Archive of Our Own ^beta

In light of the recent problems that had occurred on your small little street, a string of… Well, odd was the only word that could really describe it accurately enough (house break-ins, but funnily enough they never seem to take anything from the random homes they broke into) you had requested for your dearest friend Jericho - Crowe, he was better known as - to walk you home for a day or two after you had finished your final class of the day. 

You’d known Crowe for as long as you could remember and had trusted him more than anyone else in the world. Even had a little crush on him - but that was something that was in the very late stages of denial, something you were best keeping to yourself. That’s also something that’s besides the point right now.

Your walking home arrangement was only meant to be for a few days or so, just to make sure that you’d feel comfortable getting back to your apartment. Obviously it wouldn’t prevent anything that could happen to you during the night, it was more to bring peace of mind that if anything, there was someone looking out for you in a non-creepy way. And it did, very much so. To be totally honest with yourself, you had no intention for it to become a regular thing - but having him there to walk you home was enough to make you feel a little bit safer and Crowe never seemed to mind. 

It had worked for a while: you’d managed to start sleeping at night again! But then again, that was about three weeks ago. On the second week, something else came about. 

You had started to notice that someone had been following you… Or at least, it seemed that way. You could’ve sworn you had seen a tall shadow behind you more than a few times when you had been walking home, to your classes in the morning or even to the store when you had to pick up groceries. There was always the constant, looming feeling of someone watching over you as you went about your day. It very easily could've been in your head, for all you knew. You’d even had half a mind to crack a joke about it to Crowe, saying something about how you’d started to lose your mind thanks to the local break-ins, how maybe, just maybe, your own would be the next one on the chopping block and maybe the persecutor wouldn’t be too kind about it.

He didn’t take that too nicely. 

You don’t think you’d ever be able to forget the expression he had on his face when you told him that you thought someone was following you. And in all of the time you had known him for, god knows how many years, you didn’t know Crowe was even remotely capable of making such a mortifying face. So as a result, he’d started staying over at your home for a few hours (well-intentioned, of course) on top of already walking you back home everyday. 

He was more than willing to help you out, that’s just what friends do for each other. He’d even offered for you to start staying in the spare room at his place if it got to that extreme - but goodness, that was certainly not something you’d wish to burden the ever-so-sweet Crowe with at all. Walking you back to your home and staying for a few hours was one extreme - to you, at least - indefinitely staying at his residency felt like far too much to ask for, even if he was the one who had offered it to you. It definitely would not work in your favour, either - considering the predicament of your uncertain feelings on him. 

So, ultimately, having him as your temporary pseudo-bodyguard to ‘protect’ you from your untimely stalker was quite enough, even if you knew that Crowe had sworn off of engaging in fights or violence ever again. Well, it was enough until this morning. 

Just as you were preparing to leave for college, sat at your vanity and getting ready for the day, you had noticed that one of the windows closest to your bed had been left slightly ajar. Now, you didn’t want to wrong yourself here - you had often been forgetful, sometimes leaving things in places and not being able to find them again, leaving cupboard doors open, etcetera. But you had known for a fact that this time, this wasn’t your doing. And it couldn’t of possibly been a simple case of not securing it properly, the wind maybe knocking it open during the night; You knew for a fact that you had done what you could, even if the old windows were a little rusted and difficult to close fully, to the point where you had to get Crowe to brute-force them shut for you. 

…Or maybe the sleepless nights had truly started getting to you. 

But regardless of what caused it, even if it was just a case of paranoia, it wouldn’t have been baseless - it freaked you the hell out. Enough that you had finally taken your friend up on his offer to stay at his place for the night (or maybe two, or even three) while you figured out how to fix your window issue with your landlord. You both agreed that it would be too much work to pack a bag for an indefinite period of time, so you would just borrow his clothes for as long as you were there, or come back to pick some up if it was truly needed. Not like Crowe seemed to mind in the slightest. You’d borrowed his clothes more than a handful of times before.

So, that’s the long-story-short of how he ended up outside your classroom, phone in hand, keeping a close eye on the time as it seemed to move slower than usual when he was watching the seconds count down. He’d managed to get out of his own class relatively early today, claiming that he had some sort of ‘student council meeting’ to go to. Yeah, get a load of that nonsense. It was one of the very many perks that came with involving himself in that sort of thing - he could practically say anything and it’d be believable.

While the standard routine would involve him waiting at the front gate to escort you, he had come to the conclusion that it would be best to pick you up directly from your class today; the shake in your voice over the phone when you had finally accepted his long-standing offer had convinced him that you likely didn’t even feel safe walking around the campus on your own. You’d been on edge all day, even on your lunch break, a time when you’d often be as cheerful as ever, even noting out to the group on the table that you were afraid to be on your own for more than two minutes. It made Crowe feel beyond awful that he had to see you like that. 

It doesn’t take much longer than about five minutes or so from that point for the bell to ring. People disperse in their own collective groups at a time, but you’re not to be seen in the crowd. 

It’s unsurprising for you to still be in the classroom when Crowe curiously peaks his head in once everyone else had left, noticing yourself so lost in conversation with someone sat opposite to you that you hadn’t even fully clocked that you were the only ones left in the now-empty room. You’re not a loud person - Well, that’s a massive lie. You don’t try to be, but when you’re passionate about something your voice isn’t hard to miss in a crowd and you do have the tendency to not realise how carried away you’re getting.

Though, that’s not a complaint on his behalf at all. In fact, it was something that he rather liked about you. The brunette much enjoyed listening to your trivial matters, be it something about a new series you’d started watching or something that you’d seen on the news that day that had particularly caught your interest. He found it - no, rather, he found you as a person, endearing - not that he really tried to hide that fact, either. It was absolutely, painfully obvious to everyone but the two of you that you were doting on each other. 

He’d hovered in the doorframe, waiting for you to take note of him standing there. Unfortunately, you’re none-the-wiser, too busy chatting away to notice, so he takes it upon himself to walk into the classroom and stand within your peripheral vision, where you meet his eyes for just a split second, holding up a finger - It tells him to wait and he does, hands on his waist as he watches you talk. 

“It’s, like, really weird though! Whoever is doing it doesn’t seem to steal anything from the houses they break into! They just hit the window and go!”

The person before you doesn’t seem to say much at all in response, just lets out a little “Huh”, like it hardly even phases him. Only now do you turn your head towards the taller male standing not too far away from you as his shadow looms over your desk with a smile, beaming as you see him, waving at Crowe to come acquainted with whoever had been sitting across from you. He follows, then takes in the appearance of whoever it was you had been conversing with. 

In front of you sits a much taller man, a clear and apparent misfit in the crowd based on his looks alone - a fully mix-matched clad of green and black from the head down, a few piercings along his ears, not anyone that Crowe recognised; a shocker, since he had known almost everyone. The moment the two males locked eyes with each other, the more unusual individual’s whole demeanor changed; his face had now worn a foul glare on it, yet it fell flat once he had looked back at you. Odd.

Crowe chooses not to say anything, rather, he kept his undivided attention on you. Even with the feeling of the other man glaring daggers right into the back of his head.

“Oh, right! Crowe, this is Solivan! Sol for short, he’s my art partner, but, like, he’s so good at drawing. Look!” You boast to him, pointing at the little muddled up sheets of paper on the desk, the paper on the very top of the pile with a light sketch on it - it doesn’t take more than a second for him to identify it as you. It was undeniably picture-perfect. It takes a moment for him to notice, but Sol is blushing immensely at your compliment.

“Oh, my. You did capture her very well, I must say. Even the very little details.” He murmurs with a finger on his chin, going to pick up the drawing to get a closer look, but Sol is quicker to move than he is, darting his hand over the corner to keep it in place, making Crowe jump ever so slightly. That same deathly stare is present on his face as he mumbles out a “Thank you”, though it couldn’t sound any more insincere. Hell, he wasn’t even looking away from you. 

However, don’t mistake Crowe’s kindness as false - he is genuinely rather impressed at the portrait. Honing the ability to capture someone so precisely is something that he does find himself wondering about, more specifically in regard to Sol himself - there are some details in here that would’ve taken far more than just one simple look to know about. Little things such as your collarbone, which wasn’t even visible with the shirt you wore today. There’s something wrong about it, no, something wrong about him; but he can’t quite put his finger on it. 

Don’t jump to conclusions - Crowe wasn’t the accusatory nor jealous type, not by any means of the imagination. But something about this man didn’t feel right at all. The silence is purely deafening for a good twenty-or-so seconds before you clear your throat and speak out, noticing how the two men clearly didn’t seem to want to talk with one another, reaching for your bag that had been hanging on the corner of your chair to signify that you were ready to leave to your two friends.

“...Well, I think me and Crowe over here should best get going! It’s getting real late, huh? I’m sorry for keeping you here for so long, Sol! Make sure you get home safe, okay?”

Sol is unmoving, yet, he murmurs out a little “...Okay.”

─────

Crowe is just about as silent as the night until you’re a fair distance away from the classroom, far enough that Sol wouldn’t be able to hear the two of you. Before he speaks, he hands over his jacket to you: though he never wore it (or in the very least, you had never seen it on his person) he brought it along regardless just for you, knowing that you more often than not forgot your own at home. As such, this was the standard routine for your walks home - he managed to brave the cold evenings much better than you did. As you’re slipping it over your arms, cheeks just the tiniest bit flushed from the mix of the cold and the scent of him on the jacket, giving your bag to him to temporarily hold, he speaks out:

“How do you manage to befriend the strangest of people?”

