#Thank fucking actual god above for cybersecurity

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

me: do people like actually know anything about cybersecurity

also me: oh yeah I have like insider knowledge about like way too much shit, that’s why everyone isn’t in an existential crisis every few months.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Inconsequentials

Moodboard Credit: @alottanothing​

Summary: You’ve lived in New York City for a few years and were one of Angela’s roommates in college. You bump into Elliot on the night of Angela’s birthday party, and you and Elliot connect. Smut’s at the end.

Warnings: Smut

* * * * *

The noise of the bar is too much; it isn’t the competition between the music and the televisions, or the cacophony of alerts on cellphones that people couldn’t bother to silence for one night.

It is the loud conversation, or rather, attempts at conversation. The too-loud small talk with people You only vaguely knows and honestly doesn’t care to know. The endless cycle of too-loud questions: “Hey! Good to see you! What have you been up to?” and “Are you seeing anyone?” and “How are you?” and “What’s new?”

Unable to bear another hour, you make your goodbye to your old roommate, citing an early morning meeting as an excuse, and then quickly exit through the door of the bar, hoping to slink unaccosted by anyone else into the city’s quiet nighttime.

  However, the solid body you collide into as you round off the stoop makes your quick exit come to a pretty damn obvious halt. 

  “Shit! I’m so sor—"

  Your words escape you as your eyes lock onto the most ethereal eyes you’ve ever seen. You think, for an instant, that if you got close enough to them it would be like that final scene in one of the Men in Black movies where doors keep opening and opening and opening just to show us how insignificant our understanding of the universe really is. 

  You realize that you’re standing there, open-mouthed, like an idiot and quickly take a step back before beginning your apology again.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Jesus. Fuck me up and drive me crazy. Even his voice is otherworldly.

  “I must say, though, that’s not the safest place to stand considering the endless parade of just too much to drink that walks out of this place.”

  The man looks at you and you can feel his mind working, feel his tenseness over whether or not to talk. You almost begin to apologize, again, when he speaks. 

  “I’m supposed to be in there. It’s my friend’s birthday.” 

  “You know Angela?”

  His eyes widen, although it seems impossible that they could get any larger.

  “You know Angela?” He echoes and you can’t help but chuckle. 

  “I do believe I asked you first,” you say through a grin. 

  He smiles, just a quick blink and you’ll miss it quirk of the lips, but you definitely categorize it as a smile. 

  “We’ve been friends since we were kids. And we work together now.” 

  “You’re Elliot,” you state with a finality that surprises him. “I went to college with Angela and we shared an apartment with two other girls, Jess and Annamarie—actually, both of them are still inside, and you know how it is. Late night talks. Shared childhood stories. I have an odd affinity for remembering inconsequential details. Not that you as a person are inconsequential!” 

  Fuck. You’re babbling like an idiot, and sort of shocked that this almost-stranger could make you so school-girl nervous.  

  Elliot did that almost smile thing again and seemed sort of surprised at his own response. 

  “Aren’t we all inconsequential, though? Swallowed up by the people we answer to? Or by society’s expectations and our inability to meet them?”

  As soon as the words leave his mouth, he seems paralyzed, like he can’t believe he said them out loud. 

  “Shit. I didn’t mean to say—"

  “Sure you did. But I suppose it has something to do with you not wanting to go in there? Maybe worried that you’ll feel weird because you don’t know anyone other than her?”

  Elliot watches as you tilt your head to the side just a bit and finish simply by saying, “Or maybe you just hate people?”

  Elliot turns to look inside giving you an opportunity to look at him properly. He’s head to toe in black, a worn hoodie clinging to his thin frame. His shoes are scuffed, also worn, but you can’t help but to let your eyes wander up his denim clad legs and to his ass, outlined nicely enough in the tight pants. 

  And that face. You could look at that face forever, like a piece of art that has layers and layers of depth. How many times do you meet a person in real life with a face like that? 

  Elliot sighs and turns back to you, your eyes snapping up to his. 

  “You’re not missing anything. Unless you enjoy watching Angela’s latest terrible choice in men cling to her like she’s a life preserver and he’s drowning.”

  Your comment earns a snort of derision from Elliot. 

