Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chance knows he’s not stupid.

sure, there are some moments where he gets reckless, his moments where he gets too cocky for his own good when certain things are on the line, he knows that.

it’s part of his work, it’s a part of his persona.

But never around Elliot before they first met.

whenever Elliot is near, it's as if Chance's well put persona, his confidence, his calm demeanor, crumbles just by his mere presence, just by looking and talking to Elliot. Chance knows he’s not stupid to the fact that his heart thumps loudly in his ribcage, can feel the organ beat like a loud drum.

His body feels hot with fever, turns his hands clammy and sweaty whenever Elliot—sweet, beautiful—Elliot is near or mentioned. His words stumble and twist, his once quick, smooth, silver tongue reduced to nothing as the words he says trip over each other. Even when Elliot puts in a little effort to look his best, it's as if Chance forgot the alphabet.

Even the sound of Chance's name alone was enough to send his heart into overdrive, he feels like he’s going into cardiac arrest. the blood pumping loudly in his ears almost like the beating drums announcing the triumph of Ares, making it difficult to hear anyone else around him. he can feel his cheeks flush with blood as Elliot says Chances name in that smooth voice of his, each vowel twirling around each word, the words wrapped around in silk, sliding effortlessly, smoothly out of the seams of Elliot’s lips.

Sometimes, Chance catches himself in moments of being solely entranced by Elliot doing something so simple.

When they’re out with friends, Chance catches himself staring for a bit too long, and his friends notice, raising an eyebrow or giving him a knowing smile that makes him look away with warmth blooming in his cheeks. Or when they go on a morning walk together on a Saturday when the sun's out. The wind making Elliot’s golden hair bristle and sway in its gentle breeze, shining like gold under the sun's warmth.

Elliot loves those certain days. he says he knows it's a good day when he hears doves sing in the morning outside of his window—Chance couldn’t agree more if he gets to see Elliot close his eyes. a relaxed, carefree smile adorning his features with the sun warming his skin, saturating it that Chance feels like the moment should be painted like those Greek renaissance paintings or carved like those statues he sees at the museum and the confines of his mansion.

Chance, by no means, is an artist. But the moment makes his heart flutter as he feels a smile stretch on his lips as he saves the picture to memory.

Sometime in the afternoon, when the sun barely lowers itself below the lines of the horizon, it'll end up with them staying at one of their houses.

usually Elliot’s, since in Chance's opinion it was far more comfortable than his.

Elliot’s feet propped on Chances lap as they watched shitty romcoms in the comfort of Elliot’s living room with a bucket of popcorn on the floor and a half eaten box of pizza on the coffee table, the well loved blanket with too many washes that smells faintly like fresh eucalyptus haphazardly strewn across their laps.

They would crack jokes or predict the next move of the female protagonist—occasional bets being placed with the food they have as payment. It was domestic, and Chance would sometimes let himself believe, would let himself think that it was something. And if the movie was good enough, or hit too close to home, Chance would look over at Elliot as the main lead spilled her woes to the love interest, and Chance's breath would be taken away as he let himself linger on Elliot’s features.

The way the TV dimly lit him in the scenes colors, his golden wavy hair messily tied in a bun, a hairband from his sister keeping the rest from his face. His skin seems to glow with an otherworldly radiance under the flickering TV light—although slightly scarred—is clean and smooth, despite his skincare routine, Chance knows by memory from watching Elliot while waiting. his sharp but round eyes with slightly long lashes, and his lips.

Chance swallows, heat beginning to boil at the back of his neck despite his pathetic small ponytail that Elliot tied with gentle hands.

His lips, curved and full—shine in the TV's blue lights as Elliot mindlessly nips at them. Chance wonders if they would feel as soft as they looked, wonders if they would be swollen if he bit and kissed at it, wonders what they would look like wrapped around—

Chance forcibly blinks and forces himself to look at the TV, at whatever the fuck the love interest and the protagonist are doing. Sweat already building at the back of the collar of his button-up. He quietly, shakily sighs as he tugs at the thing, loosening his tie even more than it already was.

The scene progresses, and Chance hopes the movie is somewhat already over, if not almost, but that’s just him hoping. Another actor comes in, better than the main love interest, clearly interested in the female protagonist, sweeping her off her feet—leaving the main love interest pining, yearning after her.

“You think they’ll break up halfway through the movie?”

Chance whips his head to the side, almost fast enough to give himself whiplash, “Huh?”

Elliot tilts his head towards the TV's screen, his face relaxed and beautiful like a canvas illuminated by soft candlelight, it makes Chance's chest tighten—almost enough to make him lightheaded, “The couple, dummy. You think they’ll break up towards the end?”

Chance looks back at the TV, the scene showing the couple dining in a luxurious restaurant somewhere in the city, colors of red and maroon and cream making the scene feel somewhat romantic as the actors idly chat while sipping their light red wine, their eyes lingering on each other, brief touches that builds the hidden romantic tension. Chance slips on a faux confident smile, like a flimsy mask that barely hides the thunderous beat of his heart, the tremors of his clammy hands. He drapes his arm over the couch’s backrest, his voice steadier than what he feels, “Obviously, the other guy’s the main love interest—this guy’s just temporary.”

Elliot jokingly rolls his eyes and softly sighs, his lashes fluttering with the movement gracefully, effortlessly like a bird catching flight and even then, doing something so simple can make Chances breath leave his lungs like a gust of wind being knocked out of him, “I don’t know, maybe itll be something different,” he says, “He’s the one for her and the other guy is like, happy for her and you know, let’s her go.”

Chance raises a brow, giving an unimpressed look at Elliot, who flushes a charming shade of red. Almost the same as the wine the actors drink, “That wouldn’t make sense, Ellie,” he mutters, exasperated. “But you know, we can make a bet on it if you think that’s what’s gonna happen.”

“Bet with what? We already ate everything.” Elliot responds, his head leaning on the palm of his hand.

Chance hums and reaches for the forgotten box of pizza on the coffee table. Inside is a single slice of pizza, accompanied by scattered crumbs of crust.

“You’re for the other guy and I'm for the main guy,” Chance says, “whoever wins, gets the last slice of pizza, deal or no deal?” He grabs the delicacy and puts it on top of the empty pizza box.

The food, although still looking appetizing, is long gone cold. Though Chance knows it would still taste pretty good. He extends his hand over to Elliot and hopes his trembling, sweaty open palm doesn’t betray his confident smirk.

Elliot tilts his head up, crosses his arms as he fakes thinking, “I don’t know, you drive a hard bargain.” He smiles softly at Chance, who feels as if his heart skipped a beat, and grabs his hand, shaking to seal the deal. And it’s as if Elliot’s soft touch alone can set Chance ablaze, a roaring fire uncalming, and uncontrollable—if only Elliot knew Chance would keep Elliot’s warmth to himself just so he can keep being set ablaze just for him.

In the end, Chance won the last slice of pizza. He celebrates loudly and makes a show of slowly eating the pizza, savoring each bite and taste in front of Elliot, who pretended to be annoyed, but the barely kept smile on his face betrayed what he felt.

Chance left Elliot’s humble abode that night with a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. a soft smile adorning his dark features as he drove through the lit-up streets of the city, the moonlit kissed sky littered with small stars.

Chance dreams of Elliot through a dreamless sleep.

♤ ✕ ♜

Throughout Chance's life, or for how long he’s lived—he’s been blessed with a god given gift; an anomaly better fits the category.

Whenever Chance steps foot into a new casino somewhere in the middle of a city, filled with bright lights on its exterior, reeking of smoke, heavy alcohol, victorious laughter, and begrudged groans—he feels as though the people in their sleek, black suits and high-quality furs know Chance is unpredictable. Their unwavering, lingering eyes follow his every move as Chance makes his way to the casino's games.

He knows that the house, in its unfair, shameless way, never loses. Always winning despite someone desperate pouring their everything just to win big.

Chance, with his anomalous luck in tow, always—if not the majority of the time—wins against the house; almost as if poker, blackjack, roulette, and the slots were all mere children’s play.

And Chance knows when his luck isn’t with him, and whenever his luck isn’t with him—his worst days dawn upon him. As far as Chance remembers, as far as he’s lived, he’s only had one horrible day that haunts him like an unforgiving sin.

Someone strewn with hues of complex colors, a crown of ice settled on their head like a tyrant king, their face blurred as Chance—blinded by the blindfold of desperation for company, all to tear the hands of loneliness away from his body—clicks and clicks the revolver with an oblivious, cocky smirk, unbeknown to their true motives.

Lured away with the thought of a continued evening with company, only for the chains of betrayal to cling onto Chance—as the ice king turns and lunges, a large, dark-edged weapon shines, tinted with death.

On instinct, Chance pulls out his weapon from his thigh holster, and a loud bang follows. The quiet night shattered by the sound of a body slumping, like a pin dropping; its echoes reverberating against the rustling trees that went silent.

Flashing colors of red and blue arrive at the scene, obscured faces filled with concern and wariness as they approach Chance—their words muffled as if Chance was plunged into the depths of a roaring ocean, surrounded by its currents of events he can’t grasp. His grip clinging to the leather handle of the firearm with white knuckles.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur.

___

When Chance walked into the casino mid-evening, the shining sun barely lowering itself down the horizon of the waking city with shades of red, peach, yellows, and violets—he expected an interesting round of roulette. 

Chance did not expect to have a streak of nonstop losses two hours into joining.

He sits up abruptly, watching as his confidently placed poker chips are slid away from his reach, the chips joining a well-built stack towards an old, grimy man with a lit cigar in between his lips, staring daggers at him with a cheeky smirk.

Chance grits his teeth, collects his early game winnings, and leaves. Unable to get rid of the unmoving piercing looks glued to his back.

Chance shakes off the taunting dread looming over his shoulder, its claws beginning to slowly close in and wrap around his shoulders as he rushes to his car.  

His mind reeling—racing with scenarios that could happen during the day, heart pulsing in his ears—pounding—drumming as if it were announcing the drums of imminent bad luck. He slams the car door shut a bit too roughly, the metal complaining to the harsh treatment.

Chance hastily removes his headphones and fedora, placing them on the passenger seat as he wildly runs his fingers through his smoothed, disheveled hair. 

Chance curses himself under his breath, his hands shaking—trembling violently beneath noir cloth. He clenches his fists tightly, willing them to still, but they still shake, betraying the panic that coils tightly within, like vile snakes. Every nerve in his body seemed on edge, restless as memories he tried to forget began to crawl in the back of his mind. 

A sudden ding interrupts the beckoning silence, and a melodic tune follows not long after. Chance jolts at the unexpected sound before scrambling to answer the incoming call as a last chance to make the claws of dread, the memories disappear.

The familiar name of the caller's ID makes Chance's heart skip a beat, instant warmth beginning to fill his cold body like a warm ray of sunlight breaking through. 

Elliot. 

Chance answers.

“ Hello ?” 