It leaves you gawking at the comment, almost lost for words entirely and you somehow manage to stifle a laugh, despite it obviously upsetting you a little bit. You had always known him to be very upfront and apparent, but not to the extent that he just was. You slip his jacket up and over your shoulders, take your bag back from him, while all you can muster out is an uncomfortable-sounding “Jericho! Don’t be so mean!” 

Defence is more than apparent in your words and tone in regards to your new-found friend, your mouth still slightly agape at the needless comment he had made. Crowe deadpans at you and forces out a laugh of his own, though it does no good at rectifying the situation, taking the opportunity to guide you through the halls with his hand resting on your back. The pout on your face fails to hide how you feel about what was just said. You’re aware it’s one hundred percent just your friend being a worrywart as usual, but it still baffles you nonetheless.

“Listen, I… Don’t think he really has any friends, Crowe. It doesn’t hurt to be nice. He’s just a little shy, you know? Everyone is when they’re meeting new people. I mean, look at how you were-”

“Yes, that’s quite enough of that.” He counters rather quickly, words cutting your own off before you could even think of finishing your sentence. That memory of you two first meeting has him grimacing at the thought of his younger self, though outside of that factor it’s a rather positive thought and you share a laugh between you as you exit the building from the main gate. 

He goes on once again as you begin to walk: “That much may be true, but did you see the way he was glaring at me, ____? Not just once, either. If looks could kill, I would’ve certainly of been dead and buried from the very moment he first set his eyes on me. I think you are far too trusting for your own good.”

“Well-”

The look on his face as he glances down at you, one of sternness, is enough to make you quiet down.

“...You know that I’m not intending to get into an argument with you about this, so do not turn it into one. I’m not aiming to be mean with my words, either. I am simply suggesting that you should be more careful with who you trust. Especially with everything that’s going on lately. Come, now. Let’s walk home.”

That touches a nerve and he knows it does purely based on how quickly it shuts you up. You just nod along. In his defense, he wasn’t too wrong; for one, you did have a lot of trust and faith in people. And two, arguments between the two of you often ended bitterly - fighting with someone as smart-mouthed and witty as him wasn’t enjoyable in the slightest. 

Maybe it was ultimately better for the both of you for yourself to just keep quiet.

─────

Crowe’s home is a much more treacherous journey from the school is than yours is. You knew it would be, you’re sure you’ve walked it about a million times and it never seems to get any easier. 

While you lived less than ten minutes away from your college, he just so happened to live in the much more well-off area of the city on the other side, which was a good hour-or-so of a walk away, even if he claimed that the distance was “nothing”. And that much had always confused you - not so much the latter, but the fact that there were countless schools, colleges, etcetera, where Crowe lived that were far more… For lack of a better word, prestigious, than your own. 

It was a rather mysterious case; matching the man in question very well. You knew his family could easily afford it and he was more than smart enough for it, too. It came as a major shock to you when you had first enrolled into your college that Crowe had actually joined you - you thought he was joking when he told you about it. If you wanted to be slightly egotistical, you’d have the gull to say that he had gone to the same place as you… Solely for you. And the funniest part of that sentiment? 

It’s that it’s entirely right. He’d give up an opportunity as life-changing as a that in a millisecond for you. But that knowledge was far beyond you and likely always would be. 

For once, your own thoughts seem to distract you and you aren’t too focused on whatever strange topic your friend had found to talk about on your walk back together, giving simple little nods and “Oh yeah?”’s to his facts and stories that guide your way to his home and straight to the front door. Typically it’s the other way around - where you’re the one nonstop talking on the way to your home - so it’s sort-of jarring in a way and there’s a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach today. You’re not so sure why.

Obviously, you’ve been both to and inside of Crowe’s house countless times before. Of course you have - little study sessions for assignments together or movie nights being the main contributor to that statistic. But of all those times, it had never worked in his favour when he had asked you to stay overnight or vice versa. The last time you two had done something like that was when you were kids. You’d always end up taking one of the late-night trains or buses back home, much to Crowe’s insistence on how dangerous it would be after-dark, practically begging for you to stay the night in the spare room. You put your head before your heart, all of those times. It was rather ironic, considering the amount of trust you put into others that you could not put into yourself.

So, to be stood outside of his home with that being the complete opposite of the usual reasoning for you being there was something you… Didn’t quite know how to feel about, honestly, even if you knew that he had no intentions that were anything other than platonic care for a friend in need. He stares you down as you’re clutching onto the hem of his jacket, moving aside while looking at the ground to let him unlock the door, sucking in and holding a breath of cold air, a little cloud of fog escaping as you breathe it back out. 

And hell, while he was normally very direct and willing to go after what he wants, if he wasn’t waiting on your move first, afraid of ruining the friendship that you two had shared for longer than he could remember, he was sure he’d cave into that desire that plagued his mind for as long as he’d known you. Kiss you there and then while you were playing around with his jacket, far too big on you, a temptation as sweet as chocolate. Hold you in place by your waist, watch as you lose your breath from surprise. Cling onto the front of his shirt oh so desperately. He snaps himself out of that mini-fantasy of his to unlock the door, though you truthfully wouldn’t of even noticed that he was daydreaming from how stoic he was. Even if you had, you’d never of been able to guess that his thoughts were so ludicrous, either, based on his face or stance. He’d always managed to hide it so well.

While the door is held open for you when it’s unlocked, you allow him to walk in first, shooting out a playful “Ladies first” that makes him chuckle; even if the joke wasn’t one that he really found overly funny. Your footsteps follow his own into the comforting warmth of his home.

“Please excuse whatever mess there is.” Yet, there’s none. It’s as spotless as usual. You’re quick to let out a little hum, acknowledging the so-called ‘mess’ that was his house in pristine condition

The leather-clad furniture shines as the lights flicker on and the scent of his home welcomes you in. It’s that familiar smell that lingers, the one you’d always loved when you came to visit Crowe, a mix of both himself, lavender, rosemary and burning firewood, though there’s oddly nothing actually alight in the fireplace today in the open living room. You and him both take your shoes off, leaving them by the door. It’s awkward silence afterwards that’s somehow never awkward when it’s between you and him. 

He’d always been one for formalities, so you fully expect it when the taller brunette takes your bag from you, sets it down closely to your shoes by the door and guides you towards the couch with his hand on your waist rather than your back this time. You obediently sit as his hands guide you down, crossing your legs over each other and watching as he heads towards the stairs. His head turns back while he relays his plans. 

“I’ll lay some of my clothes on the spare bed for you and you know where I keep the snacks. Please help yourself.”

That little “you know” - it makes you feel so esteemed, prideful and privileged. Yes, you knew the ins-and-outs of Crowe’s home like the palm of your hand, probably better than the man himself did. It was practically your second home at that point.

You nod and hum in agreement with him as he’s soon out of sight, moving towards the kitchen island and its various cabinets and drawers to look for nothing in particular, just something to tide you over for the night. It was far too late to cook a full meal now, nor were you even really hungry in the first place or you would’ve ordered something to Crowe’s home. But you know you won’t be able to sleep on an empty stomach. You settle on a hot chocolate powder towards the back of one of the drawers. 

It’s a more expensive brand that you’d only be able to dream of having readily available, though it’s not a surprise to you in the slightest that it’s in Crowe’s home, of all people. The packet itself is small enough that you would’ve missed it if you weren’t closely looking - yet still big enough to make two cups worth. You’re sure Crowe wouldn’t digress a cup of hot chocolate, nor would you wish to waste something so luxury that you never typically got to treat yourself with. You warm up some milk and pour both the powder and now warmed milk into the two mugs you had grabbed from one of the various cabinets that were home to all of his fancy tableware, more or less satisfied with the result.

On queue, the taller brunette has made his way back downstairs in time with you finishing up the creation process of the drink. You insist on him to sit down when you see him approaching from the corner of your eye, likely wanting to help with whatever you were doing, as per the norm for him. He abides, though, and you bring the two cups over, setting them atop of the little glass table that stands not too far from his couch, then sit down yourself. Not too close to Crowe, but not too far either. Your hand hardly avoids grazing him as you pull your knees up to your chest, aiming to get comfy, not paying it too much mind when the television flicks on and Crowe starts scrolling through the channels. You pull out your phone and scroll on one social app, then the next and so on. 

The two of you hardly talk to one another aside for little short-lived conversations or passing the hot chocolate back and forth from the table, it being closer to you than him. The television serves as background noise that only seems to remind you of how quiet it is. While usually you two would be chatting away about one thing or the other, you’re deathly silent tonight, too much on your mind to even consider it. 

It was one of those things that came as a sort-of… Standard for yourself and Crowe; you were always ‘touchy’ with each other or just close to one another in some way, be it through a simple hand on his arm while you walked together or sitting by each other at lunch. Two peas in the same pod is what everyone always described you as, himself included. 

So, realistically, the little contact of your hands touching together when you hand him the mug of hot chocolate shouldn’t make you feel anything. Let alone, have you questioning if it’s worth it at all to potentially ruin the relationship you’d had, all because of some simple little more-than-friends thoughts that plagued your mind from time-to-time. Said thoughts just seemed to worsen today, despite everything else that’s going on. He stayed in the very forefront of your mind above all else, no thanks to the fact you were staying at his place for the night. 