  Emboldened by his response and the fact that he has made no move to go inside the bar, you ask, “Instead of going in there, do you want to maybe go somewhere else? Engage in some horrific small talk until we get to the good stuff?”

  “Okay.”

  One definitely awkward, mostly silent ten-minute train ride and an equally awkward and mostly silent block and a half of walking later, you are at your favorite dive bar. It is in an old building that should’ve been torn down a decade ago but escaped the clutches of modernization. Stale cigarette smoke still clung to the walls even though smoking was banned inside years ago. Despite the aged odors and decor, it was clean and quiet, full of regulars who also wanted to hold onto the past, desperate to have a place to just watch the outdated TV above the bar and talk with people like themselves, desperate for a time before Snapchat and Facebook and the stale conversations of the superficial, of people who only pretend to know you because they only really know your profile and your posts.  

  No one pays any attention to you and Elliot as they walk in and head to one of the booths in the back. You slide in and shuck off your coat as Elliot pulls back his hood, his hands running through his hair quickly. 

  You wet your lips at the sight of his face without any barrier and at the practiced way his hands fix his hair.

  He’s beautiful.

  And what an idiot you feel like as you think it, but wow. You make a mental note that despite the worn hoodie and boots, he must know he looks decently good if he visits a barber regularly enough to get a high maintenance haircut like that. Elliot was shaping up to be a true enigma. 

  “What do you want to drink? My treat,” you say through a quick smile. 

  “I’ll have whatever you have.”

  You slip out of the booth, and when you place the order, you make sure to lean just a bit into the bar as you wait in order to show off your ass. 

  When the bartender returns, you ask, “Sammy—is he looking? Did he check out my ass?” 

  Sammy chuckles and leans in to whisper, “Oh, yeah. Didn’t even try to do it discreetly.” 

  “Interesting,” you reply. “I’m not quite sure what to make of him, but that helps a bit.” 

  “I’ll keep an eye on you, babe.” 

  You chuckle, pay, and say your thanks. 

  “Coors Light. Bottled. I’m pretty much as basic as they come.”

  Elliot sort-of smiles, lifts his bottle to his mouth and takes a long drink. 

  “So, back to the whole idea of the inconsequentialness of humanity—what makes you believe that? 

  Elliot shakes his head and starts to backpedal, but you push him. 

  “Don’t tell me you blurt out dark truths about humanity but don’t mean them. Don’t be that guy.”

  “Most people don’t want to hear the things that I keep in my head. I’m not sure you really understand what you’re asking.”

  You raise an eyebrow, a little annoyed at his reluctance.

  “I assure you . . . I can handle it. I taught high school for a few years before I got my current gig in the city. If anyone can understand cynicism, it’s a teacher.” 

  Elliot leans forward, his fingers lightly tapping against the sweating bottle.

  “Why’d you stop? Teaching, I mean. Isn’t it supposed to be . . . rewarding?” 

  You genuinely laugh and it is loud enough and strong enough to make Elliot blink in surprise. 

  “Christ. Those moments are so few and far between the chaos of putting out everyday fires that after a while, it just isn’t enough. The bad outweighs the good. And I knew I didn’t belong in front of those kids once I felt like that. Now, I work for a mid-size company writing and editing technical manuals and working on grants to get more funding so they can expand. I’m just an inconsequential buried in work by the people who are hoping to become people rich enough to run the world.” 

  Elliot is quiet for a minute or so, most likely processing everything you unloaded.

  After another drink, he says, “I work at Allsafe. It’s…it’s a cybersecurity firm. We protect companies from cyber attacks. We protect those big companies that are actually rich enough to run the world.”

  You roll your eyes and nod in agreement. “It seems like the more I read, the more depressed I get because those companies just eat up everything. Consumerism, I guess? As long as there is something they can convince people to buy, they will continue to take people’s money and they will continue to be richer than god.”

  Elliot studies you as he finishes off his beer.

  “My turn,” he mumbles as he grabs your empty bottle and heads to the bar.

  Conversation becomes easier; while you definitely are the one talking the most, Elliot does relax and stops looking so shocked every time he shares something with you.

