Page 18 of Creep (Vulture Hollow MC #2)

I have a feeling that confusion will be my devoted companion throughout the evening.

I don’t know who convinced Creep he’s not attractive enough to sleep with the likes of me, your average twink with very little to his name, but outright rebuffing what he’s saying might have the opposite effect, so I grab the showerhead and place it against my chest as I gently turn the handle.

The water’s cold at first, but I pretend it doesn’t affect me, so he doesn’t feel guilty.

He still flinches a little at the sound, even though I didn’t turn on high pressure.

“I don’t know whether you deserve it or not, but I want you to look. I want you to be excited when you imagine being close to me.”

Creep leans against the wall, and the light bulb glitches a few times as if we’re in a horror movie and he’s about to change form in those brief moments of darkness. My imagination is getting the best of me.

“Why?” he utters, but his eyes are back on me, feasting.

Asked in such a straightforward way, I’m not going to beat around the bush.

“Because I want you too. I want us to be close together in this hot shower,” I say as the water on my skin becomes lukewarm. “I want you to touch me. And lick me,” I add, meeting his gaze.

A sharp intake of breath echoes over the colorful tiles. His nostrils flare. His cock twitches, and I’m on the verge of approaching to touch it. But I can’t do that when he’s being so hesitant. Is he… a virgin? That would make a lot of sense. I shouldn’t, but I’m a little giddy at the thought.

Creep nods absentmindedly, but I’m not sure how to proceed with the shower as he’s still just standing in the rising steam like a very handsome cave monster. “Your cum tasted so good,” he whispers, the rasp in his voice like nails gently scraping my nape.

I want him on top of me. Now.

The denial of instant gratification is making me desire him more. I won’t know peace until I get his dick.

“You can have more,” I tell him, and since the water is now hot, I raise the hand holding the showerhead and let water drizzle into my hair.

A soft sigh leaves my lips, and I lower my body, sitting cross-legged in the basin.

The warm stream tickles my flesh, and I reimagine it as those beautiful, strong hands massaging me all over.

Creep follows me like a mirror, like my evil doppelganger appearing on the night of a full moon.

I can’t help but steal another glance at his cock.

He’s still hard, still aching for me, and I want to run my tongue over it, feel the cockhead against my palate.

Creep’s breathing is uneven, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s still intimidated by the shower, or excited by my proximity.

“I want that.” He nods as I scoot a little closer, until our knees touch, and I pour some water over his thigh, watching the black hair on his legs change direction with the stream.

The steam starts filling the small room, and it’s bringing out the scent of our bodies.

Is it just my imagination, or are we both leaning forward?

I hesitate, wanting to slide my fingers up his leg, to where they can lock around the base of Creep’s cock, but he’s being so cagey about the whole thing, and the last thing I want is to scare him off.

So I smile and ask, “I really like your hair. Will you let me wash it for you?”

“You like it?” He looks up as if searching for lies on my face, but then turns around anyway.

I want to give him a playful compliment, say I like longer hair on guys, but I’m stuck staring at his back with my tongue dry.

Even in the dull light of the bathroom, the marks he carries are painfully obvious.

And brutal. A multitude of long, pink scars, some crisscrossing, some not healed right, go all the way down to his ass.

I’m mortified. I’d put a curse on whoever did this, so that their hands dry up and fall off.

Am I even allowed to ask about these? This might be why he wanted to stay in a T-shirt, but he turned around so casually. As though he’s resigned to his fate and can’t run from it anymore.

I feel cruel, now knowing that the toll I asked for might have been too high.

I was being playful, excited to have sex with him and willing to show it.

But I also can’t pretend his back hasn’t been cut open as if someone tried to rip his humanity out of him.

So I take a deep breath and touch the back of my hand to an old wound that looks particularly nasty.

“Someone… who did this to you?” I ask softly, even though I itch to press my chest to all those scars, hoping my touch could make them disappear.