Elliot's voice was a soothing balm, like the gentle caress of the moon goddess, calming the tumultuous waves of tension in the air.

“Elliot! Hi, Hey, Hi, uh, How’s it going?” Chance nervously smiles with a flush as he clutches his phone, his voice shaking a little. His unoccupied hand gripping the leather of the steering wheel tightly, as if clinging to a lifeline. 

“ It’s going alright, really busy though, ” Elliot voices. Chance hears a faint scraping on concrete, as if stomping something out. 

"My shift just ended a few minutes ago, and I was wondering if you wanna grab a bite, maybe some coffee if you want.” Chance can picture Elliot kicking at nothing. a habit of his that Chance, although something so seemingly little, found endearing. As if every moment, everything Elliot did, meant something. 

“The steakburger joint, as usual?” Chance can feel his mouth stretch slightly, his shoulders slacken with invisible tension, though still tightly holding the leather steering wheel.

“ You know it. ”

“Alright then, I’ll see you there.” 

A soft beep ends the quick call, and Chance feels as though he's on cloud nine. 

He slumps back on the car seat, a soft smile on his lips at just the mere thought of spending time with Elliot, despite their usual busy schedules—it made him feel like he was walking on air. Even better if they met up in their usual spot at the familiar joint, somewhere in the quiet parts of the city. And although the joint was well known, it usually wasnt busy at the crack hours of nightfall.

Chance puts the key into the ignition, waking the sleeping vehicle with a rumbling roar and shifts the car into drive, grinning with a thumping heart and fervency in his veins.

___

The car slowly pulled to a steady stop, the purring engine silencing back to its slumber. Chance exits the car, the sight of the joint bringing him a sense of familiarity. The neon lights and the overuse of red and white of the restaurant made his swaying nerves settle to a buzzing calm, the memories beginning to fade back into the back of his mind

He inhales the night's warm air, sighing deeply—his mind empty, although a looming sense of uncertainty he does not acknowledge bites itself into him, like a parasite, as he remembers the lack of his luck back at the casino. Chance shakes his head and makes his way inside the restaurant, where, undoubtedly, Elliot is waiting.

And he was.

Elliot, in his shining glory, patiently waiting alone in their signature booth. simply scrolling through his phone in the restaurant’s corner, hidden away from prying eyes, as the smell of food hits Chance’s senses. The faint sound of laughter and chatter, a window shoulders length on the wall on the inside of the booth—Elliot looks so calm, so divine, it makes Chance's breath catch in his throat. Even in his standard work attire, his usual red visor missing, even if the red overhanging lights of the building radiate brightly. Luckily, Chance's dark sunglasses make the lights at least a little bit tolerable to see. 

Chance makes his way over and smoothly slides into the booth, opposite of Elliot, who relaxes upon looking up from his phone, a playful, although faint smile embracing his features.

Chance smirks. a suave and easy one as he props his head with a gloved hand. “Hey there, come here often?”

Elliot puckers his lips, and shrugs a shoulder, slightly leaning in with a hand under his chin, making Chance flush, makes his heart beat a little faster, “Maybe, who’s asking?”

“Well, i know a fella." Chance responds, thankful for the shade his fedora provides below the overhanging light, hiding the growing warmth on his cheeks as he vaguely gestures to himself. "Dark, very handsome and charming, great taste in fashion, and hella lucky." 

"Gee, i dont know." Elliot draws out, and his faint smile grows. "Hey, Chance."

Chance smoothly sits up, feeling his heart flourish and beat as his name leaves Elliot's pretty lips, the heat in his cheeks intensifying, deepening. "Heya, Ellie. Sorry for the long wait, traffic was horrible." 

Elliot groans as he sets his phone face down, "Tell me about it, some guy wanted his order early but it was literally happy hour, didnt even tip either." 

"Man, what a dick." 

"Exactly," Elliot says, sitting back, his shoulders relaxed and easy. And although Chance adores the sight of Elliot—hardworking and diligent—relaxed, his brows are furrowed, his tired eyes distant as he plays with a stray strand of his golden hair. Chance knows something is haunting his mind, begging to be let out like a tireless shadow clawing at the bars of its enclosure. Almost like Chance’s haunting memory. He swallows.

“You—” as the words almost leave his mouth, someone shouts a number that makes Elliot perk up and quickly get up, slightly speed walking to the counter where their orders were served. 

Chance watches behind black tints as Elliot smiles at the worker with that effortless smile. He waves at the worker before making his way back over to their little spot and slides the red tray with a clatter. Two burgers messily settled on red oval food baskets, golden fries on the side. The sight alone makes Chance’s mouth water, his stomach growling quietly. 

“I kind of ordered for you when I arrived,” Elliot explains as he grabs his burger, “I probably know your order by heart since you always order the same thing.” He bites the food, and even the meaningless action is flawless.

Chance theatrically pats a hand over his heart as it flutters, “Thanks, El. I mean it.” 

Elliot rolls his eyes. Another bite of his food. “Yeah, yeah. Its no problem,”

Chance copies Elliot's movements and grabs the greasy delicacy, warmth blooming at the tip of his fingerprints as he holds it steady and bites into it. bites, chews and swallows, and repeats until it disappears. Chance looks up at Elliot who still has a dazed expression on his face, as if he was deep in thought, he looks up and catches Chance staring at him.

Elliot smiles at him. His heart flutters, his collar feels too hot, and he feels his cheeks flush with a familiar warmth. Chance looks away, beginning to stuff his face full of perfectly crispy golden fries.

"Oh right," Elliot begins, his food gone from his hands as he dives into his fries like Chance. "What were you gonna say earlier?"

Chance, in his honest, humble opinion, completely forgot. too wrapped up in savoring the taste of the burger joint that never misses a meal, and if they ever did, it was because a worker was recently hired. Chance blinks behind his sunglasses before putting on an act;

"Oh," he draws, "Yeah, uh, you know you can tell me anythin', right? it's just..." he grabs the light brown napkin, neatly stacked on top of each other. "you just seem, deep in thought."

"Oh," Elliot replies, copying Chance to grab a napkin, wiping his hands from unseeable grease and salt. "I do have some news."

“Good news or bad?”

“Good news,”

"Oh, alright, I’ll bite. What's the big news?" Chance says, his heart hopeful as it beats like an announcement—surely, Elliot holds the same feelings as did Chance.

Chance, who wants to paint and picture Elliot in his golden glory, like a sculptor would to their most beloved muse. a marble sculpture that historians would keep wondering if it was just someone dear or a god, with their smooth curves, their imperfections marked like perfections set into the smooth texture of years of work in marble.

"I started dating someone. We went on our first—well, not first-first, but first-not blind date," Elliot says, a big smile adorning his features that makes his eyes squint as he props his hand on his cheek. A daydreaming look on his face as he sighs—a lovesick sigh that Chance knows too well. Chance knows because he's done it too many times with the many crushes and relationships he’s had in his youth.

…

what.

Chance feels as though he's been harshly plunged into the depths of the deep dark by his throat. His heart, which was always filled with warmth like a flickering candle, was blown out by the harsh winds of the words that came out of Elliot’s mouth.

Chances can feel his throat tighten, he swallows every single bit of hurt that rises like toxic bile.

“That’s—that’s great, El!” Chance croaks, hoping Elliot doesn’t notice the crack in his voice, doesn’t notice or mention the tremble that Chance hopes didn't happen. He balls his trembling hand in a tight fist, his nails digging into the palm of his hand as he can feel his chest unbearably tighten.

Chance feels like he's going to be sick, already feeling the burning meal crawling up his throat

“i’m happy for you, really.” Chance adds. thankful for his shades—though, it wouldn’t hurt to put up his poker face like he usually dif. 

“Thanks,” Elliot smiles, his shoulders slacken like the weight he had was relieved, only for the weight to get on Chance’s shoulders like a hawk, mocking him with its talons digging into his shoulder. “They’re a really nice guy, Chance. I feel like you two would get along really well.” 

Chance wishes they don’t, not even the faintest bit as he nods. a vague feeling stirring at the pit of his stomach as he imagines the robloxian Elliot is with. 

Chance sharply sighs, exhaling the thought out of his mind. He effortlessly forces on a rueful smile, “I bet.” Chance responds, attempting to keep his tone light despite the heaviness in his chest.

Their time together passes rather quickly. Elliot talks and talks, whatever comes to mind, until his meal is gone. Chance nods along, his poker face full on display, giving short responses as he feels his throat tighten when he forces himself to respond to Elliot's chatter. He tightly clenches his jaw whenever his mouth is closed to keep the traitorous tears from falling. Chance is grateful—at least—for the obscurity his sunglasses provide.

Chance’s heart feels heavy and numbly tight; his hands slightly shake. His appetite has been lost to time, and whatever food is left has gone cold. 

“Chance? You there?” 

Chance quickly snaps his head to Elliots voice, he expected to be filled with adoration, with the same warmth that hed never get tired of feeling.

Now, however, he can't help but feel cold. a sense of melancholic longing already being planted in the root of his heart as it ached upon seeing Elliot's smile—even the sun couldn't compare. Chance is sure that the burning feeling will scorch him alive, making him come undone.

“Yeah, I'm here.” 

“The place is closing up, wed better get going or else we’ll get an earful. Remember what happened last time?” Elliot scooches to the end of the booth, grabbing the red plastic tray with crumpled napkins at the center of their table, one oval basket empty while the other still lies half full.

The last time they stayed past their closing, laughing and talking rather loudly, with other customers giving them an annoyed glance as they went and left with their respective meals. One of the workers, an elderly man who walks with ease, surely knows them by now, given how much they have visited the place. He yelled and scolded the two. He looked damn well near on chasing them off with the well loved spatula as the clock hit five minutes past closing. Chance still remembers the memory vividly; he remembers them laughing as they scurried out of the joint with big smiles, he remembers how his cheeks ached from smiling as they walked to their vehicles. Chance smiles, albeit it doesn't reach his eyes.

“Yeah, let's head out.” 

Chance scoots to the end of the booth and leaves with Elliot, the smell of the joint feeling a little duller.

___

The darkness of the night sky fully covered the roads, the air flowing between Elliot and Chance with a clean crisp that feels refreshing to breathe in, but Chance only feels his chest tighten as he tries to breathe as if a vicious snake wrapped itself around his heart, coiling around tighter and tighter every time he looks at Elliot. it feels suffocating, even if there’s open air to breathe, even if theres nothing coiling around his ribs where his vulnerable beating heart resides, broken and aching like prey.

Chance forces himself to look at Elliot, who looks calm and half asleep, the meal surely kicking in after hours of work. he feels his mouth dry up. “Let me walk you back,”

Elliot looks at him, gives him a tired smile, and nods. “Okay.”