It’s the type of situation that’s oh so predictable and stereotypical - it’s a tale as old as time itself, even - the sweet girl falling in love with the charming boy who she’d been friends with for as long as she could remember. You’d known practically everything about Crowe. How kind and caring he is, how willing he is to give everything up just to do so much as even spend a moment with you. It’s tough to not fall in love, or in the least, dote upon a little, with someone like that. That person just so happened to be him.

But the fact that you’re as lost in thought as you are doesn’t make it past Crowe, not at all.

“You’ve been strangely quiet tonight, ____. Even on the walk back here.” He subtly pries into you as you tap away on your phone and it’s easy to see the worry that’s present in his face, though he’s quick to come out with a witty comment to distract you away from his concern. It doesn’t go unnoticed, though, no thanks to the help of his leg bouncing up and down, something that only ever happened when he was that anxious. “That marks a drastic change.”

“Wow, ouch, really? Harsh, much?” You joke, lightly punching his shoulder and laughing alongside him before putting your phone away, looking down past your knees that are pulled up tight into your chest, squeezing them a little closer as you run laps around the ideas in your mind - your situation and thoughts of the man himself. You don’t want to think about Crowe as more than the sweet friend that he is. You don’t want to think about the possibility that he similarly sees you as much more. But you do. 

You have been for a good while now, you’d just never come to terms with it like you should’ve done. Always brushing it off as platonic affection, just acknowledging him for the good guy he is.

As per usual, nothing evades the attentive Crowe, now fully focused in making sure that you’re okay - he scoots slightly closer to you on the couch, his shoulder just about touching your own, lips half-parted in a way that hints at his curiosity-crossed-cautiousness and the guilt of keeping your feelings in for so long finally seems to catch up to you, words coming out before you really have the chance to properly understand what it is you want to say. 

“No, it’s just- I have so much going through my mind right now, because of the break-ins and school and-” You sigh out, cutting yourself off, staring at the man next to you - he was as eager as ever to listen. You knew exactly why you were so quiet. You just weren’t so sure how to go about explaining it to him. You weren’t even so sure about doing it in the first place. It’s with hesitation on your behalf, but ultimately, you keep talking.

“Can I just… Be real with you? I mean, I’m gonna do it, anyway. Doesn’t really matter too much if you say no.”

Crowe smiles sweetly, nodding and keeping a firm look into your eyes. He could never in a million years say no to you. “Hit me. You know that I am more than willing to listen to you.”

Now, normally the eye contact would have you shying away, he would taunt you about it, you tell him to shut up and so on, the teasing continues. That’s the way it goes. Not tonight. He knows whatever you’re going to say is going to be fully serious, no jesting. You mentally prepare yourself for what’s about to happen and as does he. You sigh out, then look him deadset in the eyes. 

Stupid Crowe. Stupid feelings for Crowe.

“I think we’ve been dancing around… This-” your hand doing a motion that showcases that the ‘this’ you mentioned is in regard to yourself and Crowe, whatever your relationship could be classified as. You and him both know very well that friends don’t act the way that you do with each other sometimes. “-For too long, Ichabod. Far too long.” 

You intentionally use that name, that symbol of just who he was, his family, the once playful nature from before when you had called him out on his harsh words now absent from your tone, showing the man next to you just how serious you were about this situation.

”...And I really don’t know how much longer I can look past it, Jericho. I really don’t. I don’t think I can.” Your voice crumbles with your words, breaking a little at the end of your sentence, it hitches and you have to raise your voice to be able to form your words properly past the dryness in your throat.

“I think I like you. No- God. I know that I like you. In a more-than-friends way.” 

The declaration comes out as a hoarse whisper, hardly audible at all. It feels like the world has stopped with the way your best friend is looking at you… 

Like you’re joking. Like it’s all part of some elaborate prank, scheme, whatever. Like it’s not true at all and you’re just trying to have some fun or lighten the mood. He laughs it off and pats your head and you don’t even have the words. No thoughts, no nothing. Nothing at all comes to you as he speaks. 

“You’re very funny, ____.”

…What?

“I think you need to go to sleep, it is getting rather late. How many restless nights has it been for you now? I dread to think about it.” Crowe stands up, facing away from you. He can’t bare to look at you because he knows what type of expression will be splayed across your face, knows it’ll make him feel twice as bad as he already does. It isn’t something he has the strength to do. But ultimately, those words hit you hard. You can’t hide it. Both you and him knew how serious you were.

It’s even more than known to him, in fact, that you’re not joking, not even close to it. You’re good-willed and that scares him more than anything. So he tries to get away from it as fast as possible. He can’t justify his want for you too, not right now. Not with everything that’s going on with you as of late - the stalker, the potential break-in; he doesn’t want to put you in harm's way, as much as it hurts him to do so. He’s scared that you’ll get hurt and that’s something he’d never forgive himself for.

“Come on, now. You need to rest.”

But you’re not willing to let it go so easily. Not when it’s taken this long to fully come to terms with it, build up the courage to even think about saying anything at all. You won’t let him slip away so easily. 

“No, Jericho! That’s not fair! I’m not letting you do this to me! I’m sick of pretending that I don’t love you!” You grasp desperately onto his wrist as he goes to stand up to get ready for bed and sleep the thoughts that plagued his mind off; though, there was really no need for you to do so - the unintentional confession caused him to stop in his tracks in its own right, regardless of how you tenaciously held onto him.

The unexpected word, love - that comes out as just as big of a shock to you as it does to the recipient. His eyes are as wide as saucers as his head turns back to look at you. You could get pretty loud at times, yes, he had first-hand experience in that department, but never getting to the point of yelling like you just had. You go on, the vice-like grip you held on his wrist not easing up.

“I love you, Jericho! I really do, I always have, ever since we were kids and I’m sick of pretending that I don’t! And I’m sick of pretending that it doesn’t hurt me! How I have to sit and act like I’m okay with leaving you all the time, because I’m not! And most of all, I’m sick of you acting stupid when you’re not! You act like you don’t even know how I feel!” 

Both you and the brunette appear taken aback, yourself now in full-blown tears with your head hanging and the grip you held on his wrist gradually turning weaker with every heavy breath you took, himself standing still like a deer in headlights. He knew he’d screwed up the moment he heard your voice crack before, but the little sobs that escape from you, they shatter his heart into a million little pieces - you pause for a moment when you feel him slip his wrist out of your grasp and crouch down on the floor to reach your eye-level, though you refuse to look up past your knees.

That sad, pained little look on your face is lethal enough to kill when you shakily lift your head up to meet his face, checking that he’s still there like he would’ve been able to go anywhere in the first place. Crowe’s arms embrace you carefully, as though you’re fragile enough that you’d break, one hand on the back of your head to cradle and comfort you, small whispers of ‘it’s okay’ doing as they intend. Your head rests comfortably on his shoulder, the top of his shirt sleeve now dampened with your tears. His heartbeat is racing, but it’s a soothing melody as you mirror his actions and go to wrap your own arms around him.

It feels so, so stupid that his efforts work and they ease up your tears. But of course it would work. Why wouldn’t it? It’s him. 

Crowe hushes you as you cry, hand gently directing you into his chest as his other hand now draws small, soothing circles on your back. He fixes it the only way he knows how to. He moves back, though his arms are still on you, body away from you in the slightest, murmuring out a “Look at me.” 

So, you do.

“I love you too, ____. Very much so. And, truthfully, I’m sorry.” His voice drops to a subtlety as he feels your body stiffen upon his own abrupt confession - though, he’s not quite done yet. His hands now reach up from behind to your face, thumbs wiping away the tears from the corners of your eyes ever so gently. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything sooner, I’m sorry that… Well, I’m sorry that I’m afraid, honestly. You…” All of a sudden, his mind is caught, conflicted between the two ideologies - letting himself succumb to the desire of you, or ensuring that you’re as safe as possible.

He hides it well, but he’d be a fool to lie and say that he hadn’t fallen for you long ago; though he held off of those romantic ideals (recently, anyway) for fear of what could happen - he knew how deathly afraid you had been as of recently due to your stalker. And heaven knows how a person like that could react if they had any knowledge at all of Crowe involving himself with you in a more-than-friends way. But seeing your tears, he wishes he could be beyond caring. He’ll keep up the facade for a tad longer, so long as you let him.

He sincerely hopes that you don’t.

“You are…Perhaps, one of the most incredible people that I know. I really do mean it.” The pause that allows you to take in his words does no good at aiding the ache in your chest. “And as much as I desperately want to, my starlight, believe me, I cannot possibly justify taking you away for myself. Not right now. Not with everything that’s going on. I do not want to put you in harm's way.”

His hands are so kind to you, a stark juxtaposition to his words and you feel the way they shake while holding the sides of your face. You’d seen Crowe worried - plenty of times when you’d done something silly that he disapproved of - but never like this. Like he’d truthfully been hurt this time. Like he wanted to, but he simply couldn’t. Yet, something behind those pretty blue eyes of his tell you that you should try your luck anyway.

”I don’t care, Jericho.” Your hands now hold onto his as they rest on your cheeks. A plea of sorts. “You… You’re the one person in the world that I trust more than anything. So be selfish with me, even if it’s just this once, even if you think you might regret it.”

When your eyes meet after your heartfelt words, he’s quick in shaking his head ‘no’ and pulling his hands away. You frown at the lost contact, tears threatening to fall again. It gives you the entirely wrong impression - like he only wanted you to stop crying and that was it. The words come out of you before you really think about their effect, but you were above caring at that point, truth be told.

“...So you were just saying it all to make me feel better, huh?”