  At the end of the night, and after you’ve both developed a good buzz, you slide out of the booth. You give Sammy a smile and a wave to let him know you think the man in black is alright after all and the two of you head back toward the subway. As you walk, your shoulder brushes Elliot’s, ever so slightly.

  “I’m really glad I quite literally ran into you,” you say, sneaking a sideways glance as the two of you jog down the stairs.

  Elliot’s hands are buried in his hoodie pockets and you can just make out the small smile that crosses his lips.

  “Me, too.”

  “Text me sometime?” you ask as you hand Elliot your phone.

  You watch as he enters his number, his fingers moving almost faster than your eyes can register, especially due to your tipsiness. He hands your phone back and you let out a huff of a laugh as you see he’s already texted himself. A simple, “Hi.”

  Your train arrives at that moment and you give Elliot a small wave as he watches you step through the doors. You take a seat and turn to look out of the window, meeting his eyes once again. As soon as the train pulls away, your phone vibrates and you grin.

  It’s stupid, really, to feel so happy. All he’s sent is a simple message: Goodnight : )

  * * * * * * *

  Over the next three weeks, you and Elliot text a lot, meet up for coffee twice, and then decide to go for drinks at your bar again. The night progresses in a similar fashion to their first night together, but this time, when Elliot walks you to your train, you ask him if he wants to come over.

  “I don’t think I’m ready for the night to end this time,” you confess as you look up at Elliot, running your hand through your hair and biting your bottom lip.

  “Okay,” he says in more of a rumble than an actual word.

  The train ride seems to take twice as long as usual. You sit close together but not quite touching; you’re just close enough to feel the presence of him, to feel the heat of him, and to breathe him in. You desperately want to lean into him, to rest your hand on his thigh, but you know that touching is something of a struggle for him. It’s going to be up to Elliot to cross that line.

  It is a short walk from the subway to your apartment. You live in a decent enough neighborhood where people mind their own business but are still friendly enough to hold a door open for one another.

  As soon as you’re inside, Elliot busies himself by moving around your space, his eyes searching everything and nothing at the same time. It is a small studio apartment so it’s pretty easy to take everything in. You were lucky enough to find a studio with a loft, so the bedroom isn’t currently staring obscenely at the two of them, reminding you of the line that you so desperately want Elliot to cross.

  You take off your jacket and your shoes, happy to finally be barefoot. You go to the fridge and grab a bottle of water for lack of anything else to do while Elliot finishes his inventory of your stuff. Seemingly satisfied, he takes a seat at the barstool on the other side of your kitchen counter, which doubles as a table. He still has his hands stuffed in his hoodie and the hood is up. You’re eyes inadvertently flick to the hood, and he reaches up to take it down, mussing through his hair in that same way that makes your lick your lips every damn time. God, how you want to be the one who fixes his hair when he takes that fucking hood down.  

  “I really like you. These past few weeks have been nice—having someone to talk to,” you say as you twirl your water between your fingers.

  “I’m not very good at this,” Elliot says in a too-loud blunt voice as he looks away, a slight blush coloring his cheeks.

  You laugh softly but stop the instant you see Elliot’s hands twitch up, as if he’s about to pull on his hoodie again.

  You move quickly around the counter and reach out, your hand barely resting on his covered arm.

  “I mean, who is if they really like someone? It’s always weird when you’re deciding whether or not to cross that line.”

  Elliot turns those eyes on you, large and dark in the dim lighting of your apartment, and full of vulnerability. He presses his lips together and takes a deep breath. You’re pretty sure you can hear his heart beating, but then again, maybe it’s yours?

  He turns his body toward you and skims his fingers, light as feathers over your arm before grasping just above your elbow. Your eyes are locked on Elliot’s as you step between his legs, closing the last bit of distance. He looks up at you and uses his other hand to grasp your chin and pull you toward his mouth.

  Your first kiss is soft, hesitant. Your lips ghost against his as you slowly open your mouth more and more until he is the one to slide his tongue past your lips. You don’t mean to, but you let out the tiniest groan of pleasure as you open your mouth wider to his explorations and begin to return the kiss. The heat between the two of you is such a mixture of chemical wantonness and desperate urgency not be alone that it’s amazing neither of you combust.

