Touch
Confusion made your head spin – how did this man even decapitate another man without any weapons. His hands were empty as far as you could tell.
“No, I don’t think that’s the right question, Michael,” the man named Milo said as he walked closer. “What are you doing here?” His eyes flashed towards you for a second. He didn’t seem amused.
“None of your business.”
Milo laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I told you before, love will kill you, my friend.”
Michael snorts, seemingly annoyed. But his claws retracted. “And I thought I told you how you know nothing of love.”
Milo’s eyes darkened. “So you admit it?”
“I admit nothing.”
If you’d hadn’t been hit in the head so many times, you’d probably confronted the both of them – what in heaven’s name were they talking about?
But your body had different plans. Someone was turning off the light. Or was that your mind shutting down?
“Michael?” you whispered – it was even lower than a whisper. Your head was lulling sideways as the strength in your muscles started disappearing.
It didn’t take long before two cold hands started untying you, your body falling forwards as you were finally freed from those horrible ropes. Their marks were going to be visible on your skin for a while for sure. Those were the least of your concerns, though. Your throbbing head was no longer throbbing and instead a calmness made its way through your skull. Blackness started to fill your sight – it was scary, you’d rather have the pain back with your consciousness.
“Hey,” Michael’s soft voice came from somewhere in front of you. He called out your name, his hands were on your shoulders, holding you back from collapsing. “Stay with me,” he said a little louder.
You managed to let out a short chuckle as your eyes closed. “Stupid... plan...”
You could barely register Michael’s touch – his hands getting you out of the chair, your head leaning against his chest, the soft fabric of his coat brushing your skin.
Getting drunk was one thing – getting hit in the head multiple times was something completely else. You'd always thought being hangover was hell, but this was way worse.
“Keep still,” someone said, followed by firm hands keeping you in place. “I’m giving you something for the pain.” A sharp sting in your arm followed soon after those words. Whatever it was – it was helping. You actually started to feel really nice.
You couldn’t really do much, your eyes didn’t even listen to your command to open them, but at least you weren’t dead...
It really had been a stupid plan.
“You’re going to be fine, I promise.” Michael. You wondered how he’d kept himself in check after smelling and lapping up your blood. Even now – you could taste a bit of iron in your mouth, which meant the wound in your mouth wasn’t healed yet.
He had to be strong, suppressing his urges.
You felt something soft press against your neck. And then a whisper, “sleep.”
It took a few days before you were back to your old self. You'd never had a concussion before and you could wholeheartedly say; it sucked. You hadn’t been able to do much, Michael kept telling you to sleep and rest. So your days had become a blur of sleeping, eating and drinking and going to the bathroom. Michael had put you in your favourite hoodie and sweatpants when he’d brought you back to the lab. You were grateful. The dress was gone – he'd tossed it out.
He'd closed your wound on your head when you had been out of it. And you were glad, because getting stitches while awake would’ve been a nightmare after surviving Daniel.
You silently hoped you weren’t going to have flashbacks or panic attacks. But Michael had kept you busy every time you had been awake. He'd put a TV against the wall opposite of the bed and played crappy movies. And he’d made sure to give you an army of folded creatures. It was rather cute.
The more time you spend with Michael, the more you became aware of a fact. And it somewhat scared you. You’d never known such a connection with someone, and yet, within a short amount of time, he had captured something inside of you.
It was the way he spoke, the way he looked, his jokes, his sarcasm, his caring nature. It lured you in until you were absolutely sure of something: you didn’t want to part with him. Not now, not ever. He had to stay in your life one way or another.
That wasn’t the scary part though. You couldn’t help but notice how he didn’t touch you anymore. Only when you needed help. But no kisses came in those following days. No comforting strokes of his fingers. No close whispers of promises.
“Michael?”
He looked up from behind his screen. You had been sitting on the pillows in the lab once again. He had been busying himself with something – fluids, but he couldn’t tell you what it was. He said it would only confuse you if you knew what he was doing.
You sucked in a breath as you let your eyes glide over his face, his dark hair, his questioning expression. His hair was once again tied up. You liked it both ways, up and down, but you missed the feeling of your fingers touching his soft locks. It didn’t occur to try and touch him, though. He hadn’t touched you either, so he probably had his reasons. Those reasons, however, were starting to bother you. Especially since you didn’t know them.
“Can I ask you something?”
He tilted his head the slightest bit. “If you’re going to ask for another suicide mission, the answer is no.” His voice was calm, but there was a slight hint of something dark.
Your eyes widened. “What - no, I -”
He shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. “Just kidding. What is it?” Even though he was smiling, it wasn’t fully sincere. So something was bothering him after all.
You were just scared to chase him away even further.
“I was just wondering...” You fumbled with your fingers. The pillows were very comfortable only seconds ago, but they started to feel like rocks beneath you. There was a slight urge to pull up your hoodie and cover your face with your hair.
He hummed, rolling his chair backwards to get a better look at you.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re avoiding me?” you quickly said. Better to be done with it.
One of his dark brows raised upwards. “Am I?”
You couldn’t figure out what he meant by that. His tone of voice was completely neutral.
“You...” There was doubt in your voice. You two weren’t even a couple – you'd only shared a few moments of heated passion. But what had it meant to him?
“I know you don’t dislike me,” you said with a bit of shyness. It was strange to claim such a thing. “You’ve touched me before, and I know you’re having trouble with blood, but I miss you.” Your heart was in your throat by now. It was a bold confession.
Your words certainly stirred something inside of him as he looked away from you for a moment.
“Did I do something wrong?” you add, trying to get him to talk. Your fingers were playing with the strings of your hoodie by now. You were absolutely nervous.
He laughed softly under his breath before raising from his chair, facing towards you.
For a moment you were scared. Was he going to tell you off? In a way, you were good to go – your concussion only needed a bit of rest, but it wasn’t anything serious anymore. And the mission was complete, in a way. Daniel was dead. His organisation was probably a mess by now – with no leadership. Besides, Michael had promised you he was going to keep an eye out. No more kidnapping girls, that was the goal.
There was no real reason to keep you here anymore. You could return to your apartment. Search for a new job.
His pace was slow as he walked towards you. Your fingers paused as you were pulling the strings.
“You caused me a lot of trouble,” he said, an unreadable expression on his face as he lowered himself in front of you in a squatting position. You had to look up to him.
You were slightly shaking by now.
“I have tasted your blood, multiple times.” His eyes trailed your shaking fingers. “I never intended to drink the red. And I never intended to catch Milo’s attention, but he found me because of you.”
Michael had already told you everything about him. And how the night had almost ended with another fight. But Milo had let Michael and you go under one condition; he wanted to speak with Michael again soon. Which sounded civilized, but it was probably a plan to try to convince Michael to keep drinking the red.
“I also never intended to get attached to you.”
Because he was forced – you were like his damsel in distress.
“No,” he said, searching your eyes, “not like that.”
Had your thoughts voiced themselves so clearly in your eyes?
“I don’t think you understand,” he said, reaching out and taking a hold of your chin as he leaned in closer. His scent was overwhelming. You were tempted to close your eyes. His touch was like fireworks, you had missed it.
“I’m addicted to you,” he said, his voice lowering into a husky sound. “You’re my aphrodisiac.” He closed the distance all of a sudden, his lips colliding with yours as you were shocked with the sudden warmth of his touch and his closeness.
His kiss was aggressive but passionate. He had missed you too; that much was obvious.
“But it’s too dangerous,” he mumbled between kisses.
You threw your arms around his shoulders, your fingers already searching for the nape of his neck. “I really don’t care,” you mumbled back.
He grinned against your mouth. “I’d hoped you would say that.”