“No, goodness, no, love. I just-“ He sighs it out under his breath, the pet name making your heart flutter, though he’s quiet enough that you could tell he hoped you wouldn’t catch it, but the proximity between you is close enough that you hear him. That horrid pang of guilt hits him once again when he sees the tears brim in the corners of your eyes. You’d looked so defeated. Like you hadn’t a thought in your mind other than him. And that was pretty accurate, you didn’t.

‘Fuck it’, he thinks. 

“Can I kiss you?”

God, what a stupid question. 

It’s a sense of sweet relief you didn’t know you needed so badly when his hands go to rest on your face once more and wipe away the tears, lips edging dangerously close to yours, and you feel breathless as you nod, the warmth of his lips being just as you expect when they capture your own in a kiss. It’s as gentle as you had imagined it would be, albeit, you can feel the slight hesitation from Crowe in doing so. As if he wasn’t so sure that it was real or right to do. In an effort to reassure him, you cusp his hand in your own, using your thumb to run little circles over it. It does as you hope and you can feel him slowly ease into the kiss, letting his guard down.

When he pulls away to catch his breath, you notice the deep-red blush on his face, something so unlike him - yet, he doesn’t even try to hide it. Rather, he pulls you into his chest and embraces you, hand caressing the back of your hair. Despite the number of times you had mentally cursed yourself for even doing as much as just thinking about kissing Crowe, it felt so remarkably natural to actually do it. It hits you that it had really just happened. 

You had just confessed your love to and kissed your best friend and he felt the exact same way. Years of bigging yourself up to do it, yet never following through and this is what it led to. It’s such a sweet moment that you’re almost brought to tears again, solely based on the fact that he actually liked you back. You had an inkling about it, sure, you had tons of people (primarily, his own friends more than anyone else) telling you, that’s true. But it felt so much better to hear it from the man himself.

Once he started peppering smaller little kisses on your face, singing little praises of how pretty and gorgeous you had looked, how crying didn’t suit someone such as you, you truthfully didn’t know how to stop yourself. You didn’t want to rush anything, but goodness, it felt like you had certainly waited long enough.

You await for him to sit back up on the couch next to you before you inch towards him, a few centimetres shy of straddling his lap, reciprocating what he had just done for you. No space on his face is left unkissed by the time you’re done with him, about five minutes or so later, now fully sat on his lap as his hands rest on the curve of your ass. You wanted more, wanted to be greedy. That much was painfully obvious from your previous actions alone, the heat on the apex of your thighs doing no better job at hiding it than the ever-growing tent in Crowe’s pants did at hiding his own arousal.

Oh! - That’s the first thought you think when you just so happen to see it in the midst of planting kisses on his face.

Oh. - That’s for the realisation that hits you.

He’d wanted it just as bad as you did. Yet, you back away to your original spot, despite the want, desire and somewhat surprise in your eyes that doesn’t go amiss when you glance downwards and you look away when you speak, both of shyness and shame from the situation at hand. You totally understood why Crowe had held off for so long. But now was a better time than any and you didn’t think you had it in you to try and hide it any longer. Neither did he, evidently. 

“... I wanna keep going, Jericho. Show you how much I need you. Please?”

It’s spoken like the confession of a sinner, barely above a whisper, laced with such a great undertone of lust and longing that the umber-skinned man felt shame upon himself for getting excited at it. He didn’t know what to do with you, let alone himself. And then he recognises how utterly desperate you are for him and he curses himself for ever having the will-power to hold off, curses himself for ever having second thoughts about professing his love for you. He wishes he did it sooner, almost certain he won’t be able to hold back once you let him know you’re absolutely ready to go to that level.

“Are you sure? Not just sure because you know it’s what I want, ____. Sure because you know that you want it too. I do not wish to rush to do anything with you if you aren’t ready.”

“Yeah, Jericho. I… I’m sure. I love you, with all of my heart. I wanna do this with you. I trust you.”

The two of you sit there for a good few seconds, neither one daring to look up at the other after you utter out those words. Crowe takes the initiative, as he always seems to do.

Your head tilts in curiosity as you trace his movements with your eyes, watching as he heads from the couch straight for the stairs. He crooks his finger, an indicator that draws you in, wordlessly telling you to follow him. And as spellbound by him as ever, you trail along, the heat between your legs evergrowing as you start finding yourself heading b-line towards his bedroom that you’d been in numerous times before for one reason or the other. But tonight was so much different, that thought keeping you on your toes.

Crowe takes your hand once you’re in his room, guiding you towards his bed and you sit on the edge, watching as he crouches down to your level, placing a kiss on your hand before climbing onto the king-size himself, pushing you down onto the bed with ease and practically trapping you in with his arms on either side of your head. You don’t fight it; no, you indulge it, pulling him towards you with your own arms reaching up, hands wrapped around his neck. 

His jacket slips from your shoulders as he gets a little handsy with you, the kiss you share much more passionate than the first, leaning more into a short-lived makeout, yet still sweet and the taste of the hot chocolate from earlier lingers on your tongue when he breaks the distance between you. The brunette’s hair tickles at your face from above as neither of you say anything, you just stare at each other for a moment, both basking in the beauty of the other in the lighting of the moonlight from the window, curtains left slightly open.

Crowe is the first to move once more, his fingers, long and slim, work their way downwards from the shirt collar at your neck towards your chest, before stopping and hovering over the buttons that posed more as a barrier between yourself and him. Your eyes lock together once more; those striking, cobalt irises you’d admired for so long, now hazy and longing for your approval to be gentle with you, lips pursed as his words follow.

“I promise to take good care of you tonight, my starlight.” The breath comes as an unexpected warm whisper against your ear, though you don’t complain at the sensation, moving yourself upwards slightly to be eye-level with the taller man below you. It’s as if they sparkle as they await your word - he dares to continue, like you had even considered saying no in the first place.

“If you’d allow me to do so, of course.”

Only a fool could dare to ever be untrustworthy of Crowe.

“If it’s okay with you, Jericho.” You move his hand towards the top of the collar of your shirt, giving a nod as in-turn, he traces over the little circular buttons that holds the two sides together with the very tip of his nail. Though you’d already discussed the matter earlier, your self-doubt doesn’t fail to present itself again. "...I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this for me, just to make me feel better about making me wait for so long.”

The look on his face after your words register to him is similar to that of when you had first told him about your stalker, only more on the side of confusion than dread. “...I am doing this because I love you, ____. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“I know, but-”

“Then, it’s settled. Why doubt yourself? Just relax for me, my love. Don’t let a second thought into that pretty head of yours. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

You nod, cheeks warm and fuzzy from his intimate words, though the silence after is deafening, as if the moment couldn’t be more awaited by either of you - he finally decides to take the hint of what you want him to do, albeit, with a little difficulty. 

In a way, it’s adorable to watch him struggle with as simple of a task as undoing some shirt buttons from above. 

The light-hearted, playful giggles you share between each other as he fails to grasp onto the buttons from shaking hands direct you into doing it for him, and you do - allowing for the brunette to admire you as he sits back once the pesky button-up has slid away from your shoulders, draped around your forearms. Ever the respectful man you knew him to be, Crowe is hesitant to stare - in place, you take his hand once again and place it atop of your chest, just shy of the lining of your bra. The fabric barely tickles at his fingertips and he indeed prioritises something else - how fast your heart is beating. It’s so divine and he’s simply lost in it.

“You…You can feel my heartbeat, right?” You take note of his infatuation - your words come out, an unintentionally yet undeniably lust-filled faint whisper and looking into the eyes of sweet, lovable Crowe makes you practically clench around nothing. For as long as you’d known him, he was never at a loss for words. But here you were now, rendering him completely astonished. He dares to trace his fingers along the inner edge of the bra.

“How fast it’s beating, all because of you, Jericho?”

Heat practically radiates from his face onto yours upon hearing his name fall from your lips in such a seductive way, cheeks a deep shade of red, as he nods, awestruck at simply the sight of you. It’s ethereal, almost comparable to something once-in-a-lifetime, to see you below him in such a way that makes him believe he had to be the luckiest man in the world. His lips part slightly as you drag your thumb across his bottom lip, then they purse into a smile as yours seem to mirror the actions of his own. 

Though, the eye contact you held was short-lived as Crowe is swift in averting his eyes to the side, looking slightly unsure, hand itching to move just an inch downwards to meet your breast through the fabric of the bra - “You are absolutely certain about this, right?”

The question seems downright ludicrous, considering the current predicament of yourself below him on his plush bed, let alone the fact you were already practically half naked and you had both confessed your love to each other. But of course, it comes to you, Crowe was possibly the most patient and respectful person in the world, waiting for you, unwilling to do anything that you weren’t. 

So your approach is witty, afraid to lose what’s above you, pulling him down into a kiss and resting your hands on the back of his neck. The kiss itself is short and gentle, a reflection of the first that you had shared on the couch, no longer than five seconds, enough to tell him that you’re ready to go further in its own right. But there’s no harm in admitting it to him with your words, too. And something in your mind tells you that he’d much prefer that.

“I want this, Jericho. No- I want you. You know I do. I always have. So…”

Kissing him after you had finished speaking was your plan - yet, you had no expectations of Crowe being as brazen as he was, cutting your words off the moment you finish speaking them, by meeting your lips with his own and cupping your cheek with one hand, the other still on your chest. It wasn’t apparent to you what set him off - calling him by his name in such a loving way, or your verbal consent to him or even both at once; you didn’t question it, instead melting into the kiss from the man that had captured your heart from the very moment you’d met him.