  Elliot’s hand slides from your chin to your hair and you’re gripping his thigh so tightly as you lean into him that you’re sure it hurts. But if anything, he’s opening up for you, sensing in you the same feelings of loneliness he has buried within himself.

  You move your hand from Elliot’s thigh and from the back of the barstool to place both in his hair. You’ve been desperate to touch that black mess since the first night you saw him remove his hood and fix it himself. His hair is thicker than you expect, but so soft and when you dig your fingers into his scalp and move impossibly close to his body, he moans.

   You pull his head back to angle his gorgeous jaw to your lips. You kiss his chin, moving your lips slowly and softly along his jawline, peppering it with sweet kisses until you reach his earlobe. You close your teeth over it before kissing just underneath his ear.

  Elliot’s hands have moved to your hips and he’s gripping them almost as ferociously as you gripped his thigh.

  You pull back and look at each other, searching each other’s faces for any sign of leftover hesitation. He looks so sexy with his lips just a little raw from kissing, shining with saliva and still slightly parted.

  “Upstairs?”

  Elliot nods and takes your hand as you extend it to him, trailing just behind you as you walk up to the loft.

  “Are you looking at my ass?”

  Elliot laughs, a sweet, short burst of noise that you want to memorize in case it never happens again.

  “That’s how I knew you liked me that first night,” you explains as you reach the top of the stairs and turn to face him. “I asked Sammy if you looked.”

  Elliot smiles as he answers, “You have a great ass.”

  You laugh at his frank reply, and he pulls you into him. He kisses you until you need to pull away to breath and that’s when you knows it’s good—that he’s crossing the line and that it’s a good, good thing.

  He reaches around to grip your ass through your jeans and you grasp his shoulders. He pushes your hips into his and you can feel how hard he is already.

  “Way too many clothes,” you mumble into his neck.

  He steps back and unzips his hoodie, shrugging out of it, the clang of the zipper hitting the floor making the reality of what’s about to happen all the more intense. You pull your top over your head and let it fall from your fingertips. His eyes are taking you in and you enjoy the heat his gaze brings to your core. You reach up and unhook your bra, Elliot’s eyes watching the front clasp spring apart. He steps forward and slides the straps from your shoulders. He reaches out to cup your breasts, his thumbs sliding over your hard nipples. He pulls gently at them, watching your face instead of your body. Your eyes slide shut and you groan at the motion, and he does it again before he trails his knuckles over your stomach and grasps the front of your jeans. He pulls you into his body, encapsulating your lips in a heated kiss as his hands travel over your back, into your hair, and back to grip your ass again.

  You need to feel his skin against yours, so you reach down to pull his t-shirt over his head. You immediately move to kiss the smattering of freckles across his shoulders, your mouth leaving hot kisses from shoulder to shoulder, stopping in the middle to lick at the base of his neck. His body is hot and tight and your fingers are in love with the feel of him.

  You trail kisses down his chest, tweaking his nipples in a motion that mirrored how he had touched yours. Elliot groans and his head drops back as his eyes close. Once you’re on your knees, you pop the button on his jeans and his head snaps back to attention, watching you with those goddamn eyes. You look up as you palm his hard cock through his jeans and he moves your hands out of the way so he can unzip and open his pants, inviting you to touch him.

  You pull his jeans down and off, tugging off his black socks as well. You know you shouldn’t, but you chuckle, low in your throat.

  “My god, you really are the man in black.”

  Elliot shrugs his shoulders in response and you smile as you pull his boxer briefs over his erection and down his legs. He steps out of them and you look up and raise your brow.

  “Impressive.”

  Elliot doesn’t have time to debate with himself on a reply because your mouth is surrounding that impressive length, your tongue cradling his cock as you take in the taste of him. You suck, hollowing your cheeks as you grip his hips to keep him steady. You alternate between slow, torturing licks and engulfing him in the heat of your mouth until his hands grip yours, signaling you to stop. You give a final lick to the tip, enjoying the saltiness of his precum.

  He holds his hands out to help your stand back up, and as soon as you have your footing, Elliot’s pushing you toward the bed. You lie back stretching, teasing him as he looks at your body. He reaches down to open the button on your jeans and unzips them, tugging them off of your legs. Elliot traces his fingers up your legs, pushing them apart. He runs his thumb over your still-under-wear-clad center. He presses on your clit, gently testing your arousal.

