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Feb. 13th, 2020 02:42 pmthe Darrow AU that nobody asked for
Caleb's been living in this weird, impossible city for about two weeks, now. He'd shown up on his way to the park to meet Adam, to have the conversation he should've had two months ago, and when he'd rounded the corner, he'd found himself on beachfront property. The house staring at him wasn't his, and it wasn't Adam's. An unfamiliar color was seeping from it, and he'd been afraid and confused.
But then he'd met Michael and Alex. They'd explained some things, and offered him one of their spare bedrooms, and he'd tentatively accepted.
And that was when it'd started.
Caleb had known it was only a matter of time before he learned how far, how deep, and how specifically his ability reached. He just hadn't expected it to be this way.
Almost every night, Michael and Alex have sex. Make love. Whatever. And every single time that happens, Caleb feels it. He feels both of their arousal, their pleasure, their sweeping joy, pouring into him like molten honey, amber and hot and thick, clinging to him and making him whimper into the pillow. The first night it'd happened, he'd come so hard his balls hurt the next day.
He'd had to wash his bedding before school the next morning. It hadn't gotten better from there. And since neither Alex nor Michael know that Caleb's Atypical, neither of them realize what they're doing, how it affects him. Which means he also isn't letting them wash his sheets. He sets his alarm early, even on days he doesn't have school, so he can get up and wash them, put fresh bedding on, and fold the newly cleaned ones and put them away before either Michael or Alex suspect anything's going on.
Which is why, on a Saturday, he's rolling out of bed, utterly exhausted, at four in the morning. He pulls sheets that smell of spunk and stale sweat off the mattress and shuffles down into the laundry room. Fuck, he's tired.
Caleb's been living in this weird, impossible city for about two weeks, now. He'd shown up on his way to the park to meet Adam, to have the conversation he should've had two months ago, and when he'd rounded the corner, he'd found himself on beachfront property. The house staring at him wasn't his, and it wasn't Adam's. An unfamiliar color was seeping from it, and he'd been afraid and confused.
But then he'd met Michael and Alex. They'd explained some things, and offered him one of their spare bedrooms, and he'd tentatively accepted.
And that was when it'd started.
Caleb had known it was only a matter of time before he learned how far, how deep, and how specifically his ability reached. He just hadn't expected it to be this way.
Almost every night, Michael and Alex have sex. Make love. Whatever. And every single time that happens, Caleb feels it. He feels both of their arousal, their pleasure, their sweeping joy, pouring into him like molten honey, amber and hot and thick, clinging to him and making him whimper into the pillow. The first night it'd happened, he'd come so hard his balls hurt the next day.
He'd had to wash his bedding before school the next morning. It hadn't gotten better from there. And since neither Alex nor Michael know that Caleb's Atypical, neither of them realize what they're doing, how it affects him. Which means he also isn't letting them wash his sheets. He sets his alarm early, even on days he doesn't have school, so he can get up and wash them, put fresh bedding on, and fold the newly cleaned ones and put them away before either Michael or Alex suspect anything's going on.
Which is why, on a Saturday, he's rolling out of bed, utterly exhausted, at four in the morning. He pulls sheets that smell of spunk and stale sweat off the mattress and shuffles down into the laundry room. Fuck, he's tired.
