"There's always the family business," she muttered darkly. A sudden, sullen, change in her mood because she'd gone and thought about her parents. Realizing he would have no idea why, she was suddenly so bitter she waved a hand idly and started smiling again. "Now, that I am considering my options driving really fast sounds hella sweet."

    She scoffed, pulling her eyes away from the road to look at him in disbelief. "It is not debatable," she said, scoffing again for good measure. "I'm cute with bed head and in my pajamas. I'm very cute with sex hair; wearing a band shirt that's too big for me." She pushed fingers through said green locks for good measure.

    "I'd feel bad kidnapping you tonight," she explained, acting as if she had considered it. She had not because she wasn't a psychopath. That aside she was pretty sure kidnapping was not the way to get someone to agree to go out with you. "Since your tires got slashed and all."

    She pursed her lips and turned the indicated corner. She stopped in front of a gathering of apartments, because he didn't seem too keen on giving her further directions. "That sign needs to come down, it's an abomination," she said seriously, knocking the car into neutral with her knee. She kept one foot on the break, so he could get out without fear of the vehicle trying to roll away. 

    "Welp, thanks for the tacos," she said. Veronica pulled her phone out of her pocket as if she would take this no driving opportunity to respond to a few messages. She figured she knew better than to expect another kiss, but all in all that didn't stop her from asking. "So, what are the chances of a good night kiss?" she joked, not looking up from her phone; her grin highlighted by the light coming from her screen. 

    He recognized her change in tone, but couldn't identify the reason behind it. He didn't know anything about her family, let alone whatever business they may have run. "It's good to know you've found your calling," he said, accepting her change of subject.

    "I'm going to have to take your word for it," he said, looking at the window instead of at her. He didn't need to be imagining her with bedhead, with sex hair, wearing anything at all or nothing. Especially not when she was driving him home, when he had the option of inviting her inside.

    He wouldn't. Obviously he wouldn't. But the option was there, tantalizing and just barely in reach. She'd almost certainly say yes, if he asked.

    "That's very considerate of you," he said, distracted by the part of him trying to talk the rest of him into more bad ideas. "Eventually the dolphin will get too fat and the sign will collapse," he said, as he gathered up his bag, other hand on the handle of the door.

    He opened his mouth to say something, but again it died, soundless.

    No.

    But on a whim, he did lean over to press a quick kiss to her cheek before getting out of her car.

    "Thanks for the ride."

    "You could always find out for yourself?" she suggested. Which he would, if she had her way. Which she would, because she was very good at getting what she wanted. Veronica seemed to have settled for a tone in her voice that was teasing, but also implied that maybe she wasn't. 

    "I pride myself on being a very considerate maniac," she deadpanned. She was simultaneously trying to twist in her seat to get another look at that awful dolphin, but between her seatbelt, and that corner they'd turned she wasn't having any luck. "No, don't say that," she almost whined, settling forward, once more. "You're going to make me feel bad for it."

    When her eyes lifted from her phone, she found him looking like he was about to say something. When he didn't she tried not to look disappointed. 

    She was caught off guard by his lips on her cheek. So much so, that that she didn't even have time to do the sneaky thing where she turned her head quick and he kissed her lips instead. She was mostly left blinking after him as he got out of the car. "Yeah... see ya later," she responded, without bothering to press her luck with further teasing. An easy smile returned and she was glad he couldn't see her looking so smug. 

    Veronica remained in the parking lot for a few minutes, texting the answers to questions from an absolutely furious Melanie. Who, despite her anger, could not be bothered to actually call her. 

    It didn't occur to him to wait until she left to head into his apartment, on the first floor and between two others to ensure as little natural light as possible. Which also meant cheaper rent. That was a plus. Michael dug through his pocket to find his keys, eyes adjusting quickly to the pitch-black as he stepped inside.

    What a weird fucking day.

    He dropped his bag on top of the pile of paperwork in the junk chair, pulling out whichever album was on top. It looked like it was probably loud and angry, which was really all he cared about.