What’s sweet and soft soon turns heavy and heated, with Crowe shifting a leg between your own and lightly pressing up against your sex with his knee. And his hands, god, once terrified to touch you, were now unafraid; the hand on your cheek now moving upwards and tangling itself within your hair. It pushes your head up slightly, keeping your lips on his, the other still on your chest, but now his thumb was gently tracing little circles and moving gradually inwards towards your breast. Your shirt is now long gone and you hadn’t even realised it fell off your arms until now, with your presumption of its whereabouts being some place on the floor. Not like it mattered, anyway.

The brunette did not seem to hesitate at all and it feels as though he’s experienced with what he’s doing and how he’s doing it, the way he expertly manages to slip his tongue into your mouth upon a gasp you let out when he gently pinches at your nipple with his thumb and pointer, fingers sneakily slipped into the fabric of the bra and you swear you feel him smirk against your lips once he gets what he wants. 

That hand soon moves out of your bra and instead goes to grasp your own, pinning it above your head, still holding onto it as he teases with your chest. Yet, it’s so gentle, something so intimate, so expected of sweet, sweet Crowe. So eager to please you and only you. Your free hand paws at the buttons to his deep purple vest, then at the black shirt underneath, murmuring out a little “Off, Jericho” through kisses and moans, to which he smiles against your own lips at your shameless request, yet abides nonetheless.

You’re out of words to describe it once you finally do manage to work the thing off of him and he takes a moment to look down at you - god, what a sight he’d been hiding this whole time. You had drawn an image in your mind before based on how armstrong he was, but lord. Admittedly, it wouldn’t have mattered to you regardless of what his body looked like; it was more the shock of how handsome Crowe really was. He was toned in both his abs and arms, clearly from playing sport or exercise, but not to the point where it would be overly apparent, hence why it had been such a surprise. You’d never remotely be able to guess this is what he’d look like underneath his clothes. Your arms bring him closer, still wrapped around his neck, deepening the kiss as if you both weren’t rendered breathless enough already.

It’s getting hot and dizzying, excruciatingly so, the two of you pressed so closely together and Crowe must notice it before you do: you’re truly out of breath, dizzy and dazed from the unpredictable intensity of his kiss, chasing the lips that put you in this position in the first place as they pull away from you. You refuse to move your hands away from his neck, awe-struck by both the beauty of your friend-turned-lover and the promiscuousness of the situation at hand. 

With your chest moving up and down as fast as it is, you eye up Crowe - ever the gentleman, he ensures you’re okay above all else, his hands moving to embrace your waist and then cupping your face.  

He daren’t say it to you directly, but goodness, he thought you looked absolutely divine underneath him; no less when you were out of breath. The hard-on in his pants presses against your leg. To the contrary, Crowe is so gentle, so careful with what he does, your eyes meeting with his while sharing a smile with one another before your own move downwards, eyeing that certain problem that has evidently plagued the man above you.

He’s hard. Like, really hard.

You felt it before you had seen it with your eyes, sure, but you didn’t expect it to be as obvious as it was when you’d spared a second to take a glance down. It was way worse than when you had been in his living room. Your staring hardly goes unnoticed (not like you were really trying to hide it, though), as his words bring your eyes back up to meet his own.

“You’re out of breath, starlight.” It’s said so damn ironically, like he’s not in the exact same predicament, his chest rising and falling at the same pace as your own, the hand that held yours through the duration of the kiss-turned-makeout now moving downwards to envelope the small of your back and pull you closer, like you hadn’t been pressed up against each other already. 

And you don’t fail to notice his hair, once a tidy fishtail braid, the style that you’d taught him how to perfect when you were kids, now undone, messy and his hair just seems to perfectly frame his face. You were sure you were the luckiest person in the world to see Crowe like this. That admiration in your eyes isn’t hard to miss on his behalf, as his cheeks flush that pretty shade of pink, his saccharine tone drawing your attention back to him rather than his hair. 

“Should I take that as my sign to stop?”

You’re taken aback within an instant.

“What? No! Fuck, no! Jericho- just- shut up for a second!” 

…

“It’s been more than a second. If I’m so inclined to believe it, then I have permission to talk now?”

You groan playfully in response to his formalities as they do absolutely no good to overturn his teasing, that sly smirk on his pretty face making it more than obvious he knows what he’s doing to you. You fight back, much to his surprise - hand tracing up from his neck into his hair and pushing him closer to you, his neck now on display in front of your very eyes.

There’s no hesitation at all in the way you dive in, placing an array of kisses that are quick to make him shut up, an endearing little sound escaping from Crowe when the warmth of your lips place a little kiss on his adam’s apple and stay there briefly. You only pause what you’re doing as you’re not quite sure if you heard him right. The whimper-crossed-groan implores you to keep going, a little bit harsher at that, biting lightly and leaving little red marks in their wake, a trail of them moving downwards from the peak of his neck to the little mole at the bottom, previously unnoticed, always hidden by the collar of his shirt.

These features of him fit so well, you’re inclined to explore more of him. And you do.

Your fingers trail down as you lightly kiss along his neck, connecting the little features on his body, going all the way from his lower neck to his chest to his stomach, a few chuckles here and there from Crowe above you, likely ticklish. He stops you once you reach the hem of his pants and removes your hand entirely, reaching upwards to capture his cheek and bring his face downwards to just mere metres away. Your noses brush together. The man you’d been so infatuated with for years, wondering just what it would take to make him crack was now unravelling in front of your very eyes. You eye up the hickies on his neck, fingers tracing them lightly, admiring your handywork, before it goes back up to cup his cheek.

“Now everyone knows you belong to me.”

Crowe nuzzles into the palm of your hand, placing gentle kisses along the creases within it, nothing more than absolute adoration showing in the action. He’s so enchanting, so admirable through your hazy, half-lidded eyes. It warrants a compliment from you, eager to see the type of reaction you can garner, some voice in the back of your mind telling you that you could get the same as before.

“If I’m being totally honest, I think you’re gorgeous like this, Jericho.” 

It makes him stop mid-kiss on your palm, lips slightly ajar as he murmurs out a little “Oh?” in curiosity, trying to hide the excitement in his eyes, now moving down towards your wrist and it seems as though he has no plan on stopping. You’d notice that although he can dish it out just fine, taking praise isn’t exactly his strong suite. You don’t explain yourself, though, thoughts racing as he works his way down your arm, all the way up to your shoulder and then your neck.

Using his arms to lift your legs to wrap around his waist, pushing you down slightly, your eyes met together once more - though that deep-rooted adoration and lust that was once hidden is now more than fully apparent. It really felt like a dream to him, considering he had indeed dreamt of such - Dreamt of nights like this, of being the one to take you this way, of making you feel as good as you deserved to. 

The feeling of his lips, so gentle, moves all the way up your arm, before it pauses momentarily. And it’s sudden when it happens, but you feel yourself pulled upwards and embraced by Crowe, strong arms now around your waist and you sit comfortably on his lap, holding back on begging him to just take you there and then once you drop your hips down slightly to understand just what you’d done to him. It made you remember that there was no lie in the fact that he had wanted this for just as long as you had, perhaps even longer. 

A long, drawn-out, yet strangely intimate string of kisses from your shoulder to your ear follows your train of thought, bringing you back down as Crowe gently nibbles on the lobe of your ear, the accidental gasp you let out causing him to chuckle once more. The heat from his breath tickles your ear and you squirm, only a little, but the friction must’ve hit him right where he was trying to keep himself composed. His voice drops down an octave with the groan that he lets out.

“C-Careful now, love. God, fuck, you’ll be the death of me one day.”

You’re stunned  - it’s one of those things where you forget that he actually has the ability to swear, simply as he never does. You’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t the most attractive thing you think you’ve ever heard and it urges you on to make it happen again.

His warning seems to fall upon deaf ears as you do exactly as you intend - his head rests on your shoulder as you do it once more, eager to hear him swear again, grinding against the poor Crowe, another groan that you seem to relish falling from his lips shakily. It would be shameless to say that you haven't let your own slip from your mouth, but it was rather fun to see someone who you had known to of always been so… Composed, now struggling to keep his calm. Those pretty, deep blue eyes of his are squeezed shut, cheeks burning a vibrant red. 

”Poor, poor Crowe,” your voice drops to a murmur, sarcasm laced in your tone, simply trying to gauge a reaction from him, using his infamous nickname as a means to taunt him. “What happened to you? I thought you were always so…Calm, collected.”

You knew exactly what you were doing, and he knew you did too - the sickly sweet tone of your voice gave it all away. Your hand now lowers, cupping over the bulge that gives itself away, begs for attention from you, keeping your eyes on his own as they dart between your hand and your face, unsure on where to look. 

“You poor, poor thing. Is this my fault?”

That tone is absolutely beyond ludicrous, as is the question, teasing him and how shy he suddenly is. ‘Yeah, of course it’s your fault’, he wants to say. It’s sudden, but your words exactly do as you intend for them to do. You and him both are unsure of where your newfound dominance has come from, but neither of you complain. But you’re certain that you must have tipped him right over the edge. 

He proves just as much; he goes to attack your neck, the weight of his body pushing you right back down to where you were before, not holding back at all this time. An embarrassing little half-whimper half-moan follows as he hits a certain sensitive spot on your neck between your collarbone, shutting you up within seconds while you succumb and let him do the work.

“You tease me, ____, but you don’t seem to understand,” His adoring, half-slanted eyes meet yours as he murmurs between soft kisses that trail downwards from your neck to your chest, brushing over sensitive areas of your skin that causes your breath to hitch, little nibbles destined to leave love bites in their wake. 

His hand snakes upwards to meet your own, pushing it downwards into the plush pillow, though he’s adamant to let it go and keeps a firm hold on it as he descends. You watch, biting your lip.

“Just how long…” 

Then, from your chest to your stomach, travelling down, an unwavering feeling of lust building in your chest as you admire him - how he’s getting lower and lower until he reaches and hovers above the waistband of your shorts, his hand now unlinked from your own (much to your dismay) and daring to unbutton them.

“I’ve been waiting to make you feel good. So, let me indulge in you, my starlight.” 

With his words and that delicate pet name he had always yearned to call you, you nod, allowing him to take off the item of clothing that posed as more of an obstacle above all-else, discarded in some random corner of his bedroom - revealing the underwear you’d chosen for the day. 

One look at you is more than enough - he was completely enthralled and on cloud nine. He stares for a moment, maybe two, hands carefully tracing around your body, your waist and then your hips, as if you could break if he touched you. And really, as much as you loved him, he took his sweet time. If anticipation could kill, you’d be beyond dead already.

In the midst of your lust-clouded mind, a thought comes to you; he was going to be your first time. It wasn’t anything you were particularly ashamed of - you just didn’t want to disappoint him. You’re suddenly nervous, hiding your face in your hands. It piques his curiosity.

“Um… Jericho? Just so you know, I’ve.. Like, never done this before with anyone. I hope you don’t mind, since, well... I might suck.” 

It’s worse to admit it out loud than to think about - no less to the man you love - that you’re worried about disappointing him. Even knowing the countless secrets you had shared between one another. 

And the deadpan look on his face upon hearing that you’re indeed a virgin doesn’t seem to rectify your feelings one bit. You’re quick to fully cover your face with your hands out of sheer embarrassment, groaning out a “Don’t look at me like that!”, but he’s quicker to command you to look back at him in the eyes, so you gingerly lower your hands and do so.

“I really do not care how good or bad you are in bed, ____. As long as it’s you that I’m about to have sex with, I really could not care less.”  

Someone could tell you that the word ‘blunt’ is his middle name and you wouldn’t question it for even a second. 

The moonlight hits Crowe’s face from the window, his skin shining a gorgeous lilac colour as a result, as he at last decides to get on his knees on the floor, bringing you to the edge of the bed with his hands and at once he finally begins placing kisses against you, from your belly-button downwards, an indescribable sight for sore eyes as his hands now move to cup the backs of your thighs and slightly lift you upwards to accommodate for his position. The brunette’s head rests between your thighs to take a moment to admire the sight before him. 

“And for your information, I have been practically saving myself for you. So simmer down, and let me make you feel good.”

With his humbling words and your meek little “Okay” that followed soon after, you had silently wished you’d picked out a different pair to wear once you feel him begin to make his way down with his lips again - something that did a little more justice at hiding your arousal - the white fabric, framed by frills around the sides did an awful job. The sheer patch gave it all away. They were a simplistic pair that had matched the bra you had on, he’d noticed. Endearing.

Before he starts, though, he asks: “Is this okay for me to do to you?”

You breathe out, heart pounding in anticipation. “Yeah, Jericho. W-Wanna know how it feels… Wanna feel you.”

That’s more than enough to set him off.

He licks experimentally on top of your underwear, and you swear you feel his lips turn up into a devious smirk against you when you gasp and your back arches upwards ever-so-slightly at the feeling of his tongue on the thin fabric that simultaneously brushed against your clit. Your hand sits in his hair, just something to grip onto to keep you steady. It persists, those little kitten licks that have you biting your lip, until you decide that the feeling isn’t quite enough for you.

“Jericho, you’re so mean!” You whine out, using your hand to brush the hair out of his face to get a better look at him - he’s stunning, even in such a compromising position. Sweat-slicked skin being a reminder of the events that had led up to this moment. “D-Don’t tease me, please.”

Your lips form into a little pout at the short-lived sensation, the ‘please’ at the end of your sentence unintentionally coming out as a desperate cry. You lightly tug at a tuft of his hair in your hand, as if it’ll do anything. Those piercing sapphire eyes meet yours from the space between your thighs, as if to say “Why shouldn’t I?”, so you indulge him, trying your best to be as confident with your words as possible, though the tremble in your voice is as obvious as ever.

 “I…God, I really, really hate you for making me say it.” You look away out of mortification for even just the thought of saying it aloud. His hair tickles your inner thigh as he tilts his head upwards slightly to get a better look at you. “You know that I’ve waited such a long time for you.”

You didn’t hate him, not even in the slightest and he knew it far better than anyone - the words alone have him chuckle from the back of his throat and you bite your lip to hold yourself back from telling him to shut up, as you know the consequence. But he could never deny you of what you want. Never in a million years. No less, when you cry out like that, oh so desperate for him. 

“That’s my girl. Now, keep your pretty eyes on me and we won’t have any problems.”

His fingers delicately pull the underwear away down your legs as you keen to his praise, keeping your eyes locked onto his every move just as he had commanded you to. Placing your ankles over his shoulders, he pulls you in closer to him, hands now on the front of your thighs to keep them open while his mouth hovers over you, inching closer, Crowe taking his sweet time to admire you fully before the dam finally breaks and he starts eating you out; as if it would kill him if he didn’t. Once he gets that initial taste of you, he starts to think that he might’ve gone to heaven and came right back.

His mouth wraps around the little bud, gently sucking, flicking his tongue and your free hand now joins the other on his head to play with his hair, the feeling so foreign, unknown, but so damn good. A hum of approval escapes him as your hands unintentionally tug at his head and sends vibrations straight to your core. He’s stupidly good at what he’s doing, you have to wonder how he knows what to do though you wouldn’t dare to think about asking. 

As instructed, you keep your eyes on him; the both of you just as blissed out as the other. You weren’t overly shocked that he was seemingly getting off solely on making you feel good.

Moans and little whimpers, even little pleas and praises at some points, escape you as one of his hands leaves your thigh and you feel two fingers gently trace along you, pressed against your entrance, soon enough inside you, as they work in sync to stimulate you - his tongue flicking at your clit, fingers thrusting in and out at the same pace of which he was licking you, while the breathing from his nose unintentionally tickled, all your senses being overwhelmed from pleasure all at once.

Of course, it would only be Jericho Ichabod himself of all people who could be so perfect at something, despite never doing it before.

Involuntarily, moans and cries of pleasure fall from you despite your best efforts to keep them contained, eyes seeming to squeeze shut on their own at the feeling of everything simply becoming too much, but it comes to an abrupt stop just as you can feel yourself getting ready to finish - you reopen your eyes to meet the oh-so obvious cause, who is deviously smirking back at you.

“Huh? Wh-at?” You mutter out in between pants, head thrown back in disbelief, hitting the bed in defeat before whimpering as Crowe seems to tease, slowly dragging his fingers in and out, but not at a pace fast enough that it would aid you in reaching your climax. You daren’t ask why he stopped - you knew exactly why.

You couldn’t even rub your thighs together to try and create even a little bit of friction since he had such a firm hold on you. He tuts beneath you teasingly, coaxing you into meeting his eyes again. The look on his face as he delays your orgasm; fucking hell. You’d curse him for being so beautifully mischievous if you could.

“You heard me the first time, did you not? Keep those pretty eyes on me.”

Your nod is all it takes for him to go at it again, lapping up at whatever mess he’d made beforehand out of you that still remained and you ensure that you keep watching him, even when he closes his eyes or looks to the side just to be confident that he won’t stop. The pace he sets is slightly quicker than before, not too fast yet not too slow, just enough for you to catch up to the high you’d been chasing before he’d stopped last time. 

His fingers curve upwards and your body freezes up with a sharp moan as he hits deep, deep enough that your back arches on its own, not only catching you off-guard but causing you to squirm and moan out, thighs trying to close together yet failing. He notes this, consistently aiming to hit the same spot that made you tremble. And the clenching around his digits is enough to tell him you’re going to cum soon in its own right, your moans and cries of his name (as best as you try to suppress them, much to his own annoyance) are merely the icing on the cake.

The hand in his dishevelled hair is all you see as Crowe dives in, tongue now flat and licking fat stripes along you while his fingers still manage to hit the spongy spot that makes your body tremble, an entirely unknown feeling in your stomach as your thighs try and close together. You fail miserably at that.

“J-Jerciho, feels- fuck-”

Your best friend is beneath you, someone you trust more than anyone else in the world, eating you out like a starved man and all you can manage to muster out through gritted teeth and curled toes as you convulse with your approaching climax is profanities directed at him and how dumb it is that he’s as skilled as he is at what he’s doing to you. 

…That does as much as you had hoped - it eggs him on, your grip on his hair only tightening as the coil in your stomach draws tighter and tighter. You’re so, so desperately close. Crowe knows it, scissors his fingers in and out of you, a broken moan escaping as it’s just right and enough to push you over the edge. 

Your climax hits harshly, waves of white-hot pleasure mixed with the satisfied hums of the man at fault reverberating through your orgasm causing your eyes to screw shut in pure bliss. He couldn’t get too mad this time about you not keeping your eyes open. It must have been tough to do so, after all, you had just came thanks to him.  

His mouth is the first to begrudgingly detach from you as your body spasms against him, intently watching as he licks his lips clean of the cum that had tainted them through half-lidded eyes.

The pace of his fingers slows gently and they ease out of you as he aids you in riding out your orgasm at long last, almost certain the delay of it made it feel twice as good as it would’ve and perhaps that was the true intent that Crowe had in doing so all along. 

You didn’t choose to question it and watched as he’d brought his fingers to his mouth to clean them off, too lost in the afterglow of your climax to particularly care or do anything to act out in embarrassment. 

The bed dips inwards slightly as he drops down onto it next to you, his own body turning to face towards you as he looks at you. His expression is one of pure, unfiltered adoration and devotion. His larger hand takes your own once more, placing gentle kisses on it as he purses his lips together, wanting to speak.

“My goddess, my destiny, my divinity. Please, tell me, did I make you feel good?” 

Your eyes flutter open at his words, voice is barely above a whisper; if you weren’t right next to him you would’ve missed what he’d said entirely. The question itself is a stupid one, of course he’d made you feel good. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure that much out. 

But for the latter, it was best known to you of all people, that Crowe had never been religious in the slightest. Rather, he’d had a very clear detest towards even the thought of it. To have him call you names like that, with such admiration in those pretty eyes of his is such a jarring feeling in your mind, yet your body seems to betray you, the utter concept of being seen as something so holy being an odd turn-on. He'd had to have been so out of it to say something of that nature.

In-turn, you roll over slightly to face him, legs still a little shaky from how strong your climax had been, placing a gentle sequence of kisses from his forehead to his lips. Your fingers take a piece of his hair, tucking it behind his ear before you reply. 

“Yeah, Jericho. Made me feel amazing. T-Thank you.” 

Your thumb traces along his bottom lip and you kiss him once more, deeper, tasting yourself on his tongue. The words alone cause a desirous blush to plague his face. What on earth were you thanking him for, as if he didn’t enjoy it just as much? And then you go ahead and do that with his hair too, followed up by a kiss - he thinks he might go insane from how much of an inadvertent tease you were.

You wait for yourself to compose fully, staring into the eyes of the man beside you and smiling before starting to lower yourself downwards, inching closer to his pants that had somehow remained on through the duration of everything that had happened in the past twenty minutes. The bulge is more than apparent in them, it looks like it aches for attention from you. You fully intend to reciprocate what Crowe had just done for you to him. 

His voice makes you jump in surprise when he does speak upon realisation of what you’re trying to do, you don’t expect it at all. It’s heavy with sin, lust and yet a sense of nurture combined with care is laced in there too.

“This night is about you, ____. Do not even dare to think about it.”

“But-”

His stern look alone is enough to challenge whatever you were about to say and shut you up. You decided you’d certainly be better off leaving him in charge. Yet the pout on your face does no good at hiding your blatant disappointment, as you sit up on your knees at the edge of the bed and glare at him, trying to give off the impression that you were angry, though you were quite the opposite. Just a little grumpy, at best. 

You had wanted to make him feel good too, of course, but ultimately understood where he was coming from. He did say that he was going to ‘take care of you’, so you couldn’t argue with him. Not like you’d really win if you did, anyway. 

You don’t pretend to be mad for long, however. He utters something out, so quietly, that you have to get him to repeat himself. His throat clears with a cough, almost as if he’s a little bit nervous to ask about something himself. 

“...Would you like to keep on going, my starlight? You did so good for me.” 

That’s what he’s getting so shy about? Your lips part, then you giggle at him and he raises his eyebrow, as if to ask ‘Is something funny?’ Duh, you wanted to keep going. It’s silly to even consider that you ever wanted to stop.

“You're so cute when you’re shy, Jericho. Of course I wanna keep going. I want you to feel good too.”

You murmur that last part under your breath, yet still loud enough for him to be able to hear and you relish his flustered state. It was one of those things, similar to him uttering curses, you rarely ever get to see it happen so you forget that it’s even a possibility in the first place.

The brunette props himself upwards, leaning backwards on his palms and you crawl closer to him and sit yourself down between his legs, facing towards him, his legs either side of you and caging you in. He captures your chin with his hand and plants a gentle kiss to your lips, a sort of warning that falls upon deaf ears - he won’t be going easy on you. 

“Then, lay down for me, my love.”

And you’re so obedient, so quick to do it without a second thought at all, that Crowe truly begins to wonder what he had done to have been blessed with someone as special as you were. The bed dips once more when he stands up to undress, reaching for something in the bedside table’s drawer that piques your interest.

Your wandering eyes benefit you - he notices your intrigue, and promptly refutes whatever bad ideas you had in your mind with an easy answer. 

“It’s a condom, starlight. Don’t look so surprised. They hand them out at my clinic for free.”

Oh, yeah, right. You suppose that makes much more sense than the other thoughts that came to mind first.

The Jericho Ichabod you knew was always rather safer than sorry, so it does kinda make sense that he’d have some hidden away just in case of anything, even if he had confessed that he was still a virgin to you, waiting for you specifically to be the one to take it away from him. That’s massively besides the point right now, though.

The ‘zzzsh!’ sound of the zipper on his slacks feels somewhat daunting, practically making fun of you and your desperation, though you know he won’t make you wait much longer from here. The cool air hits your naked body as you watch the trousers fall to the ground, shaken off and discarded by his feet, shortly followed by the boxer briefs underneath. 

You stare from your spot on the bed, very blatantly at that. I mean, to be quite fair with yourself, it’s really hard not to look at him as he stands there, pulling the rubber out from the wrapper and sliding it over his fully-erect shaft with a groan - likely oversensitive from how long he’d refrained from touching it. It’s big enough that you’re taken aback, the tip a pretty shade of pink that matches the colour on his cheeks when he blushes. 

You bite your lip when you look up and down, eyes not sure where to sit when he walks back over to the bed and climbs right back to his spot on top of you, grabbing onto your hand, meanwhile, muttering out a sneaky little “My eyes are up here” that quickly redirects your attention up to him. It’s not that you’re worried about the likelihood of it fitting (although, that isn’t to say that it isn’t a valid concern to have just from a glance at his cock), it’s more so the fact that this wasn’t what you’d expected to come of your night at all.

“I’ll ask once more and only once more, starlight. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself once you say yes. Are you sure?”

You nod, “W-Wanna feel it, Jericho, put it in, please.”

The hand that holds your own pushes it down into the mattress gently as he gently rubs himself against you, gathering slick on himself, aliens himself with his hand then pushes up against your entrance before easing into you, inch by inch, your jaw clenching at the newfound feeling. You can’t help it when your body acts on its own, squeezing his length half-to-death. It does make you feel slightly bad when you hear him let out a little strained noise, it really does, but you can’t help it when it feels the way it does and Crowe is looking at you, so enticingly from above. 

“Relax, my love. I’m here, I’ve got you.” You keen to his words, trying your hardest to ease up and adjust to his size as quickly as possible for his benefit moreover than yours. 

He kisses away the tears that brim at the corners of your eyes from the feeling of the stretch, a sweet sentiment that continues until your little hics and cries soothe down, the pained feeling soon overturned by a more full one. Your hand loosens its grip on his, indicating that you’re more than ready for him.

”I’m going to move now, alright, starlight? That was a lot to handle, hm?”

He coos at you, the questions going unanswered and the look on his face both pitying yet understanding, keeping a firm hold on his hand as he experimentally shifts a little bit, relishing the gasp you let out.

“You did such a good job for me, though, you did so well. Letting me take you like this, love.”

The dirty-talk-crossed-praise isn’t something you really predicted him to be interested in, let alone good at, your cheeks and tips of your ears flushed pink at his words as in-turn, your nod gives him the go-ahead to start moving, your sex well-adapted to the size of him at that point and dubbed ready. 

You always did take him as the type of guy that’d talk you through it, yet it still sort of surprises you that he  actually sorta does.

But what you don’t expect is it to render you as utterly winded as you are, and you’re unable to speak properly, his name coming out in sputters of moans when he actually begins to move his hips back, then forth and back again and so on. It’s slow and steady, a pace that allows you to get used to the feeling, before the frequency he initially sets increases to be something much harder to try and hold back from. 

The little kisses he places on your neck, the small comments on how good you’re doing, it makes your walls clench around him and may god bless the poor souls that just so happened to be his neighbours; how loud both of you were was entirely shameless. You place your hands over his toned chest to steady yourself, legs locking around his back and inherently pushing him deeper into you. You’re not sure who lets out the louder moan at the unexpected move - yourself or Jericho. 

“You’re- fuck, ah- doing so good for me, sweetheart. Look at me?”  

His hair, it’s loose, messy, sweaty, everything you’d never expect of someone like him who’s typically so reserved and formal, it tickles at your cheek when he leans down to kiss you when you look up. 

It’s such a romantic gesture, so sweet, so representative of him that reminds you exactly of who’s fucking you so good. You scratch at his back from the unfiltered euphoria, earning a groan from the man on top of you that lets you slip your tongue in to deepen the kiss. It takes him aback slightly, but lord, that wasn’t a complaint in the slightest.

You break away from the kiss to take in whatever air you can, his hands trailing to grab at your waist, then one leaves it alone and reaches between the two of you to find your clit, rubbing it in gentle circles that are timed to match his thrusts. You squeal out, nails digging into his shoulders, an attempt at some sort of reprieve and your body was overly-sensitive from how stimulated you were being.

