Lost in Hollywood

What We Do in the Shadows

That night, it took forever for Eli to fall asleep.

Lying restless in the bed of the guestroom, he tossed and turned, unable to find a good position. He was hot, the sheets got tangled up around his legs, his waist. Knowing Sky was so close - in the next room, just behind the wall - twisted his chest, making it hard to breathe. His thoughts kept going back to the previous hours, searching for even the smallest hint or a clue that could give him permission to get out of this bed, walk down the hall, open the door to Sky's room, and—

And then what?

He let out a strangled groan and buried his face in his hands, frustrated.

Even if he could sneak into Sky's room unnoticed, it was pretty unlikely that she'd be there in some hot lingerie, waiting for him on the bed with her legs open like a fucking pornstar. Pathetic. He was fucking delusional. Sky had given him absolutely no reason to believe anything like that was going to happen between them, possibly ever, so it was a waste of time to lie here obsessing about it.

And yet—

It was all he could think about.

These past couple of hours had been amazing. He couldn't even remember when he had been this effortlessly happy. The dinner and the movie they had watched afterward (Star Trek: First Contact, Nicholas' pick) had been amazing; he had felt so welcome, like he belonged. It had all been like before, when they had first dated, before he had ever hurt her and ruined everything.

He hardly had any recollection of what had happened in the movie. Sitting next to Sky had filled him like a rising tide, flooding his chest. His focus had been solely on her - on how she pulled her bare feet onto the couch next to her, how she played with her short curls, wrapping and unwrapping them around a slender finger. How she worried her lower lip between her teeth. Her scent of vanilla and roses was intoxicating. His body ached for her, as if he were a man starved.

It had been torture. Throughout the film, he'd had to fight himself, not to reach a hand to touch her, not to wrap an arm around her body to pull her near. Hiding the effect she had on him had exhausted him, left him hot and tense, restless.

And after the movie, she had just quietly wished him goodnight, with a smile that could have meant anything, but probably meant nothing. If she had noticed how he burned for her, she clearly didn't care.

Another frustrated groan left Eli's dry lips. He rolled onto his side, kicking away the sheets that tried to wrap around his legs, as he glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was past midnight already, and he was nowhere near getting any sleep.

His heartbeat was fast and heavy in his chest. The thoughts of Sky were like holy wine in his veins, burning through his restless body.

She'd been wearing the loose T-shirt and pink sweats all evening, looking so fucking pretty that it took his breath away. No bra under the T-shirt either. Every time she had so much as shifted on the couch, he had been able to see the round softness of her tits chafing against the fabric— and the hardened nipples through it.

Oh dear God, his mouth went dry just thinking about it. She had driven him fucking nuts without even realizing what she was doing. And here he was now, imagining how it would have felt to peel that T-shirt off her, to bury his face in the small valley between her breasts, to kiss first one, then another, to suck a nipple between his hungry lips so hard it grazed the roof of his mouth, so hard she fucking whimpered—

He sighed, desperate, screwing his eyes shut. He had been aroused all this fucking evening, but that last unhinched thought had turned him fully hard in his boxer shorts, pushing sleep even further away.