

"That's nice," I say before chugging half my coffee as if it were avodkariashot.

Tyke is opening and shutting cupboards. He's been doing this for the past minute now.

"What's with the cabinets? A new hobby?"

Tyke ignores me.

Great. What have I done now?

"Donna's struggling with rent," says my grumpy orc, oddly reorganizing wine glasses in an exceptionally high upper cupboard.

Donna's struggling? That's strange, given that she owns her flat.

I paid her my portion, right? Maybe not this month, but surely last...

"What are you doing, Tyke?" Did I mention he was re-stacking perfectly stacked plates not even ten seconds ago.

"Making some space."

"Why?"

"Because you haven't paid your half of the rent in months."

A flash of numbness obliterates what I thought were tingles, my face now unresponsive, just as the gasp died in my mouth. Making space because I haven't paid my rent?

He's obviously referring to Donna's rent, not my shelf-induced puzzlement. Stay cool, Fay. The sag in my shoulders grows as I realize what a fool I am.

"What can I say? Money isn't my forte," I sing, embarrassed that it's out in the open now, my inability to adult, as I dance my eyes up his midnight-blue pants. Resting them on his shiny silver cuffs, I can't help thinking how I can't wait for him to use those on me again...

My dirty thoughts are stopped neat by a bang from a cabinet closing.

"She asked me if you could come live with me."

"She did, what?"

Donna, you dead bitch, wait till I have a word with you. "How considerate!"

"She's worried."

"She exaggerates everything."

Tyke stalls and glares at me impassively.

"What?" I squeak, holding my hands up like I don't get it.

"Your acting skills are so poor."

"You didn't say that when I played a mute Tinkerbell in bed..."

I think Tyke had one too many drinks last night... he must still be drunk, or at least hungover.

Maybe it was thefeykila. No! It was thegnomezcal. He had at least ten more shots of that throat burner than I did. I swear, that shit can wake a dead horse.

But blaming the gnomezcal for hacking his system or not won't change a thing. Tyke continues to open and close the kitchen cabinets like a weirdo.

While he goes through a psychotic meltdown, I bring my mug to my lap and throw my head back.

And my wide eyes steady.

That is one ugly ceiling. Fuck...

"Tyke, don't be so dramatic." I'm trying to keep my shit together. The whole thing is clogged with spiderwebs.

Fun fact: I've always faced this ceiling when the lights were off, but now that they're on, life really takes on a new dimension. "By the way, I think you should call an exterminator."

Crack!

"Tyke!?" What is left of my coffee splatters on the tiles as I bounce off the stool. The poor soul's bleeding at the temple.

"It's okay, Fay. I'll repair the cupboard tonight. It's just unhinged."

"I don't care about this door. What's going on?"

"I'm looking for coffee."

My head cocks at the most minimal angle possible. It stops at a proud-looking coffee jar standing right in front of us, inches from the coffee machine—inches from his hand.

"Here." With a slide, I bring the jar closer to him than it already is.

"Don't crease your face at me, Fay. It's nothing."

"Yeah, I know."

I go to the sink and grab the first sponge I see. Watching the water soak into it awakens my senses. We're adulting, and that's not what this relationship is about.

I'm not finished closing the faucet when my ears catch the shiest of mutters. "You can come."

I strangle the sponge dry.

Through the silence, drops dribble in the metallic sink, adding some 3D experience to this unwanted suspense. I take a breath, an intense one, and finally—because I have to, right?—turn on my heels to face my handsome monster.

"But you're not even inside me?!"

That is one way to go, Fay. Clap, clap. Now go die.

My green giant fastens a massive hand around my waist. "You can come stay with me."

His silken hands hover up and down my body. It's a round trip from hips to breasts, and there's no stopping him.

"Ah-ah," I pathetically cough-laugh, dabbing his forehead. "You don't need to do this."

Just relax, Fay. It's just another fucked-up Monday...

And to this note, I try taking a breather, but my emoting Tyke decides otherwise. He removes the sponge from my hand and cradles something metallic in its place. "Take it."

After several unsuccessful attempts, I somehow manage to rip my eyes off this golden object.

"It's... It's a key?"

"Don't try to give it back."

He draws me in, and I'm tetanized, my self-made gown falling to my feet, an insignificant detail.

Tyke doesn't even care, doesn't even throw a look at my nakedness. His smoldering eyes don't stray from mine. "I'll pick you up after work and help you get your things from Donna's." He's calm and composed.

He's also a little too sure of himself...

"Tyke, where would I sleep, anyway? There's only one bed," I mock, trying to get a wrist out of his clench.

"With me."

"No." I free myself and pick up the bedsheet. "No ties, Tyke."

He's fast to yank the sheet from my hands. "Then we have to stop seeing each other."

"Why?" I hiss, taking it back with an angry tug.

Snatching the sheet right back, he grunts, "Because I've already got ties!"

"You have what!?" I huff, twisting for this motherfucker of a sheet to return to mommy.

"Ties."

My brows take a steep dive, and I'm confused as to why?

"Wi-with... With who!?" I blabber, my tongue fumbling so many times, I just feel like drinking a good dose of arsenic.

"You." Seems Tyke doesn't want to let go of this poor sheet, so I wrap myself around it. It goes without saying, around him, too...

"Slow down, Tyke."

He docks his thumb under my chin and brings my flushed face right up to meet his gaze. "Let me break it down for you, Fay... I stay within my lane, come when you call, and abide by your Friday through Sunday rules, all while we watch you spiral in this booze-sex-party descent. And we can't... I can't do this anymore."

My skin erects, and he sees it.

"Two years, Fay..." Hands wander up my back and come forth, slipping over each side of my breast, a sheet in their clench.

"Two years of incredible chemistry," I titter, trying to slip a hand beneath his pants to ease the whole situation.

But then, I glance down at my body from the hull and pull.

Tyke's tying the sheet's corners over my chest in a knot only bonding experts can master.

"Torture," he grates, furiously pulling on the ends.

It makes me gasp out his T and inhale his Y all at once. "T-yke, come on..."

"No. Take the key or stop call?—"

My finger sprints to his lips. "Shh, Tyke."

This is ridiculous, right?

But I know where this is going, and I'm not ready to hear it. Tyke's the best thing that's happened to me since sliced bread, and I'm not ending this.

"Before you go any further, I have a surprise for you." I dash for my handbag, which is tossed upside down on the bedside table, lipstick, wallet, and old receipts littering the carpet.

Where is it? Where is this stupid ticket? Ah. Gotcha!

I scurry, tripping over my sheet as I try to survive my way back to Tyke.

And it seems I get to live another day.

In celebration, my hand flies over the counter and waves a ticket in his face. Then, with a stern tone as artificial as a plastic bag, I declare, "New Orc Mets Sunday match."

It's our little thing, watching our favorite team on the weekend, eating popcorn and snuggling in bed as we stream the match.

What can I say? Baseball is life!

Tyke's face brightens, unable to hide the lovely jade tint. "Where did you get this?"

"That's not important." I chuckle. "So, you're in?"

"With you?"

"Yeah!"

He inhales deeply.

Tyke's air isn't even out of his lungs when it bursts into a bloody darn smile of pleasure and submission.

He plucks the ticket from my hand and, with a nod toward his only pantry, says, "I think there's still a uniform of yours in there. Get dressed. I'll give you a lift."

And that being said, I discreetly drop the key into my mug.