    Thank goodness for soundproofing.

    He threw it on the record player and turned up the volume, unbuttoning his shirt and trying not to think about... anything. Veronica and the taste of her mouth and the shape of her thighs and the sound of the blood in her veins. Sitting on her car and practically begging him to hurt her. He peeled off his t-shirt and let it fall to the floor with the other, running his hands through his hair.

    He should have invited her in. It was good that he hadn't, because he'd be fucking her again, exactly the way that he wasn't supposed to. He fell sideways onto his couch, rubbing his hands over his face as if it would help. He wished he'd invited her in. His cock would be in her mouth instead of straining against his jeans. He imagined her on her knees on the floor, bent over on the couch, riding him and pinned beneath him and whimpering with his teeth in her skin.

    He really needed to get his shit together.

    Veronica did not mean to watch him as he walked off to his apartment. She did it anyway, because the information might someday be useful. She turned off her headlights when he disappeared, and her attention went back to her phone. She was not all concerned with how suspicious she looked idling in front of a row of apartments in the middle of the night.  

    Melanie was pissing of her off, and kissing Michael was still on her mind. She set the phone on her knee, waiting for another string of messages that would continue Melanie's rant. Veronica wasn't even sure what the other woman was going on about. Reaching into her jacket pockets she shook another cigarette out of the pack. She pulled her Zippo out next and when she struck the flint nothing happened.

    She cursed, but then she paused. Then she smiled. She had a terrible, terrible idea that she was going to do anyway.

    She pulled into the nearest parking space and killed the engine. She shoved her feet back into her shoes, and pulled off her jacket, because she was determined to make an impression. She knocked on his door, before crossing her arms. Her cleavage was barely contained within the dipping v-neck, which was the whole point. She managed to pout around the cigarette poised between her lips.

    She just needed a lighter, he couldn't possibly hold that against her.

    Michael groaned at the knock, zipping his jeans back up and rolling off the couch. Probably a neighbor wanting to complain about whatever muffled noise they could still hear, someone who didn't know better than to come around his door at night. He didn't bother putting a shirt back on, didn't turn on a light, barely made an effort to adjust his pants to look respectable.

    Fuck it.

    He didn't know why he was surprised to open the door and find Veronica standing there instead. He should have known. But, somehow, he hadn't. He stared at her. At her slightly-mussed hair and the pout of her lips and the swell of her breasts, looking better than she had in his fantasies even though he'd seen her only a moment before.

    He looked like he was going to eat her alive.

    "Yeah?" he asked hoarsely, because it was all he could manage, but his music was still playing and it was louder than he was.

    Veronica's half-assed plan had been to convince him to let her inside. More of a victory if he invited her in of his own accord, less potential complaining on his part if it seemed like his idea. 

    Except when he opened the door, she felt her breath catch, and her pout disappeared. She hardly registered the volume of the music because she could only hear her heart pounding. Her eyes dropped over him. Across bare skin, and then lower. She pulled the cigarette from her mouth, as she dragged her eyes back to his face, briefly to the dark room behind him and then back again. 

    New plan. Get into that apartment and into his pants. He was hardly wearing them anyway, he probably wouldn't mind just removing them. Right? Right. 

    "Sorry," she said slowly, misinterpreting the way he was looking at her, watching him beneath a heavy fringe of lashes. She didn't sound at all like she was truly remorseful. "Lighter's out of fluid," she explained, holding up the stick she was twisting between her fingers for emphasis. She dropped her hand again, corner of her mouth curling. Pushing hair over her shoulders she took a few steps closer to where he was blocking the door. "Roommate's being a pain, so I hadn't left yet." 

    He could hear her heart pounding, too. She stepped closer, but he didn't step back. He looked at her cigarette, and then back at her mouth. "You can borrow mine," he said eventually. "Or I can refill yours," he said, "if you want."

    Don't. Don't. Don't.

