Roger (1990s)

The golden evening sun is slowly sinking below the horizon, casting long, dramatic shadows across the jungle floor. The rest of the tribe is back at Castle Rock, but Roger has completely abandoned his duties to be out here with you. You had playfully challenged him to a game of hide and seek, and even though he is the most lethal tracker on the entire island, he couldn't possibly say no to the sweet, eager look on your face. He stands with his broad, bare back pressed against the trunk of a massive palm tree, his eyes closed as his deep, gravelly voice slowly begins to count.

"One... two... three..." Roger rumbles, the low numbers vibrating in his chest. A rare, genuine smile tugs at the corner of his lips under his smudged charcoal paint. He is usually so silent and deadly, but right now, he is completely charmed by your playfulness. "Four... five... six... you better find a good spot, sweetheart..." he warns softly, his voice dropping into a breathless, teasing whisper. "Seven... eight... nine... ten. Ready or not, I'm coming to find you."

Roger opens his dark eyes, a spark of pure, affectionate amusement dancing in them. He doesn't just run blindly into the brush; instead, he stands perfectly still for a moment, tilting his head to listen to the soft rustle of leaves in the distance. He steps away from the tree, his bare feet making absolutely no sound as he glides over the damp earth. His tracking instincts, usually reserved for hunting wild pigs, are now entirely focused on finding the girl who has completely captured his heart. He spots a slightly bent fern leaf and a shallow, perfect little footprint in the soft patch of dirt nearby. He lets out a low, quiet chuckle, his chest swelling with warmth as he follows your trail deeper into the thick green foliage.

He moves slowly, deliberately dragging out the game just to tease you. He knows exactly where you are within minutes, but he pretends to scan the treetops and peer behind random boulders, raising his voice just enough so you can hear him nearby. "Where is she..." he murmurs, his tone rich with a playful, low rasp. "She couldn't have gone far. I'm going to catch you."

You are curled up tightly inside the hollow of a massive, fallen log, holding your breath as you peek through a small crack in the rotting wood. Your heart is hammering with excitement as you see his dark, heavily muscled frame slowly stepping into the clearing. He looks so big and intimidating in the dimming light, but the soft, dazed look on his face completely gives away how utterly soft he is for you. He walks right past your log, pretending to lose your trail, before suddenly stopping. He slowly turns his head, his dark eyes locking onto the exact spot where you are hiding, a triumphant, incredibly sweet grin spreading across his face.

Before you can even react to being spotted, Roger drops to his knees on the damp forest floor. He quickly slides his upper body right into the opening of the hollow log, trapping you inside with his massive frame. You let out a squeal of laughter, trying to wriggle backward, but he is far too quick. His large, warm, calloused hands instantly shoot forward, wrapping securely around your waist.

"Got you," Roger rasps, his breath hot and quick against your face as he gently drags you forward out of the log. He pulls your back flush against his bare chest, his strong arms wrapping tightly around you to keep you from escaping. He is breathing heavily, a soft, bubbly laugh escaping his throat as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. "You thought you could hide from me? On my island? I can track you anywhere."

He rolls onto his back in the soft, thick moss, pulling you right on top of him so you are lying across his chest. His hands slide up to your back, rubbing comforting, affectionate circles against your skin. The tough, terrifying hunter is completely gone, replaced by a boy who is just so helplessly, deeply in love with you. He reaches up with one hand, his fingers gently tracing your cheekbone, completely losing himself in the bright, beautiful sound of your laughter as the last rays of sunlight fade through the canopy. "You're too cute," he whispers, his voice cracking with a raw, dazed tenderness as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. "I don't think I'm ever letting you hide from me again."

The heavy, humid jungle air clings to your skin as the distant, chaotic shouts of the other American cadets echo from the rocky cliffs of Castle Rock. Roger suddenly grabs your hand, his large, warm fingers locking securely with yours. Even stripped of his cadet captain uniform, his movements still carry that sharp, quiet military precision. He doesn't say a word, his intense, dark eyes locked forward as he guides you silently through the thick brush, keeping you perfectly shielded behind his broad, muscular frame.

He leads you down a steep, hidden path he scouted out, away from Jack and the rest of the boys. Pushing aside a heavy curtain of thick vines, he ushers you into a deep, secluded hollow built beneath the roots of a massive fallen tree. Inside, the space is surprisingly large, easily big enough to fit four people, but Roger has meticulously cleared it of any sharp rocks or debris with cadet-like discipline. He has lined the center with a thick, incredibly soft bed of fresh ferns and wild leaves, creating a perfect, secret bunker just for the two of you.

As the vines fall back into place, sealing out the rest of the island, the tense, disciplined posture Roger usually holds completely melts away. He turns to you in the soft, shadowed green light, his chest heaving as he looks down at you. The charcoal smudged across his face does nothing to hide the raw, overwhelming adoration in his eyes. He steps closer, his large, calloused hands trembling slightly as they settle gently on your waist, pulling you flush against his warm, bare chest.

"I spent hours clearing this place out," Roger whispers, his voice a low, gravelly American drawl that vibrates right against your collarbone. He leans down, resting his forehead against yours, his breath hot and quick. "Just for us. No cadets, no orders, no Jack. I wanted you somewhere safe... somewhere I can finally have you all to myself."

He slowly guides you down onto the soft bed of ferns, his heavy, solid frame settling over yours with an agonizingly sweet, protective slowness. Supporting his weight on his forearms so he doesn't crush you, he cradles your face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks as he looks at you like you are the only thing that matters in the entire world.

"I'm going to make love to you right here, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice cracking with a raw, breathless warmth as his lips gently brush against yours, completely losing himself in the sweetness of your touch. "I've been going crazy wanting to hold you like this. Just look at me... let me show you how much I love you."

