Walking down halls, maybe it was a mistake, visiting him. Talking too long. . . Siting on his bed. . . Edging closer. . . Kissing. Getting intimate. . .

What went wrong?

Maybe you should have stopped when he warned you. Maybe you should have never put that damn lipstick on him. Maybe you should have listened to Shadow Milk, and never looked at him.

But you didn’t.

Pinning him to the bed, or accepting to let him roll you over and pin YOU down. Kissing his neck gently, his oval shaped nails dug into your thighs. He was on top of you, grabbed his hat, chucking it far off into the corner of the room. Tugging his poncho off too. The navy blue cloth loosened around his shoulders, soon after a shrug of his, it slipped off.

He was left in his thin black bodysuit, taking off his long black boots, and gently pulling them off. He stared at you, rolled his eyes as you grasped his hips, wrestling him down to the sheets and applying lipstick on him roughly. The makeup smudging and sticking marks on your mouth. He grabbed a handful of your hair, kissing you unconsciously. Pulling away with a huff. Grabbed the collar of your shirt— yanking you forward and whispering something in your ear—

“Damn you. . . You’ll get us both in trouble.”

He hissed lowly, his stoic and aloof facade melting under your touch. Your chuckled it off, biting back a moan at his position. Your body in between his legs, your arms wandering around his neck, soon dragging him in another breathy kiss. His hat soon rolled on the floor, his blonde hair messy and frizzy from all this ‘rolling around’.