  You moan and push yourself into his touch. You don’t care if you sound needy.

  You continue to watch Elliot as he lightly fingers over everything but your clit, and you’re just about to beg as he slides his finger into your underwear and lightly grazes your core. He brings that finger to his lips and slides it into his mouth, closing his eyes at the taste.

  “Jesus Christ, El. You’re killing me,” you pant.

  He smirks, just a quick twitch of his lips.

  “I like when you call me that,” he begins as he reaches up to slide your underwear off.

  “But I think I want to hear you scream it,” he finishes as he closes his lips over your clit and sucks.

  “Fuck! Elliot, El, oh, fuck!”

  Your body is trembling with its need to orgasm and you’re pretty sure that Elliot’s lips are built for the sole purpose of making your come, but you want the first time you come with him to be while he’s inside of you.

  You wiggle away from his face, and he looks up, his lips glistening, his brows furrowing until he sees what you grabbed out of the nightstand’s drawer.

  “I want you in me when I come,” you say, tearing the foil packet open, probably looking a little more like an animal than a seductress but so desperate to feel his cock inside of you that you don’t even fucking care.

  However you looked, it worked for Elliot. His eyes are blown wide and so dark with arousal. He shudders as you push the condom over him, not even giving him time to process the sensation as you pull him by the base of his cock toward you.

  He doesn’t hesitate to slide into your soaking center, both of you moaning at the feeling of him finally inside of you. You tighten your thighs around him and hold him still, relishing in this sensation that only happens once in every relationship; the first time he sinks into you, the first time you experience what it’s like to be sated by this person you’ve allowed to cross the line is a true moment of intimacy that is only ever experienced once in every relationship. Each subsequent time just attempts to chase the high of that very first time.

  You eventually loosen your grip, allowing your body to respond naturally to his. Elliot is slow, methodical, at first. Beads of sweat are forming at his temples and he looks so lost in the feeling of your body, lost, but at peace, like everything in his head is finally quiet.

  He fucks you at that excruciatingly slow pace until you beg him to go faster, harder.

  “Please, El. Need you. Need you so much.”

  Elliot’s hips begin to rock into you, your hips rising to meet his until you create a perfect rhythm. You can tell he’s getting close from the red blush that creeps across his chest and the slight faltering in his pace. He changes his angle so he can watch you as he rubs your still swollen clit, your hands reaching up to grip the headboard as he slams into you.

  “Oh, god Elliot!”

  You cry out as your orgasm finally shocks its way through your body leaving you a trembling mess as Elliot stills himself in you and comes with a groan that sounds a whole lot like your name. 

  He falls half on top of you, careful not to crush you, but you can feel his heart pounding, echoing your own heart’s strong beats. His breathing is deep, but slowly returns to a steady pace. You have your arm flung across your eyes, still steadying your own breathing as you feel his weight shift as he gets out of bed.

  Elliot hisses just a bit as he pulls the condom off. The silence is long and awkward enough for you to remove your arm and look over at him, standing adorably in a state of confusion as his eyes dart around the room. You giggle as you realizes he’s looking for the trash can.

  “Shit—sorry!” You slide over and open the front panel of your nightstand to reveal a trashcan inside.

  He tosses it in the bin and quirks his head at you stating, “You’re very. . . clean. I mean, like, organized.”

  “One of my idiosyncrasies. Why? Are you a slob?”

  “Uhhh. . .”

  “Alright. So, next time, we go to your place and maybe we clean instead of doing this?”

  “Was I really that bad?”

  You laugh and hold the sheet up, inviting him back into bed.

  Elliot slides in and lays his body half over yours. You slide your hands up his smooth back and he dips down to kiss you.

  “You know that was amazing,” you say softly.

And you think to yourself that you could get really used to the feeling of Elliot’s lips quirking into a smile as he kisses your neck.

* * * * *

Note: I’ve wanted to write Elliot for a while, but I’ve never been confident with my characterization of him. I guess I just want happy Elliot too much, so sorry if I’ve mucked it up.

Also, the line, “Fuck me up and drive me crazy” is stolen from the Lil Peep song, “I’ve Been Waiting.”