    "Did you want to sit down?" he asked, though he still had not moved. Nothing said 'welcome to my home' like blocking the doorway with a throbbing erection. "You can't smoke in here," he warned. He made room for her to move past him, if only barely; as an afterthought, he turned on a light, but it was only a dim table lamp designed to look like a moroccan lantern. He didn't usually bother with lights when he didn't need them, so his were more decorative than functional. Maybe it was dark enough to keep her attention away from the mess and the posters. The distorted thrum of a bass guitar continued, but he was singling in on her heartbeat again, that impossibly distracting heartbeat of hers.

    He had no idea what he was doing. Or, no. He knew exactly what he was doing. It was just really fucking stupid. It was just hard to remember all the reasons why it was stupid when she was standing there and he was vividly imagining the things he could do to her.

    She did not smirk. Which she gave herself credit for and would find a way to reward herself. She continued to look coy, and sexy and motive-less as her not-quite plan fell into place. It was impossible for a silence to fall between them with the music that was playing. He didn't respond immediately, so she shifted her weight. "Refill please," she replied, cheerfully.

    She was only a step away from putting her mouth on his skin. Which she would do right here on his doorstep if she had to, because he had invited her in but wasn't letting her do so. "Then, I won't smoke in here," she agreed, squeezing through the space he had made for her. She trailed her fingers across his bare stomach as she did so. She wasn't going to miss the opportunity and it was all his fault for not getting out of the way.

    She moved further into the apartment, turning slow circles to observe what she could in the dim lighting. The darkness did little to take away from how attractive she was, how attractive she was deliberately being. Veronica pulled a worn, gold-plated, Zippo out of her pocket to hand off to him. Grinning without attempting to talk over the music, louder now that they were inside.

    He shivered at her touch, and when he closed the door behind her there was almost a finality to it. He did not go so far as to lock the door, but nonetheless. He nudged his shoes under a side table, wished he hadn't left his shirts on the floor. Definitely wished he had not left porn on the fucking coffee table goddammit goddammit goddammit.

    He came closer to take the Zippo, in the process bending down and hastily snatching the magazine off the coffee table. He should never have let her in here. Screaming Females and porn and a Reefer Madness poster behind her, this was not the way to go about establishing himself as a mature fucking adult. As opposed to a senior citizen manchild. His fingers wrapped around hers, brushed her skin as he took the lighter; he retreated to the kitchen, setting it down on the counter and sticking the magazine under a pile of mail.

    Subtle. Real subtle.

    He hesitated before digging through his drawers to find the butane, eyes back on her. Mostly in the range of her mouth and her breasts. All of the places he most wanted his mouth. "You can turn the volume down," he said, well aware that she'd have to bend down to reach the volume knob. He wasn't trying to look down her shirt, exactly. He was just… doing exactly that. But different. Somehow. Some way that made it okay that he wanted to see her bent over in a way that made it easier for him to imagine her lips on his cock and her breasts bouncing as she bobbed.

    Veronica had been reaching for the magazine at the same time that he snatched it up. One brow arched at the tattoo model on the cover. Her laughter followed him, as it often did, as he went into the kitchen with her lighter. She didn't sit as he had offered, but continued to stroll around the room idly. Stopping once or twice to look at something hung on a wall or scattered on a shelf. 

    If asked what she had been expecting it would not have been this. She figured he might live like he curated some weird museum, but she figured it would be filled with obscure Byzantine texts or artifacts. Not obscure pop culture references from the thirties. Veronica had never taken the time to consider his age, because she didn't care. Not to say she hadn't been present to extensive debates where other students tried to figure it out with what could hardly be considered hard evidence. 

    Given the state of his living room, she was pretty sure she had a good idea now. She was content to keep the information to herself. God, he was a bigger dork than she ever could have imagined. 

    She sauntered towards the record player. She leaned a bit lower than she had to, but she could blame that only the heels. She took her time dialing back the volume to give him plenty of time to look, because she wasn't oblivious to his eyes on her. She bit her lip, just for show, but she could always just blame that on habit. 

