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It’s all I can think to say as I settle on the small couch and turn on the TV, peeking over at him occasionally to make sure he doesn’t come at me when I’m not looking.
I am fucking wary. I’m goddamn tired. And it’s not over yet.
Miles to go before we sleep.
Miles.
* * *
That night, I sleep with one eye open, a skill I learned when I was in the field, in the middle of war. No one fucking sleeps, not really. Death hunts you when you do, searching for you in the darkened corners where you lie. It’s better to stay awake. It’s imperative to be aware of your surroundings.
I drift in and out of the haze of consciousness, my body aware of Diablo shifting on the couch in this small space. I can almost visualize him, his wiry frame tossing this way and that. He rarely ever sits still, just a constant whirl in motion. Anxious, angry energy. He needs to channel it, to funnel it into something productive.
Tomorrow we’ll leave and move to a different location. His father hasn’t been able to bring a resolution to this Elio issue, and he worries that if we don’t keep moving that they could find us.
Thank fuck because this bed is wretched. The long tear that Diablo created makes it hard to sleep. Not that I would have slept well regardless, but still. The little shit. I spent all of yesterday watching TV and at the same time, watching him. He was laser-focused on those small toys he brought with him. Why he likes those things so much, I’ll never know. I’ve been dragged to a few tournaments he’s been a part of and was not impressed with those in attendance. The smells in that room were…impressive. You had to work at being that smelly.
My mind wanders from Warhammer to my sister and mother. I need to call them, to check in. I’ve been so busy with Diablo that my priorities have been a little skewed. I’m sure they’re worried. They do that when too much time has passed between check-ins. But I am loath to have Diablo know anything about me. Him knowing me means I’m offering up my weaknesses on a platter. I’d rather he stay far, far away.
Although, I’m sure he’s tried to track me with that hacking shit he does. I’m sure he came up relatively empty. I made sure that my past would not be tied to who I currently am. I paid damn good money to make sure the bad guys never find those most precious to me.
“I’m hungry,” Diablo says, standing over me. I pry my eyelids open and they rake over his body. He’s wearing just boxers now, his skin still slightly wet from a shower. In his hand is a box of granola that I’d purchased from the store. After a few weeks with him, I realized that he’ll eat just about anything. Which is a wonder since he’s so thin. It looks like he doesn’t eat at all.
“Go make something then,” I rasp out, sitting up, the stuffing from the mattress spilling out as I do so. I stare at it for a second and then back at Diablo who has shoved more granola in between his lips. Crumbs fall to the floor near his feet and some cling to his chin. He’s a fucking mess.
A hot goddamn mess.
“If I step on crumbs…” I grumble as I reach up and swipe at his chin.
He balks and takes a step back.
“No touching. The new rules. No touching me.”
I don’t agree with that. I may need to touch him to bring him in line.
“No.”
I stand up, my feet crunching on the granola, and I glower at Diablo who smirks, one corner of his lips tilting up further than the other. It’s crooked, a bit like his mind. Suits him.
I swipe at the bottom of my feet before walking into the kitchen, feeling his gaze on my back. I’m not sure if he’s admiring the view or thinking of ways to dismember me.
I reach into the fridge and grab some eggs and bacon. If anything, this guy needs to be fed. I’ve found it puts him in a better mood, and even though he pretends to gag while eating it, I know he loves it.
I sometimes wonder if I fed him my cock if he would do the same thing—pretend to hate it, but secretly moan for it.
I shake that thought away. There is no way I am feeding him my dick. Not a chance in hell.
I might occasionally think about it, but fuck no.
I prefer to be alive.
Not dead.
“You could help me with this,” I suggest, and Diablo scoffs and then chokes, apparently inhaling granola dust. It serves him right. He shouldn’t be shoving so much in his small mouth.
Unless it’s dick he’s shoving in there, of course. Then I’d force that jaw open and stuff him full.
My cock twitches between my legs as I crack another egg. I know I’m built bigger than most, that I need a million calories a day to sustain myself. But I like that my size allows me to take down opponents. It gives me a bit of a superiority complex. It’s a bit like a superpower, I suppose.