“Jeri- Cho! Ah, shit- You gotta slow down, g-gonna- holy fuck-“

Words become harder to form, his own name coming out in separations, a few stutters here and there and some coming out as barely recognisable babbles in their entirety. He pays mind to your cries, though he does not respect the request you make - no, rather, that provokes him to do the opposite of what you ask instead and he sped up, not too fast that it’d be uncomfortable but not too slow that it would prevent you from being able to cum again.

“Be honest - Is that really what you want from me?”

No, it isn’t. And he knows that too, you don’t have to say it to him. He reads your mind like it’s nothing at all. The only reason he doesn’t stop entirely to make you beg for it due to your lies is because he can’t hold back in his own right. He’s been waiting for just as long as you have, maybe even longer. Then he manages to one-up himself. 

Somehow, by some miracle, it gets better than it already was.

He feigns that same-old, signature smugness on his face as he angles his hips in such a way that the tip of his length hits that soft spot inside of you that makes your stomach flutter, head dizzy, driving in-and-out of you while still prodding at your g-spot. The thrusts cause so much please, yet, you can sense that Jericho takes great care in ensuring that you’re not too overwhelmed, even if his actions seem like the complete opposite, his fingers so mean in how they rub against your clit in perfect sync with his cock moving in and out of you, intense, even if it feels like heaven.

“Close- Jericho- ah! Jeri- Ah!”

You’re not so sure what you’re calling out his name for, over and over, chanting it like a mantra - begging for something that you knew you were destined to get. 

Yet, you persist with it, a drawn-out, long and needy whine leaving your throat as you feel your climax building up, then hitting you in one sudden and swift motion as Jericho moves his hand from between your thighs, now gently pressing it down onto your stomach instead, the action that tips you right into your orgasm.

Your back arches off of the bed, walls pulsating around the poor brunette, who’s finding it hard to not cum right there and then just watching you squirm around in ecstasy. He releases his hand when he realises that you’d came, hard. He didn’t think he would ever be able to forget how totally blissed out and beautiful you’d looked when you came undone his cock - completely at his mercy. 

The way your legs drop slowly as you came down from your high and seeing your face scrunch together was one thing, having you calling out his name like it was a holy prayer; Jesus fucking Chirst (almost literally). It only ends up being a few more thrusts that help you to ebb out your orgasm, before that much pushes him to his own limit, way over it, in fact, his hips snapping to bring himself to cum with a loud groan that has you clenching right around him, practically milking him dry, his head buried within the crux of your neck as it happens. 

It doesn’t take much more than a few seconds for his body to give out, exhausted and laying on top of yours for an intermediate amount of time, damp with sweat (though yours is no better) before he pulls out of you, pulling the condom off and disposing of it in the trash bin within arms reach, nearby to his bedside table. The sudden emptiness is unwelcoming, a soft whimper escaping you and he’s swift to notice - he’s gentle, attentive and kind when it happens, ensuring that you’re okay and still there with him. 

“...Are you okay? Did I go too far, my starlight? Your body is shaking.”

There’s something hidden deep in the lilt of his voice that tells you that he knows he didn’t, that you enjoyed every second of what you were given. That he just wants to hear how good he did.

Despite that, you’re more than okay, emotionally at least - your body (your legs bearing the worst of it all) feels utterly sore. It was everything you’d imagined for and more from sex with Jericho. His arms wrap around you, embracing you as you curl up into him although you do struggle a little in your weakened, tired state. It’s silent until he places a kiss on your temple, murmuring out a little song of praise as you snuggle into the crook of his neck.

“No, Jericho. Was perfect. I think I’m just… Still recovering from it all. I can’t believe I confessed to you and did that all in the same night.” It’s said with no intent to fuel his ego whatsoever, yet you can’t help the smile that forms on your face when you hear his esteemed, prideful chuckle, obviously quite amused at your statement. “...Does this mean I can start calling you my boyfriend now?”

It’s a stupid question to ask, all things considered. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before he answers.

“I think that is more than reasonable. I'll humour you - I had planned on telling you about how I felt sooner or later myself. I truly wanted to wait until everything had been resolved with-” He cuts himself off, not wanting to ruin the moment by reminding you of why you were at his home in the first place. “...You looked even more beautiful than I had thought you would, by the way.”

Now that’s food for thought. Your head perks up, taking a second to piece together and figure out what he’d truly meant by that.

“So, you’ve thought about how good I’d look while you’re fucking me before?”

He puffs his cheeks out in embarrassment, fully expecting you not to look into it too much. Cute, acting like you two didn’t just have sex and complimenting you was one of the biggest sins of all. “…Would you believe me if I said no?”

No, you think. Because as badly as you tried not to, you had the exact same thoughts as he did, time and time again. Then you verbalise it. 

“I wouldn’t believe you at all.”

─────

The post-sex conversation wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable; no, it was the complete opposite. It was wholesome and kind, a true representation of just how much Jericho loved you and vice versa. You both bask in each other's warmth for about ten minutes or so despite your naked forms.

You’re just about dozing off and half-asleep when you feel him carefully place you down onto the bed, his weight lifting off of it after that matter, you whine out, not wanting him to leave just yet.

”I’m sorry. Just going to pick something up for you. I won’t be gone for more than a minute, my love.”

The smile he flashed your way reassures you enough that you don’t try and fight it when he leaves. You watch as he departs, letting out a hum in response, body too tired and still recovering from the sex to move anything other than your head. He’d slipped on his boxer shorts from earlier that act as a temporary form of coverage while he walks around his home for whatever it was that he wanted to grab for you.

He comes back within an instant, like he couldn’t bare to leave you alone for more than two seconds, holding onto what looks like a pile of clothing and sets it down on the bed next to you. He sits and you let him move your legs open (albeit, you’re a little worried that he intends to eat you out again, despite how tired you both were) but that’s not what happens and you almost sigh out in relief. You feel something warm press against you, noticing that it was a rolled-up ball of fabric. Jericho holds it up for you to see, confirming it was indeed what you’d thought it was when you’d first felt it.

The cloth is slightly damp against your inner thighs and core and you flinch a little at the unexpected contact of the feeling of the material. He intricately rubs it against your legs in small, gentle circles to clean up whatever had spilled out, though you don’t mind so much and murmur out a light “thank you” as you watch the darker-skinned male do his best at cleaning off the mess you had both made of yourself. He places the cloth down somewhere, likely to go into the laundry the next day.

Jericho then takes the t-shirt, the white and blue being representative of the school’s sports day uniform, you note, lifting your arms up when he instructs you to do so, fitting it over your head and although you insist that you can get changed on your own, he still persists on being the one to do it for you. His hands are delicate, carefully pulling the cotton over your bare chest and letting it go as it reaches to the top of your thighs. It’s snug enough to keep you warm, yet slightly baggy at the same time. The perfect shirt for sleeping in. You might just have to steal it from him.

And as kind as the gesture is, you shake your head when he goes to grab the pair of pyjama shorts that he had prepared, instead choosing to just let the shirt cover you - barely, at that, though that’s not a complaint on the taller male’s behalf in the slightest. Your body still trembles slightly as you crawl to the top of the bed to get comfortable, slipping the duvet over yourself and you watch with curious eyes as he himself slips into a pair of loose, plaid bottoms. 

He debates throwing on a shirt, though he holds off when he sees that you’re eyeing him up from his bed, realising that you’d likely of been very tired from the events of the night and likely wanted to sleep rather than watching his trivial matters. Truthfully, you were rather enjoying it, like it was your own little show, but his own thoughts weren’t entirely wrong - you had been completely worn out from him eating you out, let alone actually fucking you.

So when he does eventually climb into the bed with you and invites you into his arms, it’s sweet relief, you’re so thrilled that you practically dive into him, knocking him right back into the pillows, rendering him essentially stuck underneath you as you get comfortable. You’d snuggled up into Jericho’s chest, holding onto his waist as you buried yourself deeper into the familiar warmth of his body, giving a little hum of approval once he moved a hand downwards to tussle about with your hair. 

It feels so safe in his arms that you can’t help it when you feel yourself starting to drift off into slumber, not a worry in your mind about anything other than the man who laid before you. The rhythm of his heartbeat soothes you, the beating almost like a lullaby, and through half-lidded eyes, you gaze up to the brunette in both admiration and pure love.

“I love you, Jericho.”

It takes just a moment for him to reply, forgetting that everything that had just happened was truly real.

“I love you too, ____.”

The gentle kiss on your forehead as Jericho cradles you in his arms is the last thing you feel before your eyes close, your breathing stirring a little. As you drift off in his arms, little snores indicating you’re as peaceful as ever, the words you spoke to him when you’d first stayed over at his house (he couldn’t even put an estimate on how many years it had been at that point) ring in his head. 

It was nothing more than a small, passing comment that you’d likely have already forgotten that you’d said yourself, though he’d held close to his heart ever since. 

`“Hey, Crowe? I know you’re sleeping right now and you won’t hear me, but..”

It’s way past your set bedtime that Jericho’s mom had given the two of you, yet, you’re still wide awake, talking all kinds of nonsense to your best friend. He aims to pay it no mind, pretending to be asleep while simultaneously trying to actually fall asleep. That much is beyond you. 

Yet, he finds himself strangely entranced by how passionately you seem to talk about anything to actually go to sleep just yet, listening to you instead. 

“You’re my best friend, the bestest friend ever. You’re so kind to me, so cool and nice to everyone else too. So… I think if I was gonna get married to anyone in the whole wide world…”

You’d paused, almost not saying it at all.

“I think… I’d wanna get married to you, Jericho.”`

Looking down at you in his arms, he’s certain that he’ll make that shared wish come true one day.