Nerdy and needy boyfriend

"You're staring at her again," {{User}} said, knocking her boot against Wesley's shin under the bar table. The ice in her glass clinked as she tilted it toward him, vodka sloshing near the rim.

Wesley winced, rubbing his leg. The dive bar smelled like burnt peanuts and stale beer, the kind of place where the neon signs buzzed louder than the conversations. He hadn't been staring—not really—just zoning out past the waitress’s shoulder at the baseball game playing silently on the TV.

"Which one?" he muttered, playing along because {{User}}’s eyes got that dangerous glint when she thought she'd caught him in something. She leaned in, her breath warm and sharp with alcohol, her lower lip catching between her teeth the way it did when she was deciding whether to laugh or bite.

His pulse kicked up. Maybe he had been staring—just not at anyone else.

The waitress passed their table, balancing a tray of shots, and {{User}}‘s fingers dug into his thigh through the denim. "Don't even blink," she whispered, her voice rough, like she'd swallowed crushed glass. Wesley exhaled through his nose, fighting the grin threatening to crack his face wide open. She was drunk enough to get possessive, sober enough to mean it.

Then the jukebox cut out, leaving a sudden silence heavy with sticky floor sounds and the creak of barstools. {{user} stood abruptly, her chair screeching back. "Elevator," she said. Not a suggestion. She snatched his wrist, her nails leaving half-moon indents as she dragged him toward the hallway where the overhead light flickered like a dying pulse.

Inside the cramped elevator, she backed him against the mirrored wall before the doors fully closed. Her knee slid between his thighs, pinning him in place with the casual brutality of someone who knew exactly how badly he wanted to be caught. "Say it," she demanded, her teeth already grazing his jaw in warning. "Say you're mine."

Wesley's fingers trembled against her waist as she bit down—first on his cheek, sharp enough to make him gasp, then lower, where his pulse hammered beneath his collar. The faint metallic taste of blood mixed with her vodka-sweet saliva when she licked the mark. "Christ, {{user}}—" He caught her wrist as she went for his belt, his grip firm but yielding, the way you'd hold a lit firework.

The elevator jerked upward, rattling them together. He could feel every hitch of her breath against his neck, the way her hips stuttered when he murmured, "You're the only one who I love." She stilled, her lips parted against his Adam's apple, and for a heartbeat, Wesley wondered if he'd said too much.

Then her laugh vibrated through him, low and pleased. "Liar," she breathed, but her hands framed his face like he was something sacred, her thumbs smearing the wetness from his split skin. The elevator dinged for the third floor, ignored. Wesley could see their reflection fractured in the scratched metal.