11

-North-

MAL STARESat me in disbelief as if someone declaring their love for him is the most unbelievable thing he's ever heard. But it's true.

There are no words to express how awful I feel for him. I can't blame him for trying to guard his heart after all that. But I'm here now, and I'm not going to break it again. I'm going to scoop it up and cradle it in my hands. I'm going to protect it until it's strong enough to protect itself.

He still isn't saying anything. But I'm not going to take it back. I love him, and he should know it. I don't know what I'm expecting when he finally reacts, but it's not for his face to crumple, for his shoulders to shake, and for the tears to pour out of him.

This time I don't hesitate. I wrap my arms around his wide shoulders and hold him close while he cries silently, the wet tears soaking into my chest through my hoodie. He doesn't make a noise, only gasping a breath now and then, but he keeps his head burrowed into my chest, and I hold him and stroke his hair and kiss his head until his tears slow down and he stops trembling.

Inside, I seethe. If I ever meet his dad . . . I don't even know what I'll do, but it won't be pretty. I've never felt hatred like this before, it's like a fire in my belly. And someone is going to burn for it.

Eventually, I ask, "You ok?"

He lifts his head and clears his throat. "Yeah," he says, sniffing. And I can tell he means it for once. "Sorry, I, uh, made a mess on your hoodie."

"You can buy me a new one," I say.

He huffs out a half-hearted laugh that's wet and ragged. His eyes are puffy and red, his face blotchy and pale, and I love him with my whole heart.

"How's the hangover?"

"Still fucking awful," he says.

"I think I know what might make you feel better."

"What?"

It might be weird to offer this now, but I want to make him feel good, and I know one way to do that.

"Dr. Google says that coming can be a great hangover cure."

He laughs and sniffs. "I'm not sure I believe his credentials. And I might puke on you."

"Ooh, sexy," I say, raising my eyebrows. "Wanna give it a go anyway?"

He's still looking at me with that disbelief in his eyes. I'm going to make him believe it.

I lean in and kiss him carefully at the edge of his mouth and he turns his head into it.

His breath is musty with stale alcohol and spicy pizza, but I couldn't give less of a fuck. He's always up and ready before me so I never get to experience his morning breath. It's such a private, honest thing. Yeah, call me weird, but I guess I'm well and truly smitten.

This is Mal, raw and true. The tang of his breath, the stale sweat on his clothes, the bed hair, it all makes him feel so real, so human, so perfectly imperfect. He's not a fantasy figure from my forbidden kinky sex dreams anymore. He's Mal. My Mal. Who sweats, and makes mistakes, and tries to hide it all because he thinks someone else is going to hurt him.

But that person isn't me, and if anyone tries to hurt him again they'll have to go through me first.

This time isn't like the others. It's sweet and slow.

While I kiss him I trace my hand down his navel and over his crotch, stroking him through his pants.

He's still wearing the cowboy vest from last night, although the hat is long gone, probably under the bed somewhere.

He's never let me just explore his body like this before and I want to take my time and touch and taste every single part of him. I work his pants off, careful not to jostle him too much in his delicate state. His cock is filling, but I give it a hand anyway. I stroke it, pausing to rummage in the drawer by my bed and pulling out a half-empty tube of lube. I squeeze a healthy amount out and smooth it up and down his cock, then strip out of my sweatpants and toss them on the floor, still wearing my tear-stained hoodie. This isn't about being sexy. This is about making him feel loved, about showing him what he means to me.

He starts to struggle to sit up, but I put a hand against his shoulder and push him back down firmly onto the bed.

"I want to take care of you for once," I say.

His warm brown eyes are huge as I climb up and push his legs apart. Then I dip low and suck his dick, running my flat tongue up and down his length while I work myself open with my lubed fingers. I go slowly, swallowing around him and working him up gradually until he's fully hard and leaking salty precum. Once I'm ready, I pull off his cock, leaving a line of saliva glistening on the tip. Careful not to put my weight on him, I swing one leg over, straddling his hips with my knees. I take position over his cock, and then ease down, taking him inside a fraction at a time. I sink down, ease off, sink down again, taking my time, gentle and slow.

He holds tight onto my thighs as I go, like he's afraid he's going to fall off the bed if he lets go.

"You ok?" I ask.

He nods, his eyebrows pushed up together.

Once I'm fully seated I take a moment to adjust, breathing slowly through my nose. The urge to get rough is huge, I want to fuck myself on his cock until I'm rabid, but I'm doing this for him not for me and I need to be gentle.

When I've adjusted, I move, easing off slightly, then back down again, working his dick in slow sweet strokes. After a moment, his hips start to move, too, matching mine, and we rock in rhythm, slow and erotic.

I clench around him, feeling the way it makes his body roll with every thrust.

We fit together so perfectly. I look down at him rocking up into me, and I feel like my heart is going to burst.

"Oh god, Mal, I love you."

The crease between his eyebrows grows. He closes his eyes and it knocks a tear loose. It gets trapped in the corner of his lashes for a moment before it slides down his cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb, then lean down and kiss him. He makes a small, soft noise in his throat.

"You're good. You're so good," I say against his lips.

He shudders, his hands on my thighs gripping tighter, and I keep kissing him as I rock back and forth easing his cock in and out.

We've done a lot of things together, all kinds of crazy kinky sex, explosive fights, he's tormented me, and I've tormented him back. But we've never been this gentle. We've never made love. But that's exactly what this is.

I palm my dick and work myself in time as I roll my hips, the pleasure pooling at the base of my spine. On top like this, I can angle it so every thrust hits just right and I ride his dick like I'm trying to prove a point. And I guess I am, I'm trying to prove what he means to me.

His breath puffs against my cheek as I speed up, chasing the sweet feeling of bliss that lingers so close.

"North," he groans.

"I've got you," I say.

I pull away just enough to see his face. He grunts, his mouth falls open, and his shining eyes burn into me as his hips jump and his body tenses. Then he's filling me with warmth as he gasps and bites down on his lip, never once taking his eyes off me. Like I'm the most important thing in the world. Like he needs me.

I ride him through the orgasm, clenching around him and pumping my own dick. Then I angle my hips, riding that sweet spot until my climax hits. It's not like the other times with him, it isn't a great rolling wave that overwhelms me. It's much calmer, sweeter. A blossoming thing between us. My cum spills over my fingers and onto his belly where his top has ridden up. Then I flop forward and brace myself with one hand on the mattress and kiss him as the bliss clouds around us.