The walk to Elliot’s motorcycle was a rather quiet one. they had their moments where silence fills the air like a third wheel, neither of them talking to eachother with its comfort like it was needed., this one feels different. it feels overwhelmingly melancholic, it feels strained it makes Chance fidget as he watches Elliot grab his helmet, put it on with a clack and swing a leg over where the vehicle lays comfortable in between his thighs. 

and while Chance would wish that were him, he grits his teeth in hopes of restraining the thought from, if ever, popping up.

Chance fidgets with the cuff of his suit, nerves eating up at him like famished termites.. “So uh, thanks for inviting me. To eat, i mean,” he says hoarsely, breaking the tense silence filling the open night air.

Elliot lifts the helmet's visor, and his eyes squint in the way Chance always found endearing; he feels his heart squeeze unbearably tight; it almost makes him lurch. He knows Elliot is smiling underneath the helmet despite not seeing it, and if he were an honest man, he wouldve preferred not to, to keep his heart from beating and aching in the bars of his ribcage. 

“ it’s no problem. i kind of missed doing them to be honest.” Elliot says, albeit muffled. “we should do them again, but this time you’re paying for the next one.” He points at Chance, playfully poking his finger in the center of his tightened chest.

Chance would smile, play along and laugh it off. But he just feels his heart ache, he doesn’t know how many times it ached or tightened the past minute or ever since they left the restaurant, but he knows that if the vicious snake wraps around the bird of his hearts, he feels as if it could burst out of his ribcage like a bloody firework.

With a forced smile and a dried-out throat, he responds hoarsely, “Maybe, ill think about it.”

Elliot flicks Chance and snorts before turning to the resting vehicle. he fishes out the key in his pocket and sinks it into the vehicle’s ignition, starting it with a powerful rumbling roar that rattles Chances ears. Elliot always knew that Chance had a guilty pleasure for vehicles with powerful roars that would sound like music to his ears.

“I’ll catch you later, Chance.” Elliot says. he shifts the motorcycle's gear with a nudge and with a step forward the vehicle slowly moves. Chance watches Elliot until the roar of the engine slowly quiets down, until he can’t see Elliot shine beneath the glow of the streetlights, until it’s only him and the silence of the restaurant's parking lot save for the workers tiredly leaving.

Chance rubs his neck, his shoulders slacken. He can feel his throat tighten, his eyes slowly sting and well; he quickly rubs and pinches them, and takes deep breaths. it does nothing and his lips wobble dangerously.

He quickly makes his way to his car, reviving her with a loud roar. just as loud as Elliot’s motorcycle.

And for some unbeknownst reason, that felt like a last goodbye.

___

by the time Chance gets home, it’s already half past midnight. the warm dim lighting of his otherwise spacious mansion not doing much to conceal the fact that something is missing, and Chance feels that itll remain that way, so long the ache is stuck in his chest like some parasite, like some incurable condition that makes his chest sting.

Chance walks through familiar halls and a set of stairs, carved with precision and passion that all lead to the comforting familiarity of his room. he steps inside, the door closing with a slight satisfying click.

and just like the rest of his house, it’s spacious with trinkets and decorations that scream Chances name. his bed too big for one, sitting in the middle, the beige cream sheets giving a dash of color against the muted tones of gray. the room illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, shining through the window walls farthest from the door, left of the bed that lead to the balcony. 

Chance slumps against the door and slides down, slowly taking off the accessories on his head. He can feel his lips tremble, his throat closing up as he tries—tries to refrain the emotions from spilling like tipped-over wine glass with a deep shallow breath as his vision blurred—and just like the champagne his parents open in holidays and celebrations, Chance breaks. a hitched shallow sob leaving the crevice of his lips as burning tears fall. It rattles him.

Chance looks down and sees his tears drop on the lens of his sunglasses like harsh rain. They slip and clatter on the wooden boards as Chance heaves sobs that shake him to his core.

a small sound can be so loud in a quiet empty room in the middle of the night.

but Chance doesn’t care, he shouldn’t worry about anyone hearing him. always coming home to a quiet mansion with things remained untouched, left the same Chance left it as. 

Chance can’t feel anything but the ache in his heart. the tightness in his chest as he heaves, he gasps, he cries with never ending tears falling onto the floor and down his cheeks. He tries to breathe—to grab hold on to anything for a small semblance of calm but his nose, clogged with congestion, refuses to let him—it’s as if the world is mocking him as it reminds him with his aching heart, bleeding red onto the floorboards.

Chance hunches over as a sharp sting of pain shoots through, making him grip at the fabric over his heart. but it’s as if strong jaws have been clamped around it, biting down harder and harder with every harsh gasp and sob that makes his shoulder shake. Chance can feel a dull ache at the back of his head growing as another sharp sob leaves him, his throat hoarse and raw as a silent whimper greets the lonely air of the room.

Chance tries wiping away the tears that fall, but like the uncaring and unforgiving world, they continue. falling down his reddened cheeks, snot barely touching his upper lip as Chance sniffles and wipes it away. 

with shaky knees and trembling hands, Chance gathers his shattered heart, and walks towards where his bed is. flopping down onto the mattress of rumpled sheets that feel cold to the touch, that feels too big. too lonely without the warmth of another.

Chance closes his eyes, a few tears falling from his damp eyelashes, before feeling a cold, wet nose make contact with the warmth of his cheek. Chance slowly opened his eyes that were beginning to feel achingly heavy. 

a large dark bunny stares at him, a white spade-like pattern at the center of his head as his nose twitches in curiosity, their whiskers slightly tickling Chances' wet cheek. 

Spade.

he must’ve been sleeping before Chance bursted in with his choking emotions in tow.

Chance reaches and gently scratches at his limp ear as an apology. Spade relaxes, not far but not too close. his knuckle softly combing the fur of the rabbits cheek. Chance slowly shifts over to the resting animal and gently gathers Spade into his arms, burying his face into the soft plush of his dark fur.

Chance knows he will not go easy—go gentle into the night. tortured by eyes filled with warmth and the sound of intoxicating laughter that sounds heavenly. all no longer in reach and instead embraced by the hands—the arms of another. 

a deep shaky sigh leaves Chance as if it could relieve him of the jealousy that burns through him like paper engulfed in flames.

A dull ache is all that’s left of him as it makes home in the emptiness of his heart, spreading with the lack of a sun. 

Chance knows when his luck isn’t with him, because the night leaves him coping alone from the bad luck of what the day gives him.

sleep doesn’t embrace him despite chances eyes feeling wet and heavy.

♤ ✕ ♜

time goes as agonizingly discreet as an hourglass. 

who knew months begin and end as quick as a dream it almost feels surreal, and before anybody notices, it’s already the end of a year. the cold weather pricking at Chance's skin despite the heavy warmth enveloping him, the casino almost barren with people. most if not many on vacations where the weather is warmer, migrating like birds.

Chance wishes he could join the flock of people, wishes he could feel the warm breeze of the beach with the annoying seagulls cawing up in the air. 

but just as unnoticeable, another year has passed and the same thing happens but there’s more people in the casino's dim lighting, the sound of the ball in roulette rolling around, the slot machines teasing sounds, the sound of boisterous laughter and the smell of stenching alcohol.

The smell heavily clings onto Chance's suit as he tastes it on his tongue, the cup almost empty as he rests his head with gloved fingers. Chances red tinted glasses fall at the bridge of his nose as he spreads himself on a leather chair overlooking the gamblers from his office windows. A faint and familiar ache pulses under his pristine vest.

Occasionally, if not more than likely, Chance finds himself joining them as blending weeks pass. a wide smile not quite reaching his eyes on his face as he joins an almost full table of poker and they don’t leave until the table is almost slammed on Chance's favorite expensive heavy alcohol he has in stock. The heavy drinks are enough to quench the ache in his chest that’s persistent, but it isn’t enough to make him stop wanting the familiar warmth by his side. in his arms where Chance knows the flame will never go out. 

The bodyguards take the blacked out drunks away, the suns rays determining the nights end as the casino's doors close for the evening. Chance rubs the back of his neck, a nervous tick, before he goes to his own private room, right across, if not behind his office in a dimmed hallway.

Chance indulges in routine, and there’s never a day where he’s unlucky as nothing fills his vision but colorful chips, blurring numbers, the hypnotizing sound of a ball rolling and the burning feeling going down his throat as the ache, the longing disappears along with his consciousness.

except for the night that happened three years ago.

Chance still remembers the day vividly, it haunts him like a dreadful memory alongside the day where he saw his fearful eyes shine on the black blade.

The day does not compare to when Chance almost died, but the feeling of thorns piercing his body almost made it feel that way.

the comforting feeling of burning liquid goes down like an hourglass, it soothes the ache in his chest that never seemingly wants to go away. there will be days where the ache was never there in the beginning but when Chance sees something meaningless that reminds him of Elliot, that be his smile, or his effortless beauty, it comes back full force it makes Chance hold his chest as if he were protecting his fragile sensitive heart, the cracks barely healing as it begins bleeding on and over his hands like red rivers staining them a deep red.

The meetings between the two become scarce; a rare occurrence. but Chance, who indulges too much in his forte to distract himself from the ache that persists whenever Elliot is near, it dwindles until the two barely notice—too distracted by the workload on their shoulders, enough to where they don’t mention anything.

Chance already knows he is wealthy, but the overindulgence makes the wealth skyrocket as stacks and numbers go up like a successful stock that continues growing. it’s too much for one being.

So Chance, in his own way of giving back, encourages his parents to go wherever they want to go the world has to offer. he adds and changes things to his casino; to make it better and fair as to the others that cheat it works and the building gains enough traction it hits the latest newsline, he purchases small luxuries to fill the black hole in his heart.

and yet, at the end of it all Chance leans on the kitchen counter at the dead of night sipping cold whiskey that tastes stale despite its hefty price.

Chance considers himself to be an honest robloxian, understandable, cocky, a bit stubborn for his liking, a big adrenaline junkie, and someone levelheaded—chill, in better terms. What he didn’t expect is to be staring daggers at the yellow daffodil centerpiece as he sips the cold whiskey that flows down like blood in the veins of a quietly seething god. 

Chance didn’t expect himself to miss Elliot.

the way Elliot’s body was always warm, his hands rough but smooth from the years of kneading, his curly hair messily tied into a ponytail that does nothing against the long strands of golden hair that always manage to come undone, the way his eyes squint when he smiles. 

Elliot, in Chances opinion, is beautiful. it almost feels like taboo to look at him in any other way than admired.

Chance misses the days where he would burst into Elliot’s house whenever the pizza worker had days off and stay there until the sun broke below the horizon and the stars would light up the night sky like Elliot’s faint freckles and despite their rare occurrences, Chance misses their meetings whenever they would go out and dine. 

of course, Chance would treat himself to the familiar burger joints meals but simply going to their usual spot without a familiar face with messy blonde hair felt… wrong. it felt lonely. thus Chance always ordered before going to the place to pick up his meal, ignoring the concered look from the old man that burns through the back of his vest. 

Chance slowly lets out a shallow sighs, letting the stench of the fragrant alcohol burn through his nose like the faint trail it leaves in his throat.