    "Thanks for doing this," she said when the music died down to respectable levels. She rolled her eyes up to look at him, before standing straight and joining him in the kitchen. She leaned on the counter, close enough to watch but not enough to be smothering him. "Must be nice not having a roommate," she joked. 

    He might have turned red, if he had enough blood in him for that. This was mortifying. He could tell she was looking at all the stupid shit he had on the walls. Movie posters, tour posters, why the hell hadn't he bought some real art at some point? He needed to not have anyone in his apartment, ever.

    At least his bookshelf wasn't too embarrassing. That was mostly books he'd assigned, and books he couldn't assign because they were outside the scope of his classes and no one would read them anyway.

    ... except for the Dune saga. But he was pretty sure he kept those in the back.

    God. Why didn't he own anything cool?

    He very obviously watched the way she bent down, the sway of her hips as she moved, her breasts shifting beneath her shirt. She bit her lip, and he imagined her staying like that, standing behind her with his hands on her hips.

    He turned so that he wasn't facing her as she stood, mostly concerned with making sure that the state of his jeans was not too obvious. "No problem," he said, and he coughed as if he needed to clear his throat, as if that was the source of the strain in his voice. He opened and shut a few drawers in succession before finding what he was looking for, setting it on the counter. "The privacy is nice."

    "I bet it is," she murmured, followed by a chuckle, low and suggestive as she pushed herself away from the counter. She watched him move around the kitchen as if she were particularly interested in the process of filling a lighter. She was not. She just liked the way he moved. Awkward, as if she made him nervous. 

    Vernoica walked up behind him, reaching out to trail two fingertips down his spine. "Roommates are a hassle," she explained, moving closer to him and pressing her chest against his back. Fingers skated over his hips, and just above the line of his jeans. "They always complain about your music, or your decorations." She kissed just between his shoulder blades as one of her hands moved higher to splay over his chest. The other dipped lower, caressing a very obvious erection through denim. "I like your posters," she said, against his skin. As if she weren't fondling him in his kitchen. 

    "And you have some books I think I'd like to borrow," she continued, dragging manicured nails lightly over his skin as the hand against his chest joined the other. She paused, fingers poised on the button of his jeans, still pressed against him, lips still on his skin. Testing to see if he would stop her. 

    He'd invited her in ready to pounce, so why did he feel like the prey? Her fingertips trailed along his back, and he swallowed hard. She pressed against him, and he found himself bracing against the edge of the counter, grip tightening as she teased his hipbones and kissed his spine. Fingertips against denim, and he shuddered, rocked his hips against her touch. "Thanks," he gasped, trying and failing to maintain a normal conversation. Her lighter sat on the counter, forgotten.

    He groaned at her nails on his skin, wondered if her lips were leaving lipstick on his skin. "You can," he panted. "Borrow them. If you want. There isn't anything you can't have." He wanted to turn around and kiss her, touch her, pin her to his cabinets. But he also didn't want her to stop touching him, didn't trust himself to be the one in control. He was frozen in place by conflicting indecision and desire, a white-knuckled grip on the edge of his counters that would probably damage them if they weren't stone.

    Veronica was indeed leaving a trail of red imprints across his pale shoulders, and upwards towards the curve of his neck. She felt him shudder against her and she grinned. She nipped at his skin with her teeth as her hands continued to stroke and touch and tease. 

    "Anything?" she prompted, sounding a touch surprised, and discovering she quite liked the way he sounded when he could hardly speak. Gasps and small noises more than actual words. She unbuttoned his jeans, because she figured it was to the point where she was in control. A definite contrast from last time, but that didn't mean she wasn't enjoying herself. 

    "Anything," she repeated, less of a question; mostly a suggestive, husky whisper near his ear. One hand disappeared into his boxers, curling around his length with a gentle squeeze, the other tapped an easy rhythm against his stomach. "I can think of a few things," she said, pulling away from him all at once. One hand returned to smooth down his arm until it came in contact with his own fingers, curled around the counter top like a lifeline. She tapped the top of his hand until he relinquished the counter and she could use it to pull him towards the couch.