The soft ticking of the clock began to create a stinging headache. The lack of sleep also contributes to it.

Sighing, he rose from his bed. A sour feeling in his stomach, his eyes burning. It was pointless to keep trying to fall asleep. Slipping into his green sweatpants and a black shirt, he rolled his shoulders, trying to get rid of the tension.

Sweat clung to him, cooling as he ran his palms over his face, desperate to erase the images that lingered in his mind.

Skin; fevered and flushed. Moans.

Opening the fridge, he grabbed a beer and flicked the cap off with his lighter to relieve himself with a different kind of cold.

“Colonel, can I have some too?” You asked.

All he wanted was a beer to get his nerves and thoughts under control. König nearly choked on it.

“One sip. No more. Or your father might actually kill me.” Placing the bottle against your lips, he tips it up just enough to let a little of the liquid into your mouth. Swallowing it with such eagerness that it sent his thoughts down a completely wrong direction.

His grip around the back of your neck tightened, he didn’t noticed that he placed it there instinctively. The first time this night his eyes meet yours. Hungry and confused. Something between wanting you and hating you for it.

“Why…?” He whispered against your lips, his breath slow. With a slow step towards you, his body caged you between him and the counter.

You wanted to ask him; What do you mean? But you saw the warning in his eyes.

“I want to be friends… with you.” It wasn’t a lie, not entirely. “Just friends?” he asked, a frown etched on his features. “Hm…” Your palm brushed against his toned stomach, causing him to take a sharp inhale. “Yes…” you taunt.

Gripping the edges of the counter his eyes went hazy as he shook his head weakly at your words, dropping his forehead against your shoulder.

“If I just get the taste of you… a little piece that I'm never allowed to possess entirely. I'll fucking die.”