Whenever they still dined together, Chance would notice Elliot being late instead of him; a large smile adorning Elliot’s features as he mentions the date he and his partner went on the past week and it takes all of Chances willpower to act like a possessive fool. on few and between days, Chance would notice a faint angry mark on the pizza workers neck, pathetically hidden away by the black undershirts collar, and Chance seethes .

the first time the gambler saw the almost bruise like mark, he had to look at other things beside the godless mark tainted on Elliot’s neck.

an intense scorching heat courses through Chance he sweeps the counter with the swift move of his arm; the sound of glass shattering breaks the silence of the empty kitchen.

Blood pumps in Chances ears as he stares at the floorboards with a heated scowl, his fists tightly balled Chance can feel his knuckles turn white, his blunt nails biting into the flesh of his palm with a sting. 

and just as swift, Chance grabs the half filled glass of whiskey and down it in one go, the blood pumping in his ears like an angry wildfire slowly extinguishing as he leans on the counter again, his head on his arms.

the only thing that proved it to be real is the leftover shattered glass with spilt water on the floorboards.

♤ ✕ ♜

on a particular cold night, midway through December when the moon is full casting a bright light onto the quiet streets of the city that lays awake, Chance hosts a grand event in his casino involving a theme following a strict dress code for his guests and employees to follow. the bars stacked with plentiful amounts of alcohol with several bartenders behind the counter accompanying the chefs preparing their meals, several musicians playing their instruments to fill the noise to keep the atmosphere of the event lively with a sense of controlled chaos as the specifically picked staff monitored the crowd, with Guest being the head of staff—And for that single night, everyone was invited to the event.

Chance isnt one for events, or parties for that matter. It wasnt in his character to host a such big event for that matter, either. 

Maybe it was to quell the ache in his chest that kept getting stronger, the haze of alcohol and the adrenaline of the casinos games being mere temporary band-aids to the ache that just was getting harder to ignore. 

Or maybe, it was to see Elliot, despite the years of no communication—knowing that he isnt one for such big events, that someone as busy as him, especially in december, would be like waiting for an ephemeral dance of light amidst a shadowed sky. 

Despite the chances being slim, Chance carefully selected his finest outfit, hoping for any small chance of catching a glimpse of Elliot’s face in a sea of ongoers. The soft fabric of his vest and shirt being pressed and ironed, his fedora steamed to perfection, his red star shaped glasses and headphones being polished to a shine, finished off with a large coat, long enough to almost drag on the floor with a fur lined collar, draped over his shoulders.

If Chance were an honest Robloxian, hed argue he put effort into dressing for the event with a confident and seamless smirk, knowing full well hed be caught in a white lie.

Throughout the night, with guests pouring in with their luxurious outfits and rides all in the name to show others their higher status. The dim lighting and the bipolar music provided a background to the mindless chatter happening, the clinking of glasses and the clattering of chips followed by either a victorious yell or a groan of loss. Chance bore half to no mind to them, instead looking for unkempt fluffy curly golden hair hanging over toned shoulders with a smile that would brighten any room like the sun's rays pouring in through blinds. 

the night slowly passes, its bustling electric atmosphere slowly transitioning to something more calm.

and Elliot doesn’t show.

not even for a moment.

a touch of hope in Chances thoughts, even though he shouldn’t hope for anything.

Though there was a moment, Chance thought he saw Elliot through the haze of alcohol filling his senses as he felt himself spread over the lounge's leather in the far corner of the casino's bar. 

Two robloxians skipping over to where Chance sat, sitting themselves comfortably in the leather cushions by his sides with flirty smiles and bright drinks in hand. idly chatting with the others who sat near, but one caught Chance's eye.

and with a wild guess, Chance assumes he caught their eye as well as they smiled at him with light pink gloss tinted over thin lips, slowly infiltrating Chance's space with a leg propped over his thigh and a hand stretched across his shoulders as they lean closer to his face. Chance can smell faint watermelon tinged with alcohol.

short curly Golden hair that doesn’t pass delicate shoulders that bounce when laughter blooms through their face, a black ring in their nose and bottom lip like snake fangs, light precise touches of makeup around their eyes with short light lashes that flutter like leaves being blown with a light breeze. They were beautiful.

but they weren’t Elliot.

Elliot, who was perfect in the eye of imperfection.

simple touches that burned through Chance's skin, soft whispers exchanged through the loud music like intimacy. If Chance let himself imagine, if he let his thoughts bleed through his vision, he could imagine Elliot.

Elliot, whose golden hair is messily sprawled on white sheets darkened by dimmed lights but illuminated by the moons light as Chance kisses soft perfumed skin with fervor. 

Elliot, who kisses and nips at Chances neck as he almost rips the fabric covering Elliots skin.

Elliot, who slips out a soft muted sigh of pleasure at the slow push of warmth that envelops Chance. 

Chances slowly runs his hands up the flesh of slim thighs. The shadowed body bathed in the soft and intimate glow of the moon, accentuating the curves and dips of their body, intertwined with his as they move with a precise rhythm of their hips that tears a guttural sound from Chance's lips, low and rumbling like a distant storm. 

like lightning, the rhythm quickens, chasing the climax with rough rocking hips. Chance throws his head back on the pillow with clenched teeth, his grip on hips stiffens as Chance feels his hips roughly collide with Elliots illusion with a loud slap. a primal sound of pleasure synchronized with a cry of release as Chance feels pulsing warmth pool not long after in heat that tightens around him.

Chance tries with aftercare, cleaning the phantom of his memory with faux care. Wrapping an arm around their darkened figure as Chance feels their breath deepen as he slowly runs his hand through short golden locks. the gesture almost tender but the hint of emptiness suffocates it.

Chance is already out the door when the sun's rays barely shine through the curtains of the room, his chest aches with a dull sense of longing.

____

A week passes after that and Chance smoothly goes back to old routine of overindulging.

it didn’t last for long to his surprise it was Guest who pulled Chance from ending the fast year by going deeper into the sea of routine. 

the veteran finds the gambler in his office one evening where the sun touched the horizon of the end of the city's roads, idly balancing the pen with his lip with stacks of scattered paperwork on his desk.

“We’re getting breakfast, on me.” and with that Chance was sold. by ’sold’, he was rather forcibly pulled away into a quaint cafe hidden away in the cold corners of the city.

Guest buys the gambler a cup of dew followed by a slice of banana bread with bits of chocolate and sits across from him.

if Guest ever noticed Chance being led away by someone who almost appeared like Elliot the night of the casino's event, he didn’t if ever mention it and Chance was secretly grateful that he never did.

for what felt like an hour, they simply… talked.

though, things always had an end. 

“Oh, and one more thing,” Guest adds, making Chance turn with vivid curiosity despite the shades obscuring it, “Shedletsky invited us to a little get together this Saturday, calls it a ‘Chris-gether’.” 

Chance snorts, an easy smirk easing its way to his lips. “That’s stupid,”

“That’s what i said.” Guest replies, a smile albeit small reaching his own face. “He said it should be around midnight, best guess is 1100.”

“…and that is?” Chance drags.

“eleven, Chance, eleven oclock,” 

“gotcha, ill be there,” Chance adds, snapping a finger gun to the veteran sitting in the vehicle. “Thanks again for the breakfast, it was pretty good.”

“It’s no problem., ill see you then, Chance.” 

Chance doesn’t look back to watch the black jeep pull out of the driveway as he unlocks the door to his mansion with a jingle of keys.

He’ll be there as he was greeted by silence.

———

The small little get together was homely. For a robloxian that eats chicken as messy as Shedletsky like it was a lifeline, Chance would think Shedletsky had a disastrous home. But when Chance entered with a bottle of whiskey in hand, it felt like whiplash to see the homely abode devoid of scattered clothes and possible takeout boxes. fairy lights stringed up around the kitchen, a faint smell of peppermint and apple cider by the fault of lit candles placed strategically, the lights dimmed but giving enough light to roam around with a background of a cackling fireplaces playing on the tv.

And… the god awful hideous sweater Shedletsky wears as Chance watches him place the bottle of whiskey in the fridge with a little spring in his step. 

Chance awkwardly stays put, hands stuffed in his pockets as he looks around before spotting Guest lounging on the living room couch with a few others surrounding, a real eye catcher in a crowd with his navy blue hair and bigger stature as he idly talks, though not much. 

and amongst the robloxians, Chance spots familiar golden hair—messily pulled into a low ponytail with wild curls splayed over in an attempt at controlling and a joyful chiming laugh that fills Chance with warmth, it almost makes a small smile appear like it were instinct. Chance feels his steps falter at the mere sound, he clenches his hands as he thinks about sitting in the kitchen with the hopes of getting to taste the new whiskey he bought.

The thought quickly disappears when Chance sees Guest perk up and waves him over. Elliot sits up and looks behind him, surprise overtaking his soft features as he watches Chance make his way over to the empty spot, a bit farther from Elliot, who continues to stare at him. Chance pretends to not notice with tightened teeth as he makes himself comfortable in a sense of faux relaxation.

Chance pretends to not notice when he feels Elliots gaze disappear, barely listening to the chatter before him as he idly nods—chiming in occasionally that gains a few laughs and scoffs.

Shedletsky comes bouncing amid everyone’s conversation, holding sparkly golden drinks in a black tray in one hand and cans barely holding on in his arm, a clear, careless and effortless smile in his golden features, “So, who wants drinks?”

the gathering was… entertaining, in a surprising turn of events and was certainly better than holeing himself up in his office. Chance didn’t expect himself to loosen up after the third drink after a loss, barely feeling the effects of the fizzy drinks, but he felt more confident, more cocky as the games progressed. He didnt expect himself to be so sociable, effortlessly striking up a conversation, the alcohol making jittered nerves disappear. 

Chance certainly didn’t expect himself to talk to Elliot again, as if the five years gap of silence never happened.

But Chance feels it lingering heavily as they ease back into easy banter.

The games slowly dwindle when midnight strikes, everyone idly talking to others in a low murmur. The effects of the alcohol taking full effect, but not to Chance. The gambler spending his days drowned by alcohol that temporarily dulled the pain of his longing, a numbing agent that helped him forget about Elliot even for a little while; like a band-aid lazily slapped on a big tear.

Chance looks at Elliot.

Really looks.

Elliots hair is cut short, an easily missed detail. His usual loose ponytail no longer covering the skin of his nape but still long enough that its pulled up into a small one. Chance watches Elliot talk, his voice muffled as the background fades around, and Chance only sees Elliot. The twinkling fairy lights softening Elliots face in faint warm yellows makes him look ethereal, Chance wants to reach over and touch Elliots cheek with the utmost care the gambler could provide.

Chance nods along to whatever Elliot recounts. his usual smile still on display but not as big as Chance always remembered, as if something was at the back of his mind, haunting him just like he haunted Chances thoughts.

Elliot tilts his head, his loose curls falling with the motion. “Chance?”

