Fantasy and Putts - t.h. series [18+]

Meta-Fore of Love - part five *

words » 15.3k

warnings » things get fancy and hot (smut: explicit talk, fingering, oral (both receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cum play), then not so much

~ ⛳️ ~

The door locks behind you with a click, and you sigh into the empty flat. You're home, by yourself, and the unavoidable happens. The thoughts start pouring in. Most of them against your will.

Since your mind isn't preoccupied with work or commuting troubles anymore, you sink into the couch and your head swirls around the same thing for who knows how long.

For a second, that conversation with David felt somewhat like a relief. It allowed your shoulders to relax, your breathing suddenly easier since there was no longer a block to keep up. Your mind was free to wander as it pleases, now that you could stop convincing yourself that you weren't growing feelings for Tom. It was inevitable after so many months in close quarters, night upon night of becoming closer and closer, studying each other, inside and out. Quite literally, even.

It's useless to try to pretend that you can focus on anything else right now. Hands shaking lightly, heart pumping blood and doubt in every direction, stomach curled around the edge of dread of what you finally admitted to yourself, every piece of information hijacks your common sense and almost makes you sick to the stomach.

At one point, you pass by Tom's room on your way to and from the bathroom, and for some reason your brain claims it would be easier to process it all if surrounded by his presence. However, after sitting in his armchair and closing your eyes for a bit, you have to open them after a moment because his scent is spread everywhere around the room, and you have to get out of here a-fucking-sap.

In the end, you realize that you need to keep busy or you'll drive yourself mad from so many possibilities and so much aching. First, you grab your phone to update your socials and keep up with any new comments, filter through your followers to block out any uncomfortable accounts — namely the ones that remind you of him.

More and more of those have been finding you since someone somewhere made a stupid connection that ended up spreading a rumor about how you were his roommate. Potentially. Never officially confirmed, it doesn't really matter to the general public, and according to Tom and his team, the less they know, the better. You agree. The socials mongers don't.

No matter where you look, it's hard to avoid the several variations of the same name, so you bury your phone between two layers of clothes in your dresser and shut the drawer with a slight bang.

Work. That's what you need to concentrate on. Research on cocktails and toast techniques, bettering any skills you can apply every morning at the Den, then research on concepts and visuals you may want to experiment with for your channel. Anything to keep the forbidden realization from earlier out of reach.

The hours go by at last, with a small nap in between because otherwise your brain would explode trying to dodge a single topic, and you're home alone the whole time. Except you might not be for a lot longer given that the daylight is fading outside, so you hop into the shower and relax under the water stream. To force your head to stay empty, you fetched your phone from your dresser and clicked on an old playlist you downloaded fuck knows how long ago. Turning off the wi-fi for good measure, too. It's going to be just you and your favorite artist of all time and the soothing warmth of your shower routine.

"Where are those fucking things?" you mumble to yourself, already in your bedroom. It's been a while since you started canvassing your closet for a decent pair of clean joggers, but still no luck. You want to put them on so you'll be comfortable while you apply your make-up for tonight.