I half expect him to recoil from my touch, but he just sits there like a dog that’s been hit so many times he expects it now and knows it’s inevitable.

I’ve already had a soft spot for him because he’s so weird and awkward, but this cruelty painted on his skin evokes such tenderness in me, I don’t know what to do with the emotions suddenly overflowing in my chest. My eyes well up, and I have to take a deep breath to stop the tears from falling down my cheeks.

The last thing I need is him feeling sorry for me in case he peeks my way.

Creep shrugs. “I… You know, everyone’s had bad shit happen to them.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, and my hand moves over the scars in gentle swipes. If I were in a poetic mood, I might have called it a map of his past, or something of that nature, but there’s nothing romantic in such an obvious display of undeserved misfortune.

“Maybe. But it’s still unfair that we have to carry such burdens for the rest of our lives.”

I take a quick gulp of air, and as it fills my lungs, I remember all the bad things that happened to me too.

The scary noises at night. Arguments. The fact that booze always proved more important to my parents than their only child…

but I carry those wounds inside me. Whatever marked Creep’s back left far deeper grooves in his psyche.

He didn’t deserve this.

Nobody deserves this.

“It was a long time ago, they’re all healed now,” he says as if he doesn’t live in a cave, sleep under a bed, and is afraid of a shower being too loud.

Call me presumptuous, but I know it’s connected to the tender skin under my fingers.

He’s nowhere near healed from whatever happened to him.

He looks back at me with one cautious dark eye.

“I’m sorry. Is it off-putting to look at? I can—”

When he attempts to get up I grab his arm and pull his ass back to the water with a wet plop.

“It’s not. I’m just…” My eyes shut as I rest my forehead on his shoulder and breathe him in, relaxing despite his past being so clearly distressing.

I know I’m small, physically weak, and have nothing much to offer, but right now I’m stuck with an aching need to protect him from anything that might hurt him, any haunting sight and sound, even his memories.

I want to whisper ‘you’re safe now’ despite him being the one to have saved me twice already.

I feel so painfully helpless about whatever happened to him in the past. I can’t travel in time, I can’t undo these scars.

“I’m just so sad someone treated you like this. It’s so cruel…”

“Well, I killed her, if it makes you feel better,” Creep mumbles, his heart beating ever faster. Even when admitting this, he seems more worried about my distress than his own.

But I’m not distressed. Whoever does that kind of thing to another person deserves whatever’s coming for them.

“It does. It does actually,” I say, my voice stronger by the second as I lean against him, chest pressed to his back, because I need him to not only hear but also feel that I’m on his side.

“At least there’s some justice in the world. ”

“There isn’t. You have to make your own. I… I was still a child when all of this happened. The shameful secret of my family, meant to be neither seen or heard. If I failed at that, I was punished.”

Creep’s voice is dull, but I have no doubt about the emotion hiding just beneath the surface.

I’m desperate to ease his pain somehow, and since he seems so cautious about sex, I don’t want him to feel like I’m trying to seduce him when he’s sharing the rawest parts of himself.

So I back away slightly and grab the shampoo, settling on doing what I know so well, physical care not loaded with sexual connotations.

I want him to feel seen, worth being taken care of.

Even if he was someone else’s shame, he didn’t deserve to be.

As promised, I remain very careful about the noise and move the showerhead close to his skin.

He doesn’t try to flee this time, submitting to my ministrations.

And as I lather his scalp with the shampoo, gently massaging his head, he tells me about the small, meaningless life he used to lead while under his aunt’s roof.

He was left to her by a sister she despised for a ‘sinful lifestyle’.

She hated him in a way no child deserves and bullied him until he chose to remain hidden for most of the day.

He emerged at night, when neither the aunt nor his four cousins could sully their eyes with his presence.

He was a monster living in the wardrobe, in the small cabin at the back of the orchard, the monster who hid under the bed when someone unexpectedly appeared close by.