Chance snaps back into reality, slightly shaking his head. “Sorry, Ellie,” he mumbles, slightly sitting up from his comfortable position of admiring, “What were you sayin’?”

“Do you want to go catch up somewhere else?” Elliot asks, an unsure smile decorating his face like a gold ornament with details of white, “We can ask Shedletsky if we can borrow his guest bedroom and maybe try out the whiskey you brought in.” 

Chance nods and gets up with a soft grunt, “You go ask Shed, ill go grab the bottle.”

Elliot nods and copies Chance without a sound as he goes and searches for Shedletsky.

Chance walks into the kitchen, pulling the fridge drawer where the bottle of whiskey is stored. The bottle's glass feels like ice against the warmth of his palm as he closes the drawer with a soft push of his knee.

A soft knock at the entrance of the kitchen catches his attention. Elliot smiles softly again as he nudges his head. Chance feels his heart skip a beat. “He says it's over here.”

Elliot disappears behind the corner that leads to the hallway, and naturally, like a dedicated devotee, Chance follows.

Stepping foot into the decently large bedroom, Elliot goes to the front of the bed and sits on the floor with a soft sigh. Chance swallows as he softly closes the door behind him with a soft click, his footsteps swallowed by the plush material of the carpet. Chance sits beside Elliot with a grunt and with less grace.

Chance can feel Elliots eyes linger on him. In the corner of his eye, he can see Elliot with his head propped by the palm of his hand, his curls framing his face perfectly, the sleeves of his turtleneck covering half of it. Chance busies himself with taking the plastic off and the cap altogether and succeeding with minimal effort.

“Gonna haveta’ drink the bottle, if thats alright with ya, Ellie.” Chance pipes, finally looking at Elliot and his throat goes dry. 

Chance forgot how beautiful Elliot looks. Forgot how little Elliot has to do to take Chances breath away.

Elliot tiredly smiles, “its alright, kind of already made myself comfortable.” he opens his palm towards the bottle and Chance hands it over, hoping that Elliot doesnt see his hands tremble. 

Elliot takes a swig of the whiskey, his face contorting when the bitter liquid hits his tongue. He passes it back to Chance, who drinks it effortlessly. The whiskey leaves a burning spicy aftertaste of sweet vanilla.

“How can you even like that? It tastes awful.” Elliot murmurs making the gambler tilt his head towards Elliot.

“dunno, guess i kinda got used to it.” Chance responds, albeit a bit quieter as if one loud sound could break the comfort between them, “tastes pretty fuckin’ good though, ill tell ya that.” he snorts and takes another swig, the burning feeling already fading.

The bottle is passed between the two. Elliot takes less swigs than Chance, but noticeably they both slur their words. Their voices quiet as the distance between them closes until Chance can smell the flavor of whiskey in their breaths, their thighs touching, and how the half empty bottle of whiskey provides a warm intimate backdrop to their whispers as it stands forgotten beside Chance.

Something Chance says makes Elliot laugh, he honestly doesn’t remember—his head hazy from the effect of liquor. a joyful sound that blesses Chance's ears. Makes his chest fill with warmth, makes him smile like a fool from the intoxication of it. A pure sound that fills the room like a chorus of angels from a temple beckoning Chance home.

despite it all, Chance cant help but feel like the years of silence gnaw at their words.

“Oh, that reminds me.” Chance whispers—words already drunkenly slipping out of his lips without so much as a thought, his eyes glued to the tacky ceiling. He hears Elliot hum, “Where's your partner? Heard Shed mentioned that you could invite anyone.” 

Elliot stays quiet for a long moment, and something sparks in Chance; it makes him look at Elliot with an ugly jealous sense of hope.

and just as quick as it was born, it withers. “they weren’t able to make it, says they have an extra shift or whatever.” Elliot explains with a followed sigh, his eyes darting away from Chance's obscured gaze. “Not like i was goin’ to invite' em anyway after our argument last weekend.”

Chance licks his teeth, the lingering spicy taste of whiskey still present.

”they dont deserve you.” Chance softly says. a slight, subtle growl slipping with the words, hidden beneath like a camouflaged predator.

Elliot raises an eyebrow, “what do you mean?”

Chance swallows and with the last drop of his dignity, the fuel of alcohol in his veins that clouded his consciousness with faux confidence. He can hear his heart beat wildly as he licks his chapped lips—Elliots eyes follow the motion. 

“you deserve better, Ellie. you deserve so much more,” Chance whispers, his head tilted towards Elliot. words laced with such sickeningly sweet fondness he never knew he held for the pizza worker, “hell, id give you anythin' if you give me a chance.” he can feel his heart wildly beating against the bones of its enclosure, the liquor still warm in his mouth.

Elliot’s half lidded eyes look down at him, a small tender smile graces his lips. “Really?”

“really.” Chance answers instantly

Elliot surges forward, grabbing the back of Chance's neck and kisses him . 

naturally, like breathing, like water crashing against rocks of a fall, Chance kisses him back with fever, his fingers burying themselves in silky golden curls.

Elliot’s lips feel what Chance has always imagined they’d feel, soft and smooth as they roughly moved against Chances. Elliot breaks the kiss for a moment, throwing his leg over Chance's lap, straddling him before smashing his lips back on Chance's. Sharp heat shooting down, leaving pinpricks of warmth across his body that make his slacks feel tight. a slow feel of electrifying heat building in his lower stomach as Chances hands wander around Elliot’s body. sliding down the curve of his back, feeling the muscles of his thighs and the swell of his ass making a soft gasp escape Elliot’s lips through the kiss. 

Chance uses Elliot's surprise to slip his tongue in. Elliot tasted divine. The taste of lingering whiskey and the spark of champagne on his tongue as Chance explored Elliot’s mouth, his tongue occasionally dancing around Elliot's cocktail-tasting tongue. The kiss growing heated, fueled by years of longing. 

Chance ignores the blaring alarms in the back of his mind, trying to remind him that Elliot wasn’t his. but just for this moment, just for tonight, Chance wanted to think that he was.

Elliot wraps his arms around Chance's neck, his hands tangling against Chance's shorter hair, his body fit against Chance's like a missing puzzle piece as he softly moans against the heat of the kiss. Chance leans away from the kiss, pressing his lips against the corner of Elliot’s mouth, and descends. softly nipping the warm, soft, heated skin of Elliot’s neck, followed by a gentle kiss.

Chance looks at Elliot—Elliot, who's breathless after being kissed, a debauched expression on his face, his lips red and shiny, coated with Chance's desire and admiration, whose hair is even messier than before after Chance tangled his fingers in them. Chance delves back into Elliot’s lips consuming him in a way he’s only dreamed of, his longing, his yearning, and all those years of missing Elliot in the quiet of his mansion, in the chaos of his casino as he tries to numb the ache in his heart with spicy alcohol that leaves a burn in his throat.

Chance breaks the kiss with the utmost gentleness he could provide.

Elliot laughs, his breath still gone with his lips now swollen, “you really missed me, huh?”

Chances hands glide up and land on Elliot’s hips, his thumbs slightly tugging at the hoops of his slacks that secure the leather belt around his slim waist. “more than you’ll ever know, doll.”

Elliot kisses him again, his hands cradling Chance's face, knocking his shades as he nips at Chance's bottom lip and Chance lets him explore, tilting his head to kiss Elliot deeper, making him moan into the kiss. The sound sending shocking warmth throughout his body, fueling the embers like a raging wildfire as his slacks grow even tighter, his dick twitching in the confines of his slacks. Chance wants to mark him to memory, wants to kiss every flaw and perfection to memory with touch alone, but the alarm in the back of his mind persists.

Elliot gives a small roll of his hips making an unexpected groan slip past Chance's lips and into the kiss. Elliot smiles, a small, mischievous one as he gives another roll of his hips. sly. sensual. like a dancer under dim lighting with eyes watching every sway and smooth roll.

Elliots hands glide down, his fingers undoing the buttons of Chance's shirt with slow and deliberate motions, leaving soft kisses and bites on Chance's neck making the gambler quietly whine, his grip on Elliot's slim hips growing tighter. the white fabric falls open, and Chances memory begins to grow blurry, the effect of the alcohol making his memories fuzzy. Bits still vivid and blurry like glass, pieces singed like burned photograph edges. 

Chance can still remember the continuous feeling of Elliot’s lips against his, can still feel the soft skin with muscles flexing underneath his hands as they wander around bare heated skin, worshipping every curve, contour and soft expanse of flesh.

He can still remember how Elliot sounded as their bodies fully connected, can still feel the sharp sting of his nails as they claw at the flesh of his back as Chances hips roll roughly colliding with Elliot’s with a soft slap, Elliots legs wrapping around Chance hips like an anchor as he begs Chance to continue.

Chance can never deny Elliot.

He can still remember how beautiful Elliot looked in the dim lighting under the moonbeam, his disheveled golden curls displayed like the suns rays, sweat coating his skin like morning dew, his throat bare as Elliot throws his head back whenever Chance struck a sensitive bundle of nerves, biting his lip to keep the loud sinful noises at bay.

Chance doesnt know how many times their bodies connected with eachother throughout the night, but he knows that the memory will forever be burned in his thoughts. 

In the dawning hours, Chance slowly stirrs from the depths of sleep, a dull pain greeting him firsthand. His eyes feeling heavy with slumber, opened to the faint light of the moon, the bedrooms shadows softly painted on the walls by the subtle hues of blue. Chance laid there, his body sore and his head disoriented before sitting up with a low groan, the duvet falling to his lap.

Chance didnt know what he expected, what his foolish heart had hoped for as he looks at the empty space beside him. rustled sheets and the lingering warmth with the smell of sweat and sex being the only indicator of what Elliot had left behind, the extra pair of clothing on the floor long gone.

Chance feels his throat slowly clog up, his eyes burn slightly with unshed tears. 

And for once, Chance doesnt grab hold of his composure as he weeps quietly into the night. his heart painfully aches in his chest as he spends the first few hours of the new year sobbing alone in an empty bed. 

♤ ✕ ♜

two months had passed since Shedletskys little get together.

two months since Chance and Elliot connected like stars in messy sheets.

for two months worth of days and nights, the night replays in Chances thoughts like an old nostalgic videotape.

The stinging feeling of Elliot's nails that healed in two weeks, leaving small scarred nicks, the sounds Elliot made that Chance couldn’t get out of his head, the way his lips felt that made the night—the world—stop as warmth bloomed in Chance's chest, that felt like his heart was merely going to explode as everything Chance had wished for happened in a night where hard booze filled their veins.

it almost made up for the empty bed Chance was left in, even though his heart seemingly ached more as the leftover warmth on the other side was what made it real.

Guest, to the gambler's surprise, was the only one who noticed. saying he saw the pizza worker leave in a hurry with disheveled clothing in the early hours of morning right when the moon was leaving like Elliot had. 

and it was Guest, who bursted into Chances mansion, catching him in his lowest point with Spade sleeping in his lap, the tv controller in hand with telenovelas playing in the background the week after the party and although Guest didn’t have that much free time, the two spent the rest of the evening with facemasks.

Chance will forever be grateful for the veteran. 

for his annoying pep talks that Chance probably saw in those stupid videos while scrolling in his phone and suggestions for the gym. In which Chance reluctantly joined with minimum consistency, considering his work that started turning busier with spring slowly blending with the days that got cold.

For two months, Chance never stopped thinking about Elliot despite futile efforts. Not a single day went by when Chance wondered how Elliot was doing, or how he was, always present in his thoughts like a shadow, even when he tried to bury them away.

It was particularly a hot day. Months went by until summer went full force with its humid air, it made Chances' collar stick to his neck with sweat, the sun relentless with its heat, as loud hidden cicadas screamed, the greenery around the city more vibrant than last year, it almost made it look like a dream. The mourning dove cooing outside his window in the early hours of the evening, when everything else fell quiet. When Chance woke up, his body achingly sore after joining Guest in the gym the day before, Chance spent the rest of the day chained to his desk with stacks of paper left ignored—his parents having the bright idea of throwing an event similar to when Chance hoped Elliot would show with a bleeding heart in his hands.

Its was no different than last time. Chances heart still bleeding and aching, though not as painful as before.

Night dawned slower than what Chance had initially thought. the bustling activity of the casino assaulting his senses when he entered, the loud slow music of the musicians on the stage, the melodic tune of the singer synchronizing with it, the smell of cigars laced with the expensive stench of alcohol, and the familiar groan and yell of what lady luck had in store as quiet but loud chatter filled the background. 

like a canines limitless and unwavering loyalty, Chance hoped Elliot would appear. his heart aching with eagerness and anticipation despite trying to keep his mind away with the thrill of gambling, with the warm taste of new alcohol, with the stacks of papers on his desk.

and yet when the event slowly comes to an early end at late hours of midnight, the crowd slowly dwindling, and his eyes growing tired; Elliot never does.

Chance groans along with the creak of the front door, his hand messaging the back of his tense neck. Exhaustion claws his body, already beginning to feel it in the back of eyes as the door clicks behind him. 

Chance was ready to just keel over and sleep, opting to leave everything for tomorrow.

But the inessesant buzzing in his phone wakes him up, though only a little. The only thing that truly does startle Chance awake is the name he rereads, his eyes widening as his heart skips a beat, already slowly thumping against his ribcage as his eyes scan messages that bombard his phone.

Elliot .

The front door clatters with haste knocking.

And like the world's cycle repeating, Chance answers.

“Elliot?” 

“Chance.”

Elliot looks worse for wear, his eyes streaked red filled with unshed tears that marked his cheeks, mild sleepless bags under his eyes, his hair untied and messy as if he ran and tugged at it, his red shirt usually tucked in the slacks of his pants, untucked with the collar unbuttoned and messy. Elliot looks destroyed as he shakily sighs, a barely kept sob as he tries to keep his composure.

Without hesitancy, Chance lets him in, tugging the worker to the large comfort of his living room—the front door distantly closing like finality.

“Ellie—What–What happened?” Chance says after a brief moment, kneeling down in front of Elliot with his hands held into Chances, concern etched into every part of his face despite his shades obscuring every part of it. 

Elliot sobs. The sound making Chance's heart tighten. “I—We,” Elliot tries, his voice breaking with hitched breaths in between lamentation, “We broke up,” he finalizes.

Chance simply looks down. tightening his hands around Elliot’s limp ones as if using him as an anchor. or maybe it was Chance wanting to keep some sick part of him locked away as it relishes in the news, Chance grits his teeth. he shouldn’t be hopeful. his heart spiking with warmth blooming shouldn’t be happening. 

Chance sighs slowly, carefully picking out what to say as if walking on glass. his sick hopeful feelings below in the void. “im… sorry to hear that, Elliot. really.” he says, a ghost of a smile not quite reaching on his lips. an attempt at reassurance. “is there a way i can help? anything. you name it.”

Elliot simply stares at their combined hands. Chances slightly bigger ones engulfing his own as Chances thumb mindlessly caresses them. Elliot sniffles, a few stray tears falling down reddened cheeks marred by the hurt of heartbreak. “can.. can you make it go away? everything.”

Chances brows furrow. his eyes try scanning Elliot’s face, his eyes that shouldn’t look beautiful by the glimmer of tears but his blonde curls hide them as if he was ashamed—like a priest committing a sin in the eyes of their deity. “what do you mean?”

“make the pain go away, Chance.” Elliot repeats, more confident, louder than the last time. he lifts his head and looks at Chance in the eye behind the tint of his sunglasses. his brows furrowed but the etch of sadness clung to him like a veil. barely noticeable but still there.

Chance feels his mouth dry. his stomach wrongly flutters as it clicks. “I—I can’t , Ellie.” he says, softer. gentler.

”Chance, please “ Elliot’s voice slightly cracks, tripping on the line of begging, “Why can’t we do what we did last time?”

Chance should take a moment to breathe—to think clearly for both of their sakes—but his knee is rooted in place, his hands gone warm from holding Elliot’s hands like protecting fire from the harsh winds. and the sick twisting feeling of hope in his heart that beats rapidly, the sick warmth that coils in his body ready to explode.  

Chances heart jumps to his throat, choking on the words that he tried to force out but all that comes out is a stuttered word muffled by surprise. Chance swallows it down.

“We were drunk, doll.” Chance mumbles, avoiding Elliot’s strong gaze that pierces through the plastic of his shades and instead looks at their interlocked hands, his thumb absentmindedly caressing Elliots knuckles, “We weren’t thinking straight.”

Elliot shuts his eyes tightly and shakes his head, his messy curls gently swaying with the motion, “Who says we can’t do it again?” He says, tightening his hold on Chances hands, “Who says it can’t be different?”

“Ellie—“

“What’s the problem?” He persists, “Do you regret it? is that it?”

“ No! ” Chance cuts in, whipping his head up he feels as though it was enough to give him whiplash, was enough to rattle his eyes. he can feel his heart beat faster with a headstart skip, ”God, no— if i could, i wish i could remember every second whenever you weren't with me—“ he can feel his voice raise slowly, a stutter hidden beneath the raising volume.

Elliot was never one to back down from an argument despite his tears that overwhelm him like an electric dam. he matches Chance's volume head-on like a raging bull, “Then why are you hesitating? what's—“ 

“Because you aren’t mine!” 

Silence follows the room quicker than the glass shattering underneath him. 

Chance releases Elliot’s hands as if the touch alone burned him, taking off his head accessories to run his hands across neat hair. Unnoticed, Elliot’s eyes soften, watching Chance get up from his position.

Chance walks around the coffee table, across from Elliot who's still looking at him with an unreadable expression it makes Chances mouth move faster, makes him look away just to avoid seeing Elliots disgust.

“Everytime i closed my eyes, id see you. Always you. Your smile, your voice, everything .” Chance rambles. His hands going clammy as they shake with the mild adrenaline he always seeks, he hastily combs through his hair just to keep them still. Strands slowly falling into his face. “Id wake up in the middle of the night and reach out for you— hoping you were there. Id dream about you and i just couldnt— i couldnt get you out my head no matter how hard i tried.”

Elliot slowly gets up without so much as a sound, walking up to Chance as if he was approaching an agitated street cat on the brink of running away. He reaches out, gently touching Chances cheek. .

Chance shakily sighs, putting his hand over Elliots, “Each day you were with me, i wanted you to be mine— but you werent and it drove me fuckin’ crazy.” he admits, his voice cracking, his heart bleeding as he presents it to Elliot on a platter once again, “I dont want you to be just mine, i want you to be with me- with me like you belong with me, Elliot.”

Chance finally looks at Elliot.

only for a moment .

“Youre all i see when i close my eyes.” Chance whispers, nuzzling Elliots hand, his thumb caressing his cheekbone, “you make me feel… alive .”

Elliot simply breathes. The small scent of Chances cologne precisely placed on the fabric of his suit—fresh and woody, hints of leather, sandalwood and eucalyptus. Elliot swallows and cradles Chances face, the Robloxian instantly responding with a lovesick sigh, as if he were waiting for this moment.

Chance continues, looking down from Elliots gaze that pierces through him, “It wasn’ just ‘bout the sex, Ellie. It was the way my heart felt like explodin’ when you kissed me— it felt so right. It was like we were the only ones in the world.”

The continuous silence from Elliot makes Chance's nerves go at a full time high. He expects the pizza worker to just say nothing, expects Elliot to walk out leaving Chance with a bleeding heart he doesnt think hell be able to recover from, expects him to do something—anything to stop Chances nerves from engulfing him like a taunting shadow that'll drag and drown him in a sea of sorrow.

after a brief moment that felt too stretched, too long, Chance feels haste lips crash onto his. He almost, easily melts into the soft feeling, but he breaks it off with a thread of composure despite his heart skipping in retaliation—an urge to continue, “Elliot— don’t play with me right now—” he pants, his hands placed on Elliot's shoulders as Chance studies him for any sign.

Elliot breathlessly laughs, his curls bouncing as his smile reaches his tear-stricken eyes, “youre full of surprises arent you?” He says, the dimmed lights around glowing brighter around him. Elliot leans closer, his warm breath mingling with Chances, “Make me yours, Chance.”

The thread of composure snaps instantly, and Chance surges forward, smashing his lips onto Elliot’s in a bruising manner, his teeth slightly clacking with the pizza workers that makes him yelp in surprise but the way Elliot presses his lips back, the way he cradles Chances face makes Chances heart elevate into euphoria.

Chance pours his heart into the kiss, occasionally breaking to catch a breath before going back in as if Elliot’s lips were addictive enough to be a drug that sends warmth throughout his body, that makes his heart beat wildly like thunder, that makes his stomach flutter. Elliot kisses back with fervor, his hands gliding down from Chance's face to the lapels of his suit, grabbing them and yanking them forward, making both of them slightly stumble. 

Chance nips at Elliot’s bottom lip making the robloxian quietly gasp, and like the recurring sun, Elliot lets him. Chance doesnt waste a second and surges forwards again, his tongue exploring every crevice and bump, dancing with Elliot’s tongue that makes him moan sharply, the sound sending a warming shock through Chance's body.

Elliot walks back, his grip on Chances lapels still tight, the back of his knees bumping against the couch, making the robloxian stumble while still chasing the soft feeling of Chance's lips. They fall back onto the couch with a grunt—Chance seated between Elliot's legs, as he kisses Elliot gently, with tenderness, a change from the harsh kisses.

Elliot throws his head back and laughs breathlessly, his messy curls unfurling on the couch, his lips swollen after being kissed harshly. Chance leans down and softly kisses Elliots throat, the flesh new and unmarked. Chance looks up from his shades with continuous soft kisses in different places, seeing Elliot curiously watching him. something carnal in his eyes, his pupils blown out.

Chance smirks, and bites—slowly adding more pressure to the mark making Elliot sharply gasp, his hand darting to Chances shoulder as the gambler bites again, and again before going lower with nips, followed by kisses. Chance stops, a soft sound of displeasure makes Elliot lift his head up.

“Whas’ wrong?” Elliot slurs, slightly lifting a brow at Chance, who continues to look at his neck, admiring it like a piece of art.

Chance kisses him, “Need to feel you,” He says between kisses—already lifting Elliots polo and turtleneck together, though with a slight struggle. 

Elliot simply chuckles, pushing Chances hands away and taking off the fabric in two moves. Slight cold air hits Elliot’s body making him shiver. 

Chance brings a hand to Elliots chest, his hand trailing down soft skin, muscles tensing at the soft touch, and the rhythmatic fall and rise of breathing. Chance admires through the dim lighting of the living room and the familiar moonbeams that fall through the slits from the curtains. The clash of warm orange and blues simply make Chance breathless.

Chance leans down, and kisses Elliot with soft tenderness, “Youre so beautiful.” he says between paused kisses. Chance delves back in, giving another gentle kiss, “and you dont even know it… do you?”

Elliot flushes, not used to being admired this much or this way. warm blood pooling at his cheeks that were streaked with tears. He looks away avoiding Chances intense gaze that sets him ablaze but Chance grabs his chin forcing him to look at the gambler. Chance presses his lips against Elliot's, hard but tender and loving enough Elliot feels as though he might break at the gentleness of admiration.

“Chance—” Elliot mumbles—his body feels warm against Chances, his slacks feel tighter, a thin coat of sweat already building.

“Let me love you, doll,” Chance whispers, his breath warm against Elliot's skin it makes him shiver, “Please.”

Elliot nods and Chance drowns him in adoration hes never felt before. His kisses going from sweet and loving to bruising and carnal, his bites that explore his body going from small nips to bites that leave an angry red mark thatll last for weeks—it doesnt change the fact that it makes a moan rip out of his chest, makes him gasp at the kisses on his navel, makes heat shoot down to his lower stomach that makes Elliots pants feel tighter with each changing kiss.

Before things could get heated further, Chance abruptly pauses, lifting Elliot in a bridal carry and speed walks, barely running through a hallway that leads to a series of stairs, leading up to a second floor. Elliot grabs Chances shoulder for leverage, his mind growing hazy from the heated kisses—the sound of the door swinging open and shutting behind them sounds as distant as any rational thought—not like there would be any.

Chance walks up to the plush bed, dropping Elliot ripping a yelp out of him. he loosens his tie, throwing it to the side alongside the blazer. Chance tries to unbutton his shirt, his fingers fumbling with the buttons as he curses under his breath. Elliot laughs and crawls over, gently putting his hands over Chances, and unbuttons, one by one. His gaze meeting Chance—the pure tensity of it sends shocking waves of warmth, each wave making the tightness in his pants unbearable as a lovely warming shade of red greets his cheeks.

by the time the shirt goes loose, Chance dives in—catching Elliot’s lips in another heated kiss that makes him tilt his head, slipping his tongue in that makes Elliot moan into it. The shirt falls without so much as a sound somewhere in the room. 

Chance leans away, making work with Elliot’s belt as Chance nips his growing sensitive neck, slipping it off effortlessly as it clatters onto the ground. Elliot’s mind begins to grow hazy, feeling warm, gentle fingers slip his slacks off, the cold air of a new room hitting his bare legs as he sprawls over the bed. Chance briefly joins, kissing his navel and ascending to his collarbone, his clothing gone matching with Elliot, who lies bare with only his boxer briefs, a clear visible tent growing.

Chance disappears again, and the sound of a drawer being pulled open makes Elliot whine. “Easy, doll.” Chance says, leaning over Elliot with a sly smirk. His hands land on Elliot’s hips, his thumbs playing with the hem of his boxers. waiting.

Elliot nods, and the garment slips off his muscled thighs, cold air hitting every inch of his lower body, making him shiver, his hard aching cock twitching, beads of precum beginning to drop as the cold air does nothing to quell the fire that burns throughout his body. Chance leans back, his eyes—uncovered and open with blown pupils, it covers any semblance of color—examining every inch of skin, every stretch and mark, his eyes—blazing with heat and something carnal—linger on the red marks that Chance gave him. “Beautiful,” he mumbles, crawling back between Elliot’s legs and kisses his shoulder, "So beautiful.” he leans away, slipping the last garment off making his cock spring up the cold air making him shudder, he he throws the piece of clothing onto the floor, joining the scattered pile.

Chance grabs the bottle of lube, flicking it open with a click and pours a plentiful amount, slicking his fingers before turning his attention to Elliot. all spread out and waiting for him, marked up and panting—his chest rising and falling rapidly, his legs spread with his cock hard and flushed red with clear beads of pre falling down the length, his loose curls sprawled on the gray pillows like shining gold from the moonlight that pours into the bedroom, his arm covering his eyes though it doesn’t hide the flush of arousal in his cheeks, a thin sheet of sweat already covering his face.

Chance smiles and crawls back over Elliot, seated back between his legs,, two of his fingers barely teasing—ghosting over Elliot’s rim it makes him gasp at the cold featherlight touch before slowly pushing in with little resistance. it was like Elliot’s body knew whose touch it was, like familiarity as Chance lets his fingers rest inside of Elliot, who twitches uncontrollably as Chances fingers slowly thrust his fingers in and out. Some slick substance falling out from Elliot’s hole as Chance scissors him open, stretches him open, it subtly burns. it makes Elliot’s breath hitch, makes him gasp as he grabs the bedsheets—a curling warmth of arousal slowly builds.

“fuck, Chance—“ Elliot whines. Chance curls his fingers, still slowly, torturously thrusting, stretching with a lingering burn but searching as his fingers slowly sink deeper, making a lewd squelch as he does. Chances eyes linger and examine Elliot as he writhes and trembles, as he moans and mewls into the open air of the bedroom, his flushed cock twitching, precum barely pooling on Elliot’s lower abdomen.

“so pretty… doing so good for me,” Chance mumbles, kissing the hollow of Elliot’s throat. feeling the divine warm sensation of Elliot’s walls clenching and pulsing around his fingers as they continue with their motions. a particular thrust and curl against a sweet bundle of nerves makes Elliot scream with a violent flinch, makes his toes curl, his arm wrapping around Chance, nails scratching at Chance's back, leaving a sting in their wake. Chance tries to hit the same spot again, nipping and kissing his neck as he does, the volume of Elliot’s moans increasing by the minute.

“doin’ so good, doll.” Chance curls his fingers again, slowly slipping in another digit that makes Elliot throw his head back at the burning sensation of the stretch, “jus’ like that.” 

Elliot tries to buck his hips for more, his hard cock leaking and achingly hurting, but Chance keeps him rooted in place—a bruising grip on his waist. Elliot’s body trembles, warmth pooling in his lower abdomen now turning into a churning heat unable to ignore as Chance picks up the pace—now, thrusting in with the burning stretch and curling his fingers in the wet heat of Elliot’s hole, loud squelches in their wake as Elliot can feel extra lube pour out of him.

“C-Chance—“ Elliot curses, his back arching—trying to get more as his hips try to move with Chances fingers that thrust in and out of him. teetering on the edge of release that builds. Chances gaze stays on Elliot with an aroused carnal desire, the way he’s gasping, the way he’s trying to close his legs but cant as Chance curls his fingers again, hitting the same spot that makes Elliot’s moan louder with a tremble, makes him scratch Chances back albeit slightly, makes him see stars as Chance feels Elliot’s walls clench down into his fingers. He can tell Elliot is close, coming undone, untouched, ready to reach climax as strung out moans and whimpers fill the room—and only by Chance's fingers. It makes something possessive gnaw at him, Chance did this to Elliot—no one else did.

Chance stops and slips his fingers out with a soft slick; the extra lube follows his fingers, leaving the warmth of Elliot’s hole that flutters. Elliot whines at the sensation of feeling empty, his chest heaving with harsh pants. Chance leans back, flicking the bottle of lube back open, and pours a hefty amount over his length that sits aching and leaking.

Chance leans in, wrapping Elliot’s legs that feel like jelly around his waist and grips Elliot’s slim waist, his well endowed heavy cock sitting on Elliots stomach. Chance trails gentle kisses up to Elliot’s sweaty neck, his flesh sensitive and twitching. “Tell me—tell me you want this, doll.”

Elliot pants, his arms wrapping around Chance's neck, “Chance—“

“tell me,” 

Elliot pulls Chance closer, his voice rough; “fuck— please, just fuck me, please.”

Chance lines the head of his cock with Elliot’s rim—slick with lube, and pushes. bit by bit, as tight velvety wet heat envelops his entire length, splitting open Elliot’s warm walls that take him entirely. Chance pauses briefly, only halfway through to catch his breath, to keep from fucking Elliot silly, and with a last restraint, he pushes his entire cock in one go—his hips hitting Elliot’s ass with a loud wet slap making Elliot moan loudly.

“Ah!—Shit—Chance—“ Elliot gasps, his head hazy with lust—fogging any rationality as he moves his hips languidly against Chances, his cock moving slightly inside of him though not enough to quell—to satisfy the heat that coils—that burns in his lower stomach, one last push to send him over the edge of climax.

Chance's hands trail to Elliot’s hips. He wants to remember this moment, wants to remember the way Elliot moves and sounds and feels around him. He wants to love Elliot and present his heart on a platter to Elliot all over again. 

slowly, Chance pulls out to the tip of his cock, and thrusts back in. rough, but loving enough Chance hopes Elliot can feel it burning through him as they connect with a wet slap. Elliot tightens his legs around Chance's waist, urging for more as a moan slips past red, swollen, kissed lips that Chance tenderly delves back into. 

Chance rocks his hips, a rhythm of rough but tender movements, his cock barely scraping by the sweet abused bundle of nerves—warm walls that open and tighten around his length, precum and lube mixing, slowly dripping out of Elliot’s hole whenever Chance slides his cock out. Chance gently kisses his shoulder, his collarbone, his pec, every spot littered with bites that his lips can touch. Chance presses a soft kiss to it.

“Ah!—Chance, Go—oh, fuck, ngh— Go faster…” Elliot tries to move his hips, urging Chance to go in deeper, hit that spot that makes him see stars that Chance is endlessly teasing him with, but Chance only rocks his hips in and out slowly, it should be enough to be considered torture. Languid hips try to match Chances' rough thrusts, uncoordinated, desperate, needy.

Chance's grip on Elliot's hips tightens, willing them to still as another slow, rough thrust echoes through the walls, “Relax, doll... Doin' so good, still so tight, jus' fer me...” 

Elliots nails drag across Chances shoulders, leaving red marks tinged with a sting of pain, soft kisses and nips at his body that feel too gentle—too raw. Chances hands trail from the curve of his ass, to his thighs that tremble as they hold onto Chances waist and back to Elliot’s waist where soft purple bloom like newly born nightshades. devotion, adoration, worship, loving. The full weight of being loved that felt raw, the intensity of the feeling stirred something in him. Elliot doesn't try to hold back the tears that flood him from feelings that overwhelm him as Chance cherishes him like something sacred, something worth worshipping with the same reverence as a religious follower, something in the world worth looking at.

Chance kisses Elliot's cheek—gentle, tender. He pauses, feeling his lips coming into contact with the tears that stream down. Concern hetches on his face, visible with beads of sweat that coat their bodies, a question barely on the tip of his tongue. Elliot shakes his head and rocks his hips, making Chances cock thrust in only slightly but enough for a semblance of friction—a semblance to continue and Chance wastes no time. Leaning back and grabbing Elliots hips, slamming his cock balls deep, into the tight heat that envelops his length—his cock hitting the sweet bundle of nerves.

“Ah!—Fuck, Chance!” Elliot throws his head back and arches his back, seeing stars as his brain short-circuits, drool falling down his face, mixing with the tears that flow freely, his hands grab the sheets, his knuckles turning white. The scorching feeling of fire pooled low in his abdomen releasing, spurts of white liquid covering his abdomen. Chance groans, his brows furrowing with sweat dripping, feeling Elliot tighten around his cock, his warm walls pulsing—squeezing and moving around his length as if trying to milk him.

“Fuck—Ellie,” Chance doesnt move an inch, simply watching Elliot writhe and twitch from his explosive orgasm that tore through him, his thighs trembling with his chest heaving with his head thrown back onto the pillows. Chance combs a hand through his drenched sweaty hair that sticks to his forehead, mild soreness biting at the muscles of his lower body. Chance slowly begins to pull out, his heart relishing with making Elliot this way—this messy and disheveled.

Elliot wraps his legs around Chance again, pushing his cock balls deep as before making a choked groan erupt from the robloxian, “Don’t, oh god— Dont you fuckin’ stop, keep, ngh—keep going.” His heated gaze meeting Chances, his eyes blazing with sensitive overstimulation and leftover burning arousal. 

Chance lets his head hang, a breathless chuckle leaving his lips as he slightly shakes his head. his tongue licking his golden tooth that shines, “Youre gonna be the fuckin’ death o’ me, you know that?” Chance grabs Elliots thighs, sliding his hands behind his knees, and slowly spreads his legs open, showing the mess between his legs. 

Elliot makes a choked embarrassed sound and quickly covers his mouth. a large surge of warmth courses through his body engulfing him whole, his once spent limp cock twitching back to life with beads of precum already forming at the flushed tip. a clear bright red flush overtaking his face and shoulders, his eyes teary. 

Chance pulls out slightly—halfway—giving a slow experimental thrust, watching his cock slowly sink into Elliot’s body. fully disappearing inside of the pizza worker as Chance sinks to the hilt, his navel kissing the swell of Elliot’s ass. He slowly pulls out, his cock reappearing halfway before disappearing into Elliot’s body, ripping a quick muffled moan out of him, sending shocks across his body and igniting the fire that coils in his lower belly again, settling like embers. Chance bends Elliot in half slightly, his face only a lunging kiss away. “Let me hear you, baby. can you do that for me?” 

Elliot nods, taking his hand off his mouth slowly. his face still flushed and sweaty. strands of blonde hair sticking to his face.

“that’s a good boy.” and Chance begins to move his hips, setting a pace far different than before. his hips colliding with Elliot’s ass with a loud wet slap—his cock kissing and ramming the bundle of nerves that makes Elliot writhe, his words cut short with loud moans that full the room sounding like a symphony only Chance is able to hear, intense pleasurable jolts coursing through his body stirring and intensifying the heat in his lower stomach.

Chance pistons in and out of Elliot, his rhythm hard and uncontrollable as if he was trying to shape Elliot’s insides. In the heat of the moment, without missing a beat Chance puts Elliot’s legs on his shoulders, grabbing Elliot’s hips before drilling his cock deeper, hitting his prostate more efficiently, more harder, faster—guttural groans and grunts escape Chances mouth, his grip turning bruising as he moves in an animalistic way. the loud sounds when they collide, when Chance pulls out halfway and plunges back in Elliot’s tight warmth, the way the bed rattles against the bedroom wall, it all sounded so erotic.

Elliot can only hold onto the bed sheets for dear life with a white knuckled grip, hoping Chances cock doesn’t split him open as loud and fast ah-ah-ah’s leave his mouth, an occasionally scream as Chance roughly rams his prostate. drool falling down his open mouth, staining the sheets, tears flowing freely from overstimulation as the coil in his lower belly tightens. so good, it all felt so good.

“oh fuck, oh! don’t—oh god!—don’t stop, jus’ like that! Yes! Ah! yes!—“ Elliot throws his head back, his body jolting with Chances rough thrusts that increase by the moment. leftover lube  dripping from his hole when Chance adjusts his grip, ramming into Elliot’s hole with grunts and loud slaps.

“mine, mine, all—fuck—all mine.” Chance grunts, giving a particularly harsh thrust that makes the bed shake, that makes Elliot arch his back and throw his head back with a loud moan tipping on the edge of a scream, showcasing the pretty red marks all over his body, “pretty lil’ thing, ain’tcha?” he continued with a heavy pant, opting to bite at Elliot’s inner thigh, sharp teeth marking soft muscled skin.

Chance feels fire pool and burn in his lower stomach, his climax rapidly approaching—in response, Chance fucks Elliot faster, harder, rougher. he wants to fuck Elliot silly until his insides imprint on Chances cock that no one else will be able to fill, “ Fuck—Ellie, im close—“

“Inside!—Ah! Oh god, fuck! Inside, please, please—“ Elliot cries, his sentence cut by moans and groans. When Chance rams his cock into the abused bundle of nerves again, Elliot’s walls tighten around Chances cock as Elliot screams out his second orgasm, white strings of cum shooting out and landing on the same place his first one had.

Chance gives a few more rough thrusts, pistons in and out and the coil in his lower stomach snaps, his cock shooting white liquid deep inside of Elliot, covering his walls with thick cum, each throb further filling Elliot—Elliot who twitches and trembles like a newborn foal, who’s coated with lovebites inside and out with sweat coated on every inch of his body, who’s chest is heaving trying to catch his breath as his walls pulse and move trying to milk Chances cock dry, cum still filling Elliot’s insides that fat droplets of cum slowly, messily spill out of his well loved and abused hole. ethereal, Elliot looks ethereal.

Chance lets Elliot’s legs fall to his sides. hes sure Elliot won’t be able to walk come morning. a possessive part in the far end of his mind hopes Elliot doesn’t. 

They sit there in a blissful silence, trying to catch their breath in the heated bedroom. Chances cock gone soft inside Elliot. With a begrudging hiss, Chance pulls out with a wet slick sound, more droplets of cum dripping out of Elliot’s hole, his rim red and puffy as it flutters around nothing. Chance scoops up some, and softly pushes it back in—making a small tired whine erupt from Elliot.

he crawls over Elliot, his face messy and wet. drool and tears combined that stain the sheets below. he kisses Elliot’s cheek softly, lovingly. “i’ll be right back, doll.”

Chance pads to the dark bathroom attached to the bedroom, flicking the lights on and grabbing a small towel drenching it in water and squeezes out the excess water before repeating his movements, leaving the door open with the lights turned off. 

Elliot looks like he’s in euphoria, half asleep with half lidded eyes and a small wobbly smile adorning his features. he looks like a cat sprawled over the sun's warmth as he shines. Chance saves the image to memory, a small smile of his own etching itself onto his face. 

Chance makes quick work, wiping down the half dried cum on Elliot’s abdomen, the sweat and drool on his face, and the erotic picture of Chances cum slowly dripping out of Elliot. Chance feels his cock give a little twitch. He shakes his head, hastily wiping himself down and throwing the wet towel somewhere near the couch as he grabs a fresh, clean shirt along with Elliot’s forgotten pair of boxer briefs.

Chance leans over Elliot's figure again, softly kissing his cheekbone, "Lift yourself fer’ me, baby,” 

Elliot hums and lifts his hips. Chance can see sleep calling, Elliot wants to fall into her lull. Chance makes do, slipping on the noir briefs and the shirt—his assumption true, Chances shirt hanging loose from Elliot's lean body. 

Only then, the gambler notices Elliot slowly lulling into sleep’s embrace as he pulls the duvet over Elliot's body—barely on the brink of going between dozing off and staying awake. Chance quickly fetches himself fresh plaid pants and his forgotten boxer briefs, the soft fabric slipping on easily.

Chance didn't expect himself to hesitate to lie next to Elliot, standing awkwardly beside the bed where the empty spot beckoned him. 

Elliot stirs, his eyes cracking open slightly, and opens his arms, “come ‘ere,” he mumbles, his arm lifting the duvet.

Chance doesn't waste a second, instantly wrapping his arms around the pizza worker and tucking his head under his chin, their legs tangling under the sheets. Elliot sighs softly—sounding lovestruck— as he wraps his arms around Chance, his fingers idly playing with Chance's hair, Elliot's nails occasionally scratching his scalp. 

Chance hopes this moment, come mornings sunlight, is real. He hopes hell wake up to Elliot in the heavy trance of slumber in his shirt that fits Elliot a couple sizes too big, the sunlight shining on his features that makes him glow—but the small pestering dread in the back of his head makes him doubt, makes him cling closer to Elliots body—as if hes going to disappear like a phantom in the night like last time.

Chance was never one to pray or wish, but for once, he secretly prays that Elliot would stay with him.

Elliot combs through Chance's hair, his cheek resting on the gambler's head—he's always been observant, noticing even the smallest of things.

“Whas' on your mind?” Elliot mumbles—sleep clinging to every word heavily, his voice muffled by his squished cheek.


“I love you.” 

His heart beats wildly, fully presenting it on a silver platter to Elliot, who stays quiet. his domestic movements pausing—it makes Chance's heart spike, makes the dread speak louder as doubt eats at him. Maybe Chance thought wrong, misunderstood everything, and poured his everything thoughtlessly. Maybe—

“I think i love you too,” Elliot responds after a brief moment, his movements resuming. 

And Chance feels his stomach burst into flutters of euphoria. His heart flourishes, fireworks distantly setting off in the back of his head, setting him off on cloud nine, scaring the shadows of doubt, quick and haunting as they came. a stupid, dopey smile instantly made itself known on his face. He cuddles Elliot closer and listens to his heartbeat, his own heart synchronizing with Elliots that slows down along with his breathing that turns deeper.

Chance would wait until the end of time, he would wait until Elliot is ready—until then, he'll adore and treasure Elliot like a muse. 

And Chance would consider it enough as the night takes them both to a blissful sleep.