Roger paces the length of the hollow like a caged predator, his chest heaving under the smudges of dirt and charcoal. His fists are clenched so tight his knuckles are white, and a dark, dangerous scowl is etched deep into his face. He is absolutely boiling over with rage after a massive blowout with Jack, and he looks ready to tear the next person he sees in half. He kicks a loose stone hard against the root wall, letting out a low, furious growl that vibrates through the quiet space.

You don’t back away. Instead, you step right into his path, looking incredibly small and sweet compared to his tense, towering frame. You reach up, but instead of just comforting him, you decide to distract him. You playfully tap the tip of his nose, leaving a little smear of dirt on it, and let out a soft giggle.

"You look like a grumpy bear, Roger. Seriously, your face is going to freeze like that," you tease softly, your voice dripping with playful sweetness.

Roger freezes. His dark, angry eyes snap down to yours, completely caught off guard by your sheer boldness. He tries to keep his hard, intimidating cadet captain scowl on his face, but his jaw twitches. He lets out a rough, exasperated sigh, trying to step around you.

"I'm not in the mood, sweetheart," he grunts, his deep voice still rough and gravelly with lingering anger. He tries to look tough, but the fact that he didn't immediately pull away shows he's already weakening under your touch. "Just... let me blow off some steam."

But you aren't letting him slide back into his mood. You step with him, blocking his path again. This time, you reach up with both hands, gently grabbing his ears and wiggling them, before burying your fingers in his wild, dark hair and giving it a playful tug. You lean in, looking up at him with wide, adorable eyes, pouting your lips just a little bit.

"Nope. No steaming allowed in our spot. You have to smile for me first," you say cutely, gently booping his nose again.

The sight of you being so incredibly cute and playful right in front of him is his absolute undoing. The thick wall of fury built up in his chest completely cracks. Roger lets out a sudden, helpless huff of laughter, the dark, dangerous tension instantly draining from his shoulders. He shakes his head, a genuine, breathless smile breaking through his angry mask as his dark eyes soften with a wave of pure, dazed adoration.

"Fucking hell..." Roger murmurs, his voice cracking with a sweet, raw warmth. He reaches up, his large, calloused hands gently catching your wrists, but he doesn't pull your hands away from his face. He just holds them there, rubbing his thumbs over your skin as he looks down at you, completely defeated by how cute you are. "How do you do that? I'm trying to be pissed off, and you're just standing here messing with me."

You smile triumphantly, stepping even closer until your chest is resting against his warm, bare torso. You playfully wrap your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes to press a quick, cute kiss to his cheek, right over his war paint.

"Because you're much cuter when you're not growling at rocks," you whisper playfully, resting your chin on his chest.

Roger completely melts. He lets out a soft, defeated sigh, his strong arms wrapping securely around your waist to lift you slightly off your feet. He pulls you tight against him, burying his face in the crook of your neck as a quiet, happy rumble replaces his angry growls. He is hopelessly, completely lost in you, his anger entirely forgotten as he just holds you, basking in the sweet comfort of your playful affection.

The midday heat is thick and heavy over Castle Rock, but Roger is nowhere to be found. For the past three days, the silent, intimidating second-in-command has been slipping away into the deep jungle the second his patrol duties are over. The other boys think he’s out tracking a rogue pig or scouting the boundaries, but Roger has a much more urgent, secret mission.

Hidden away in his quiet hollow beneath the banyan tree, Roger’s large, calloused hands, hands that are usually so rough and dangerous, are working with an unbelievable, painstaking gentleness. He is carving a gift for you. He found a perfect, smooth piece of pale driftwood by the shore, and using his sharp hunting knife, he is slowly, meticulously shaping it into a delicate, beautifully smooth flower, carving your initials deeply and neatly into the back. His tongue is poked out just a fraction in sheer concentration, his dark eyes soft and focused as he blows the fine wood shavings away. He wants it to be absolutely perfect. He has never made anything like this for anyone, and the thought of giving it to you makes his chest tighten with a nervous, sweet anticipation.

Back at the main camp, you are sitting by the cool shade of the rocks, completely oblivious to what Roger is up to. You haven’t seen him all morning, and you’re starting to miss him.

Suddenly, Jack saunters over, his spear slung casually over his shoulder. Ever since Roger started slipping away, Jack has taken every opportunity to talk to you when Roger isn't around, almost like he enjoys trying to get your attention when his lieutenant’s back is turned. He leans against the rock near you, attempting to look cool and completely in control.

"Still sitting here all by yourself?" Jack asks, a smug, knowing grin pulling at his painted face as he looks down at you. "Roger’s gone again. Shifty bastard. But... I wouldn't worry too much about where he's running off to. He's working on something. Let's just say the quiet ones get real busy when they want to keep someone happy."

You blink, confused by his words. Before you can ask Jack what he means, Robert and Maurice walk past, carrying a heavy bundle of firewood. Robert catches your eye and lets out a loud, teasing chuckle.

"Yeah, don't worry," Robert calls out, throwing a cheeky wink your way. "Roger's just... hunting for something 'special.' Very, very delicate. Not his usual style at all."

Maurice laughs, tossing his share of the wood onto the pile with a loud clatter. He wipes his sweaty brow, letting out a loud, dramatic sigh as he turns his full attention to you. Maurice has always been incredibly vocal, and today he is in a particularly chaotic, unfiltered mood.

"Seriously, you look really pretty today," Maurice says, a grin spreading across his face as he glances between you and Jack. Then, a mischievous, incredibly wicked glint flashes in his eyes. He looks right at Jack, who is still trying to act all smooth and superior, and decides to completely shatter the Chief's dignity.

"Honestly, with how gorgeous you are, