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Even at almost two in the morning, the air is still hot and muggy around them. Gem’s shirt is sticking to her skin and there’s sweat dripping down the small of her back as she stands in the trailer, gaze fixed on the screens in front.
“How’s he looking?” Grian asks, startling her enough that her hand shakes on the mouse before she lets it go.
“Fine,” she replies, taking a half step back, angling her body toward him.
Grian’s sweater is missing, the collar of his button-up undone past his clavicle, his sleeves rolled up — clearly even he’s feeling the effect of the heat. He cards his fingers through his hair and looks past her at where Skizz is carefully setting up more equipment in the kitchen of the house they’re investigating.
“Feels weird in there,” Grian tells her, brushing at his shoulder as though trying to rid himself of a cobweb.
“Apparently, it’s haunted,” she jokes and Grian blows out a breath, not quite a laugh.
“Apparently.”
On the screen beside them, Skizz wanders out of the shot, mouth moving as though he’s talking to Impulse.
“Did they tell you anything?” Gem asks. “Any guesses?”
Grian wipes at his brow with the back of his forearm and then shrugs loosely. “He mentioned something about a banshee, but I didn’t really want to stay in there and find out.”
That’s not surprising. Most of their free time is spent together in the trailer, just her and Grian, sharing snacks, avoiding danger, and keeping a watchful eye on Impulse and Skizz on the cameras. It’s cozy. It’s familiar.
“Should’ve known you’d both be in here,” Impulse says at the door as he steps inside, Skizz right behind.
Grian, who has never felt shame in his life, just waves, but Gem’s face goes hot, earning a wink from Impulse, a sign that he’s just joking.
“See anything?” Skizz asks, standing in front of the EMF reader and watching the graph adjust.
“Not yet,” Gem offers. “But there’s still time.”
“Yeah,” Skizz agrees quietly before looking over at Impulse. “Something feels different in there.”
“That’s what I said,” Grian interrupts. “Didn’t I literally just say that?”
He looks at Gem, who finds herself nodding, and Skizz scoffs.
“Yeah, probably no thanks to you.”
Grian splutters beside her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You were messing with the monkey paw, dude!”
That certainly sounds like something Grian would do, but Gem hadn’t heard anything on the radio.
“Did you wish for something?” Gem asks, glancing over and Grian shrugs.
“Not really.”
“Not really,” Skizz mocks, staring at Grian. “He said all kinds of things.”
“Yeah and clearly nothing worked because we’re still all here, so it doesn’t matter,” Grian argues, stepping back as Impulse edges between them, closer to the screens by Gem.
“Gem, do you have UV?” Impulse asks quietly, ignoring the others, and Gem huffs out a laugh and nods.
“Yeah,” she says, patting her hip where she has a glowstick tucked into her belt loop. “Are we trading out?”
“I’m going back in,” Impulse tells her, “but you’re welcome to join if you don’t want to listen to them.”
She’s not opposed. She’ll be safe with Impulse anyway.
“Sure,” she agrees, and Impulse smiles like she’s made the right choice.
“Cool, let’s go.”
That’s typical Impulse — no hesitation, no wasted time, immediately ready to get back to the job.
Skizz and Grian are still arguing when they slip out the back of the trailer, and she follows Impulse to the front door, flashlight already out and on.
Somehow, the heat feels even more oppressive when they step across the threshold and Impulse grunts.
“God, it’s hot,” he complains, raising a hand to wipe at his brow, and Gem gets a noseful of his deodorant, something clean, something a little spicy. “It feels worse tonight.”
They’ve been on the road for almost ten days now, working their way through multiple locations in a hundred mile radius. It hasn’t been ideal, but it’s been good money, and they’re not in the habit of turning it away.
Gem hums in agreement, her thighs already chafing in her shorts.
“Did you guys see anything?” she asks as they pass through the living room, briefly checking over her shoulder.
“It moved a few things,” he tells her, “but nothing major.”
The lights are on in the kitchen and dining area, which makes it feel more inviting than it should, and Gem pulls out her glowstick, snapping it twice before starting to roam and search for any signs of activity.
She doesn’t know if it’s just her imagination, but now that both Grian and Skizz have said there’s something strange about the house, she can’t shift the feeling of being watched.
On her hip, her radio buzzes, Grian’s tinny voice asking, Can you move the camera so we can see more of the room?
“I got it,” Impulse tells her, already moving across the room, and in that instant, the lights in the whole house flicker, sending Gem’s heart rate skyrocketing.
Not a hunt, Skizz’s voice crackles through the radio, though it doesn’t calm Gem in the slightest.
“Grab the camera on the counter,” Impulse tells her, infuriatingly collected. “If there's an event, try to get a picture.”
Gem’s hands tremble as she does as she’s told, but she knows she needs to get better, more competent, if she's going to start pulling her weight as a member of their team.
Carefully, she listens for sounds of footsteps or knocking, finding herself holding her breath as she waits, staring around the room through the tiny screen of the camera.
A cup near the sink tips over and she spins, the flash of the camera blinding her momentarily.
“Did you get it?” Impulse asks, but when Gem looks down at the screen, the photo is disappointingly empty.
Gem blows out a heavy breath, setting the camera back on the counter.
“You guys are better at this. I don’t think I should — ”
There’s a smash as a picture frame from the dining room drops off the wall, the glass breaking as it hits the ground. Gem startles directly into Impulse’s side and even as she’s making a noise of apology, he’s grabbing at her waist to keep her steady.
“It’s okay,” he promises, and she’s not sure if he means the situation around them or her stepping into his space.
She’s not brave enough to ask. He’s almost twenty years her senior and she’s not afraid to admit it’s a little intimidating. She doesn’t want to sound like a child.
His hands are hot on her, grip firm enough that she’s not sure she’d be able to pull away if she tried. But eventually his fingers flex and he lets her go almost as quickly as he’d grabbed her.
He steps away, clearing his throat and grabbing the camera she’d set down.
“I should get a photo of that,” he tells her with a smile, and Gem lets him step around her as she fumbles for something to do.
It always seems like she’s better suited for trailer life.
“Sorry,” she can’t help but say and he glances back at her, expression softening.
“You’re doing fine, Gem,” he promises, turning away to snap a quick picture, which Gem already knows will be perfect because, well, it’s Impulse.
Gem drops her gaze down to the kitchen counter, where there’s a thermometer. She picks it up, watching as the digital screen blinks to life at her touch, the numbers slowly starting to tick down.
“It’s getting colder,” she says, just to fill the silence and Impulse makes a noise.
“Really?” he asks. “Doesn't feel like it.”
But even still, a chill runs down Gem’s spine, almost like an icy finger tracing along her skin.
She forces herself to stay still, not wanting to make more of a scene, and the air around her shifts.
There’s a sudden thud that seems to shake the entire house and Gem finally moves — in the direction of Impulse, safety — letting out a sharp breath as she drops the thermometer.
“What the heck was that?” Impulse asks, hands reaching out for her, and she doesn’t complain when he grabs her arm and pulls her closer again.
She presses her lips together, trying to quieten her breathing as Impulse listens to the sounds of the house around them.
“Was that the front door?” he asks, but it doesn’t seem like the start of a hunt. It seems worse.
He reaches for his belt, where his walkie sits, bringing the radio up to his mouth. “Did you guys hear that?”
The line crackles as it opens again, and Impulse catches her gaze, looking uncertain.
“Guys?” he asks after a long minute, but there’s still no answer.
“It’s getting so cold,” Gem whispers, starting to shake — or maybe it’s from fear — but Impulse glances down, gaze focused on her arms where she’s breaking out in goosebumps.
“Really?” he asks, meeting her eyes again. “It’s so hot in here, I can barely think.”
There’s another icy touch, this time along the length of her throat, and a whimper escapes her as she fits against Impulse’s side.
“I think something weird is happening,” she tells him and Impulse’s hand settles on her hip, drawing her even closer.
She’s well aware of their height difference, her nose pressed against his shoulder, and she thinks it’s okay because at least she’s not forced to look into the dark across the room.
“Can we leave?” she asks quietly, because as much as she wants to go, she doesn’t think she could make it alone. Not now. She needs him with her.
“Yeah,” Impulse replies. “Of course.”
He doesn’t let her go, but he takes a step toward the hallway that leads out of the kitchen and hope sparks in Gem’s chest. They’ll escape. They’ll be fine.
Which is when the house shudders again and everything goes to hell.
It feels like they hit some kind of invisible wall in the doorway of the kitchen, Gem’s whole body buzzing with energy as it forces her still. Impulse must feel it too, because he grunts, arm tightening around her as he stops.
“What — ?” she starts to say, but before she can get anything else out, a feeling of weightlessness hits her.
It takes far too long for her to realize she’s been thrown sideways, both of her feet leaving the floor.
She has just enough time to think that it isn't going to end well before she hits the cabinets behind and everything goes dark.
*
Gem? Gem can you hear us?
The buzz of the radio — somewhere, not on her body — sends a blinding ache through her head that makes her feel nauseated, and she groans quietly.
Her mind feels fuzzy, like it’s stuffed with cotton, and she's not sure if that's just signs of a concussion, but the rest of her body feels a sickly kind of cold.
Her flashlight is on beside her, casting long shadows around the dark room, and beside her, she can see the blinking light from the camera on the tripod.
Gem, we’ve got eyes on you. Nod if you’re okay.
Gem doesn’t know if she is, but she nods because she thinks she’s alive at least.
“Gem?” Impulse says, the air around her shifting as though he’s getting closer, and something touches her shoe. “Gem we need to leave.”
“Was it a hunt?” Gem asks, looking down, still dazed, not completely with it.
“I don't know, Gem. This doesn’t feel right,” Impulse tells her and even with a foggy mind and barely any light, Gem can see in his expression that he’s genuinely worried. “I can’t — ”
He doesn’t finish the thought, but suddenly both of his hands are touching her ankles — one on each — and he pulls, sliding her across the floor, closer to him.
She lets out a soft, surprised noise at the strength, half expecting him to help her to her feet. Instead, his palms slide up her calves, up her knees, to the soft insides of her thighs. He feels so big, his grip so firm, and she swallows.
“Imp?” she whispers, and there’s heat bleeding out from under his hands, slowly spreading through the rest of her cold body.
It feels good. It feels like the cure to the chill that’s curled up and made a home in her chest.
“What’s going on?” she asks, voice quiet, and Impulse takes a breath, dropping his head down, forehead pressing to her hip.
He feels feverish.
“Why’s it so hot?” he asks, not moving, and she finds herself sliding a hand behind his head, keeping him close, stealing his warmth. “Why are you so cold?”
They’re drawn to each other — the opposite of what the other needs.
The tips of his fingers slip under the hem of her shorts, and Gem thinks she should shut her legs, but the warmth is too luring.
“I’m so sorry,” Impulse says. “I — I can’t —”
She can feel the way he’s trembling, as though it’s taking all his strength to keep from dragging her directly under himself.
Gem? Skizz asks on the radio, his voice echoing strangely, and she realizes her radio must be on the other side of the kitchen island now that Impulse has pulled her away. Is Impulse with you? We saw you move. Are you okay?
There’s no way for Gem to answer and when Impulse finally lifts his head and looks up, their eyes catch. Impulse’s radio is still on his hip. He could reach down and grab it, or maybe Gem could, but Impulse’s hands tighten on her thighs, to the point where she knows she’ll find bruises on her skin later.
“Impulse,” Gem begs and Impulse looks at her with such need in his expression that she wants to give him whatever he wants, like whatever he’s going through is seeping into her through his touch.
“You don’t have to let go,” Gem promises as she reaches down, half hoping that if she’s slow enough he won’t notice.
Her hand nudges the cool plastic of his radio and she carefully curls her fingers around it, easing it from where it’s hooked over his belt.
He doesn’t react, which she assumes is a good sign, but his thumbs swipe over her inner thighs like a temptation.
The radio clicks.
“Something weird is going on,” she whispers into it, listening to the static as she releases the talk button, feeling the same kind of fizzing white noise inside her body.
There’s a warmth starting to creep up her neck, clearing out the cold, but making the fog in her brain worse, and she can’t really remember why it’s a bad idea to let Impulse touch her in that possessive kind of way.
“Do you feel it?” Impulse asks gently. “It’s okay.”
Gem has no idea what he’s talking about and she’s not sure she cares enough to ask because the heat is moving, along with Impulse’s hands.
“It’s okay,” Impulse repeats, fingers shifting higher up her thighs, pulling at the buttons of her shorts. “I’ll make it good for you, Gem.”
She could — she should — the cotton in her head muffles her thoughts and she nods in agreement as Impulse gets her shorts open.
Gem? Skizz replies on the radio. Gem, what’s going on?
“We’re fine,” Gem finds herself saying, lifting her hips as Impulse eases the material down her legs, past her sneakers. “Just don’t — ”
She really means to tell them not to enter the house, to stay away, but the radio clatters to the floor out of her loose grip as Impulse tugs her underwear aside, impatient, greedy, as he pushes her thighs further apart.
Gem? Impulse? Skizz asks, but Gem can’t bring herself to care anymore.
Impulse’s mouth feels impossibly hot against her, warming her all the way through as he licks between her folds. She scrabbles at his head, grabbing a fistful of his hair to cling to as he eats her out like it's all he knows to do.
And he's right — he makes it so good for her.
The noise she lets out sounds too loud in the silence, but Impulse seems encouraged by it, his fingers digging harder into her thighs, tongue even more insistent as he tries his best to take her apart.
It's too dark to see the ceiling, but she stares up at it anyway as she arches her back, trying to press down against the sensations.
The rasp of his stubble against her skin makes her feel restless, and she whines as he drags the flat of his tongue across her, lapping at her wetness.
"Want to feel you," he says, which is the only kind of warning she gets before he's moving his mouth out of the way just enough to push two fingers into her.
They're thick and dry, but her body opens for them, already slicked up and wanting.
"So tight," Impulse murmurs, "so perfect."
He pumps them into her a few times and then stills, keeping her filled as he sucks gently on her clit.
"Impulse," she warns, feeling too much too quickly, but he doesn't relent.
"Don’t hold back," Impulse tells her, or maybe himself, because he makes a noise of annoyance as he pulls away, everything stopping as quickly as it had started, as he all but rips her underwear off finally.
She doesn’t see where he throws them, all she can focus on is the way he opens her up again with his fingers, how he shoulders his way between her thighs to get his mouth back on her, tongue slipping between the spread of his knuckles.
He’s so eager, but she thinks it’s an eagerness to please her because he’s pushing and pushing as though wanting nothing more than to make her come. And she doesn’t doubt that he will.
She reaches down, clutching at his shirt as a moan slips out of her, and he focuses back on her clit, curling his fingers like he knows exactly how she wants it. She shouldn’t be so easy to read and she shouldn’t already be slipping toward the edge.
She has no idea if it’s because of what’s happening to them or because Impulse is just that good.
“Impulse,” she pleads, and when she looks down, she can see the faint outline of him staring back at her as though he wants to see her fall apart.
She moves one hand, cupping the side of his head as he effortlessly makes her come, her whole body shaking with the force of it, her head tipping back, unable to hold his gaze any longer.
“Good,” Impulse murmurs, still licking at her intermittently as though he can’t get enough of her taste. “So good, Gem.”
She blows out a heavy breath and nudges at him until he finally relents, pulling his fingers out and stopping, but he immediately crowds over her instead, kissing at her throat when he’s close enough.
“Gem, I have to — ” he pants against her skin. “Let me — ”
He can’t seem to finish his thoughts, but Gem knows what he needs. She can feel the answer buzzing through her body, Impulse so hot against her now that she wonders if he'll burn up if he doesn't listen to his instincts.
She opens her legs around the thickness of his waist and tries to draw him in.
“Pants,” she complains. “Imp, pants. C’mon, you know what to do. ”
Impulse does.
He shifts against her and there’s the rustle of clothing before he ruts forward, his cock nudging against her, slipping through where she’s already so wet.
She jolts as he grazes her clit, oversensitive now, but then he reaches down, guiding himself to where she wants him most.
“That’s it,” she encourages, because when she does, the feeling inside her grows more content, like she’s doing something right.
He slides inside easily, groaning as he buries himself as deep as he can get in one smooth motion, and she does her best to wrap her legs around him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into her hair, but she has no idea what he has to apologize for.
“It’s good,” she promises, trying her best to lift her hips, but he has her pinned with his weight. She’s at his mercy.
He doesn’t leave her waiting. He leans up on his forearms, bracketing her head, starting to thrust, and she moans quietly.
She tugs at his shirt, trying to get him impossibly closer, her other hand slipping under the hem to feel the heat of his skin. He’s sweaty and burning hot, and it feels like exactly what she needs.
“Gem,” he begs, but she has no idea what he’s asking for — she’s already giving him everything.
She clenches around him, tucking her heels behind his thighs to try to encourage him on.
His thrusts are ragged, out of rhythm, not consistent enough to make her come again, but they feel good.
“C’mon, Impulse,” she encourages, and every thrust into her seems to punch the breath out of him.
“So tight,” Impulse all but growls, fucking into her so hard that it scoots her across the floor a fraction.
His grip tightens on her as he drags her back down onto his cock, and Gem’s helpless to take it, moaning in response.
“You like that,” he says, sure of himself, sure about her reaction, but she’s not sure it’s the fog in her brain that makes her nod.
He pins her against his body, cock as deep as he can get it, not really thrusting into her, but grinding, making Gem feel stretched open, full.
There’s heat spreading out from between her legs, from every point where Impulse is touching her, and Impulse leans close, his mouth on her neck.
“Thought about this,” he grits out, gently working at a patch of skin until it starts to feel bruised. “I’m sorry, Gem.”
Gem doesn't know why he’d ever be sorry about that.
She clenches around him again and Impulse makes a desperate sound.
“Gem,” he hisses. “Gonna — ”
He doesn’t finish the thought, but grinds against her as though he has something to prove, and the warmth inside her grows.
With a ragged breath, he slumps down, barely catching himself to keep from squishing her, and Gem finds herself rubbing at his back.
“I — ” Impulse starts. “I — ”
He shifts, pulling out of her, and when she reaches between them, she can feel the mess he’s left behind. She swipes two fingers through it, swirling them around her clit, skin still feeling too tight, like she has more to give.
“Again,” she pleads, hating that he moves away, not closer.
But when he peers down at her in the dark, he doesn’t look the same — his expression is pinched, unhappy — and Gem reaches her free hand up to his face.
“Impulse.”
He catches her wrist before she can touch him.
“Gem,” he whispers in return. “Oh god.”
There’s a coldness starting to spread through her again, goosebumps breaking out across her skin.
“Impulse,” she begs, even as he moves further away.
“I need to — ” he pants, not seeming to be able to catch his breath. “The others need to — They can’t —”
The house creaks around them, and Gem’s suddenly aware of a rumbling that’s starting to grow louder, until it’s all she can focus on.
“Impulse, don’t,” she warns, trying to reach for him, to grab his shirt and hold him near, but he keeps slipping between her fingers. “Please.”
“Please what?” a voice asks and between one blink and the next, the rumbling stops and Impulse is gone, his voice shifting into something — someone — softer. “Gem?”
Grian blinks down at her, eyes wide, his hands on her face feeling so warm and comforting.
She starts to shiver and her next breath plumes in front of her face, visible even in the low light.
“Gem, you’re freezing,” Grian says. “Where’s Impulse?”
Gem’s thoughts are so hazy and she blinks slowly trying to process the question.
“H-he went to find y-you in the van,” she stammers, body shaking from the cold, but she can feel that Grian’s just as warm as Impulse. She needs to get him closer.
She leverages herself up, just enough to be able to tuck her hands against his sides, where she can feel his shirt sticking to his skin with sweat, and she wants the heat so badly, it’s all she can focus on.
“God,” he says, “how are you so cold?”
She sees his eyes briefly flutter shut, like it’s too much for him — the reprieve from the heat in the form of her body.
“We weren’t in the van,” Grian eventually gets out, like it’s an effort. “Skizz and I were hiding in the hallway.”
She slips one hand under the hem of his button-up and his stomach flinches at her touch, but he doesn’t pull away.
“You were in the house?” she asks and he shuts his eyes, nodding.
“We were staging a rescue.” He laughs as he says it, as though only now realizing how ridiculous it sounds. “A hunt started as soon as we stepped inside.”
Gem shakes her head. “There wasn’t a ghost.”
“Grian?” a voice calls out, maybe Skizz, maybe from the living room, and Gem whines, terrified that Grian will leave.
She clutches at his hips with numb fingers and he lets out a shaky breath.
“I don’t — ” he starts. “My head — ”
“Hunting,” the voice from the living room shouts and it feels like Gem’s been placed in a glass jar and the lid has been screwed on.
Everything turns muffled — not just her thoughts. She can see Grian’s mouth moving, but can’t figure out what he’s saying.
“Don’t worry,” she tells him. “Don’t — ”
She draws in a shuddering breath and Grian’s hands touch her so carefully, brushing her bangs away from her eyes, thumb dragging along the line of her jaw.
“Please,” she begs and Grian’s breath is hot against her chin, her mouth.
She hooks one hand on the back of his neck and draws him down.
Grian doesn’t seem to fight it as much as Impulse had — his mouth finds hers, drawing the cold out bit by bit, and it feels like salvation when his tongue slips between her lips.
The bubble around her pops, noises filtering back in, letting her hear the desperate breath Grian pulls in before he changes the angle of their kiss. He’s gentle with her, but leaves no doubt about what he wants, what he needs.
He moves one hand to her waist, pulling her closer, and Gem adjusts, spreading her legs.
“You — ” he starts, and there’s something in his expression that tells her he never realized this whole time she was naked from the waist down. But there’s also something that tells her he’s hungry for it.
He trails his fingers along her thigh, slipping up the inside of it, and she knows he can feel where she’s wet and open from Impulse. Everywhere he touches spreads heat and Gem cants her hips up for more.
He pushes two fingers into her and the need she’d felt before Impulse left rises back up in an instant.
She rocks against him and his breathing is unsteady, but the touch feels precursory — like he’s only checking her.
He pulls them free, both hands moving to her hips, tugging at her in the same bossy way he usually speaks.
“On your knees,” he tells her, and maybe that’s what feels right to him, maybe that’s what his brain is screaming for him to do.
Gem doesn’t argue, just eases herself over onto her stomach, pushing up onto her knees and then her forearms.
There’s a sudden brightness as a flashlight flicks on, pointing right at her for a long moment as Grian lets out a tight moan, before it’s eventually set on the ground beside them.
She wonders what she looks like on her knees with Impulse’s come still dripping out of her.
She starts to shiver again at the lack of physical contact, but she can hear the rustle of Grian’s clothes, and then he’s easing her legs wider apart as he presses up behind her.
She feels breathless as Grian slips inside, his cock thicker than she expects, and the heat of him against her has her hanging her head down, eyes closing.
“Oh, Gem,” Grian sighs, like it’s too much, but he starts to fuck her perfectly, the wetness already inside her easing the way. “You shouldn’t — ”
He doesn’t finish the sentence and she’s not sure if he was going to say you shouldn’t feel this good or maybe you shouldn’t be letting me do this.
It doesn’t matter either way to her. She drops her forehead to her wrist, soaking in the stretch of him, the warmth of him on the backs of her thighs.
She doesn’t need to reach between her legs — he’s going to make her come just from his strong, steady thrusts, and she whines at how inevitable it all feels.
There’s a sparking in her chest, like a fire trying to catch, something to finally burn away the coldness in her body, and she thinks if Grian keeps going long enough, it’ll fix whatever’s happening.
“Please, please, please,” she begs, no idea how to tell him what she needs, but warmth spreads as he folds over her, chest against her back, mouth on her neck.
She can feel that he still has his shirt on, like he was too frantic to even try messing with the buttons.
“I’ve always wanted you like this,” Grian murmurs against her skin, and Gem bites at her own arm to hold back her moans.
She starts to tighten around him, starts to lose what little control she has, and it gets worse as Grian groans right into her ear.
“Oh fuck, Gem. You’re perfect.”
Gem comes, fucked through it so easily it feels like her first orgasm of the night. But the soreness she’s starting to feel between her legs reminds her that it’s not.
Grian groans again, hips moving faster, chasing her over the edge, and she has to brace herself as he presses more of his weight against her. He rides out his own pleasure, grinding into her, and there’s more heat blossoming out from her abdomen, spreading up across her ribs, around to her shoulders.
It feels right. It feels like she’s done well.
Grian kisses along her throat, moving up to find her jaw, and she feels it the moment his body tenses.
He pauses, exhaling roughly.
“Gem,” he says, and he doesn’t sound at all the way he did before.
There’s regret in his tone, just the same as Impulse.
“Don’t — ” Gem pleads, but he pulls out of her, his palm on the back of her thigh as though checking she’s okay, seeing what kind of mess he's made.
“Oh god,” he says. “I — ”
His hands move, gentle on her as he eases her off of her elbows and knees and onto her side. She can feel his come running down her thigh and she reaches back to touch, fingers briefly dipping inside herself. She’s wet and open, and Grian makes a noise like it’s too much for him to process.
“I was meant to help you,” he says and Gem pulls her fingers free, reaching for his leg, and she finally sees that he only ever managed to push his pants down around his thighs to get to her.
His cock is wet and starting to soften.
“You did,” she promises, reaching for his wrist instead. “You can help me again.”
He pulls away, coldness curling back around her at the rejection, and he’s quick to tuck himself away and button up his pants.
“We need to get out of this place,” Grian tells her, sounding far too put together again, back to business when all she wants is to drag him back down.
“Grian,” she tries, and Grian can’t seem to hold her gaze.
“Stay here,” he orders. “I’ll find the others.”
He’s gone before she can try to stop him, and worst of all, he takes his flashlight, leaving her in the dark, waiting for her eyes to adjust again.
The cold feels unrelenting, begging for more from her, and Gem finds herself reaching between her thighs, touching herself, just for a hint of the pleasure she’d felt before.
She’s so wet — two loads of come dripping out of her — and she dips her middle finger inside before rubbing it around her clit, still so needy, still wanting more.
There’s something nagging in the back of her mind, something telling her she should try to leave, but there’s a heavy, oppressive feeling keeping her pinned to the ground.
She starts to lose track of time, listening to the creaking of the house around her, her fingers between her legs not enough and getting worse. She needs someone to help her.
“Gemstone?” a voice says, just when Gem starts to lose hope, and Gem would know it anywhere.
She lets out a hiccuped breath, shutting her eyes.
“Skizz?”
She hears his quiet footsteps and then the air shifts around her.
He doesn’t say anything, which is so unlike himself that she finds herself opening her eyes again.
His flashlight seems too bright and she brings her hand up, shielding her face.
“Gem,” he says and she’s not sure she’s lucid enough to read his tone, but he drops to one knee beside her, close enough that she can feel the heat from his body.
He sets his flashlight on the ground and touches her shoulder — his palm warm and oversized — and she can’t stop the noise that slips out of her.
“Oh, Gemmy,” he says, and he’s careful as he helps her sit up, moving her as though she weighs nothing to let her lean against the cupboards behind.
Her whole body buzzes, but she eases her legs apart, and Skizz grunts.
“I don’t think — ” he starts and Gem reaches for his hand, trying to drag it where she wants it most.
He resists, but doesn’t shake off her grip.
“What’s going on?” he asks, and Gem tugs harder on his wrist, willing him to give in.
“Imp and Grian helped me,” Gem tells him. “You can help me, too.”
She watches as he takes a heavy breath, his eyes closing for a beat.
“I don’t —” he starts again, but before he can continue, the house shudders around them. “Fuck, is that a hunt?”
Gem has no idea, doesn’t care, just keeps pulling at Skizz, waiting for him to break.
Skizz’s other hand moves, carefully brushing hair out of her face, but he stays silent, even as he leans down toward her.
For a moment, Gem expects him to kiss her, even turns her head to accept it, but all he does is press his forehead against her own.
“Do you know how impossible it is to say no to you?” he whispers, and she’s not sure it’s the house making him say it. That might just be Skizz.
“So just say yes,” she tells him, and when she tugs on his hand again, he finally lets her guide it down between her legs.
His fingers are thicker than Impulse’s, but he gives her his middle finger, sighing as though he can’t believe how hot she is inside.
“Please,” Gem begs, because it’s helping spread warmth through her, but it’s nowhere near enough.
He gives her his index finger too, not that she needs to be stretched any more, she just wants it.
“You deserve better than this,” Skizz tells her, moving just enough to be able to press a kiss to her temple, and something deep inside of Gem aches. “I always thought I’d get to wine and dine you first.”
Gem whines, turning her head to find his mouth with hers. It takes a couple of tries, but he kisses her sweeter than she expects, the white noise in her mind seeming to settle for just a second before he starts to pump his fingers into her, stealing her attention.
She rolls her hips into the touch, opening her mouth to let him deepen the kiss, and it spurs him on, because he groans, like it’s too much, but still not enough.
And Gem agrees.
She shoves at Skizz, clearly taking him by surprise, because he drops onto his butt with a grunt, his fingers leaving her as he uses both hands to brace himself and stop himself falling over completely. He doesn’t complain, just looks at her with understanding in his eyes.
He drags himself backward, sitting with his back against the kitchen island, long legs sprawled out in front of him. When he reaches for his belt, Gem knows she’s about to get what she wants.
He opens his pants, shoving them down his thighs, along with his underwear, and Gem’s gaze drops, her breath unsteady when she inhales.
“You think you can take this?” Skizz asks and Gem’s nodding before he’s even finished the question.
“Yeah,” she says, “yeah, I can.”
He’s mouth-wateringly thick, and finally warmth starts to trickle through her.
“C’mere then, sweetheart,” he says, holding out one hand, his other stroking himself to full hardness.
She shifts, moving closer until he can grab her elbow and help her into his lap. It feels natural to dip down and kiss him at the same time that he guides her onto his cock.
The stretch is eased by the burning need inside, by Impulse and Grian’s leftover come.
She sinks down slowly, swallowing the moans he pushes into her mouth, balancing herself with her hands on his shoulders.
“Gem,” he sighs and she feels perfectly full once he’s settled all the way inside.
She rests there, savoring it, and Skizz stops kissing her long enough to get his hands on the hem of her shirt, tugging at it until she finally raises her arms and lets him drag it up over her head.
She can feel his desperation as he reaches for her bra, pulling it down so that her breasts slip out of the cups, exposing all of her. His gaze drops, staring openly, and she has to move to chase her own pleasure.
She rides him hard and fast, and Skizz takes it without complaint. Mostly because he shifts to get his mouth on her chest, tongue too busy working at her nipples for him to say anything.
He’s perfect — giving her everything, her pleasure quickly rising — and maybe this time it will be enough. Maybe this time the house will be satisfied.
He grazes her nipples with his teeth and her body feels more reactive, sensitive. But it never feels like too much. She never gets the urge to push him away. She has no idea if that’s because of the need burning brighter inside, or if Skizz just knows how to read her like a book.
Every time she moves in his lap, she can feel the rasp of his stubble against her skin, and between him and Impulse, she wonders how much beard burn she’ll find across her body later.
When he eventually drags his mouth away, he draws in a heavy breath as though starved for oxygen and stares up at her with a dark gaze.
“God, Gemstone,” he says, one hand moving to her waist, helping guide her when she moves. “You gonna let me feel you?”
Gem whines, nodding, because with the way her legs are spread around him, each grind down rubs her clit against the curls near the base of his cock, and there’s no doubt it’s going to send her tumbling over the edge.
“I wanna come inside you — like the others,” Skizz pants, grip tightening on her. “Is that okay, sweetheart?”
Gem continues nodding, moving deliberately to chase the ache inside her.
“I want that too,” she promises, and she’s starting to lose track of what’s her and what’s encouragement from the house.
Or maybe it's all the same; the house just gives her the courage.
His other hand moves to her thigh, bouncing her, making her breath catch as he nudges even deeper inside, and Gem knows he’s going to make a mess of her.
“You have no idea,” Skizz starts, breathing heavily, giving her exactly what she needs, “how often I think about doing this to you.”
Gem moans, dropping her head down to his shoulder, imagining it.
She thinks about all the motels they stay in, thinks about him jerking off when she’s one thin wall away. She wonders what his favorite position is when he fantasizes about her. Maybe he likes thinking about putting her on her hands and knees and fucking his come deep inside.
Or maybe he mostly thinks about fucking her just the way he is, letting her take what she wants, gently encouraging until it becomes too much for both of them.
Gem digs her teeth into his skin, afraid of what might leave her mouth if she doesn’t keep it busy.
Her thoughts are so jumbled, but it feels easier when she focuses on his touch, his desperation.
“C’mon, Gem,” he murmurs. “Be a good girl for me.”
Gem can’t breathe. She wants him so bad it’s all she thinks she knows.
She shuts her eyes, holding him tighter as she shakes apart in his lap, letting him fuck her through it as though they’ve done it a thousand times before.
“Oh, Gem,” he sighs. “My perfect girl.”
She bites him harder, overwhelmed by the words, and he slows down their bodies, everything feeling even more intimate.
“You did so well,” he continues, and Gem’s still squeezing around him, riding the high of her orgasm, but she can feel the trembling of his hands. “I’ll make this nice and easy, okay?”
She stops biting him, instead kisses up his throat, lips dragging on his stubble, and he’s so careful with her.
He fucks up into her just a couple more times before pinning her down on his cock, so deep she aches with it.
“That’s it,” he whispers into her hair. “Take all of it for me.”
She keeps her arms tight around his shoulders, her thighs clamped against his hips, not wanting to let go. He rubs at her back, murmuring quietly, and she feels how his hips shift, rolling gently as he nudges his come deeper.
Every part of it just feels right.
“Skizz,” she mumbles against his skin and he lets out a sound in acknowledgement.
“You did so well, Gem,” he tells her, and she has no idea if that’s him or the house speaking, but the coldness is finally starting to lift from her body.
There’s sweat dripping down her back, her hair damp with it, and she can feel now how they’re practically stuck together.
She’s coming back to herself bit by bit, she realizes, her whole body aching — especially between her legs — and there’s a heaviness deep inside that’s not just Skizz’s cock.
Worst of all, she feels the exact moment Skizz freezes against her.
“Gemstone,” he says, and there’s nothing but devastation in his voice.
Gem carefully loosens her arms around him, still keeping her forehead pressed to his shoulder as she lifts herself up, off of his cock.
She’s a mess — she can feel it dripping out of her, onto him, and she quickly reaches a hand down to try to catch the worst of it.
“Sorry,” she whispers and Skizz’s fingers flex against her skin.
“Gem, you have nothing to apologize for.”
She eases herself out of his lap, collapsing onto her knees with a quiet grunt of pain, and Skizz’s hands follow her, touching so carefully, silently making sure she’s okay.
“I don’t know what — ” she starts, unable to meet his gaze, feeling the need to explain that she has no idea what came over her, why she — “It’s weird in here, Skizz.”
Skizz is quick to move, pulling his underwear and pants back up, not seeming to care about the mess, just wanting to cover himself up. He gets his hands back on her, one on her shoulder, the other brushing her cheek.
“Gem — ”
Gem can’t listen to whatever excuse he has ready for her, the anecdote he’s going to use to try to make her feel better.
“Don’t,” she warns, and for once in his life Skizz listens and stays silent.
He nods in understanding, but he still watches her, his gaze sad, pitying, full of guilt. It almost feels worse than having him mutter nothing but sweetness into her ear and knowing it’s only because he’s under the influence of something.
Gem looks away, trying to figure out where her clothes are.
Her throat feels tight as she tries not to think about the situation and the fact that maybe it wouldn’t have happened if she didn’t — if she was better at compartmentalizing her feelings. If she didn’t want each of them the way she does.
She finds her shirt, hands shaking as she carefully pulls her bra back up before she slips the shirt back on. As she’s tugging the hem into place, Skizz holds something out to her and she belatedly realizes it’s the rest of her clothes — her shorts and underwear.
“We need to get you out of here,” Skizz tells her, one hand tucking under her elbow to support her, and Gem’s not entirely sure she can get to her feet just yet. “Before it hunts again.”
But he manages to ease her upright, giving her all the strength she needs and keeping her steady as she steps into her underwear and then her shorts.
She knows she needs a shower — the come between her thighs has turned tacky and her shorts aren’t long enough to hide the streaks of it.
He doesn’t bother grabbing any of their equipment, and Gem can’t bring herself to care. Instead, she lets Skizz loop an arm around her waist as he guides her out of the kitchen, his stride shorter than usual, clearly for her benefit.
Her knees start to give out when they reach the living room, but it doesn’t matter because Skizz supports the rest of her weight, half-carrying her toward the front door.
It’s open — freedom within reach — and Impulse is on the threshold, incense burning, the scent cloying but familiar.
“I was trying to cleanse — ” he starts before Skizz shoots him a look.
“We’re leaving,” he says in a tone Gem’s never heard before. “Where’s G?”
“In the truck,” Impulse replies, staring at Gem as though wanting to say something to her, but Skizz doesn’t stop, keeps them moving, and Gem appreciates it.
He doesn’t head toward the trailer of the truck, but instead the cab, and Gem doesn’t put up a fuss. Not even when he opens the door for her, not even when he practically lifts her straight off the ground and into the back.
“Buckle your seatbelt, Gem,” he tells her, one hand resting on the edge of the seat beside her thigh, like he wants to find a way to touch her, but knows better.
She does as she's told, almost glad he's there to tell her what to do, because she's not sure she'd know where to start otherwise. The noise in her mind is too loud.
He hesitates, watching her for just a moment longer.
But he doesn't say anything else and Gem digs her fingers into her knees as Skizz shuts the door, leaving her in the dark of the truck. The darkness isn't as oppressive here. She actually welcomes it as she carefully takes stock of her aches.
The worst one sits in her chest and spreads until it's all she can focus on.
She's not sure how long it takes for them to close up the trailer, but she startles at the sound of the opposite door opening, Grian climbing into the truck beside her.
He watches her, hands restless in his lap.
“Gem,” he starts, but Gem doesn't want to hear it.
She shuts him down by turning away, staring out the window beside her, and before he can get a chance to try again, the other doors are opening — Skizz and Impulse climbing in.
For just a brief moment, they sit in complete silence, no one saying a word, everything left unsaid hanging over their heads, and it makes Gem want to scream.
And just when she thinks about opening her mouth and giving in to the urge, Impulse starts the truck, the roar of the engine finally louder than her thoughts.
She sags in her seat, staring at the house as they ease away from the curb, watching until it fades from view.
“We’re not coming back here,” Skizz says, and Gem doesn’t look over, just keeps staring at the streetlights passing by her window.
“Our stuff,” Impulse replies quietly, and she can see from her peripheral vision that Skizz glances over at him.
“You and me will go back tomorrow in the daytime.”
It’s unspoken that Gem and Grian will stay away, and Gem’s more than okay with that.
“We’ll cleanse the rest of the house, but we’re not taking any money for the job.”
Gem wonders if they’ll ever speak about this night ever again, but from the hunch of Grian’s shoulders, the deep frown she can see on Impulse’s reflection in the rearview mirror, the way Skizz refuses to look back at her, she thinks she has her answer.
Gem leans to the side, resting her forehead against the cool glass and watching her breath fog across it.
In the safety of the dark cab, she moves one hand between her legs, pressing just enough to make the ache worse, and shuts her eyes.