Is that why Creep feels so comfortable in tight spaces? Why he moves like a ghost and speaks softly, despite having such a beautiful voice?

The aunt accused him of creeping on the girls and would frequently punish him for it despite being the one to force him under their beds in the first place.

I itch to ask why he still does it if he’s free of that bitch, but I don’t want to rip into a wound he’s barely opening up for me.

Instead, I take pleasure in comforting him with my touch.

The bathroom is so warm now, Creep accepts when I brush his hair, condition it, when I soap up his shoulders, his back, and even chuckles when I slide my fingers into his armpits.

I don’t feel like we’ve bonded. I’ve gotten much more than that. We’ve somehow transcended that concept, as if we’re both lucid dreaming and our souls see each other.

I’ve never felt like this. I’ve had crushes, I’ve thought I was in love, but this is something I can’t even name yet, afraid words are too heavy for this fragile bond.

There will be time for me to pry, to shift the self-deprecation off his shoulders, but for now, I listen to his warm voice, which is only slightly louder than the whisper of the shower.

We hit a snag when I ask Creep to wash me in return, and he appears so spooked I immediately turn it into a joke and pour shampoo onto my head.

I don’t have much experience with men who aren’t leading the encounter wherever they want it to go.

I’m a bottom, and I tend to go with their flow, but things are different with Creep, because he’s still trapped by the web of his aunt’s vile words, and I need to free him before we can go any further.

Still, I want to know what his expectations are, so I offer him a smile and lather up my chest. “So… what do you actually want to do with a boy you like? With… me?”

He turns sideways, and his delicious cock remains hidden from me. But since he’s still here, since he’s opened up to me, and went through the agony of agreeing to this shower to see me naked, I’m guessing he wants more.

I comb back his washed and conditioned hair, so I get to see his profile, so sharp and beautiful, not meant to be hidden from view.

“I… I’m sorry. What I want is too strange.” But there’s such longing in his eyes, sprinkled with the right amount of lust. He can’t possibly imagine I won’t ask? Now he’s piqued my curiosity.

“Don’t apologize,” I say, offering him a clean towel before grabbing one of my own as soon as the water’s no longer flowing.

My balls are aching from all this waiting, and while he’s being coy, I can’t imagine what he wants is any stranger than what Domino demanded.

“Just tell me. What do you imagine? What do you want to happen?” I ask, keeping my voice light to encourage him.

He turns his back to me as he puts the towel over his head. He doesn’t seem to know what to do about his hair, so I face him again and grab it. I don’t want him spoiling my work.

“I want to touch you when you sleep,” he whispers in a tiny voice, meeting my eyes at last.

I swallow and curl my toes, because I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“Not really ,” Creep adds, his dark eyes shining with guilt.

“I don’t do that. I know it’s wrong. I’ve never hurt anyone this way.

I just want… That’s the fantasy. You just sleep, all soft and pretty, and I get to toy with you however I want.

By the time you wake up, you won’t even know I was there.

You might be a little disheveled, a little sticky… ”

His cock went down a little before, but now it’s rock-hard again and it’s me getting a bit flustered, because if the idea is that he doesn’t want to be watched and assessed, it doesn’t mean I need to be asleep for real.

When I think back to the two times he listened to me jerking off, the pleasure was clearly in me acting as if I didn’t know he was there, and that…

is a matter of acting. I might never land a lead role on Broadway, but if I was able to pretend I came the last time Johnny bored me to death, I can certainly lie down, look pretty, and let Creep touch me.

I don’t even realize I’m grinning, but Creep’s watching me like a hawk, his lips parted, as if he’s imagining all the things he could do to me.

I can’t say I’m not curious.

My cock pulses when I yawn and hang the towel on the rail. “It must be so late. I’m really sleepy.”

Creep stands there with the towel around his shoulders, eyes following my every move.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” I ask with a wink. “Goodnight.”

I walk off with a bit of spring to my step. This is so kinky, and I can’t wait to find out how I feel about it.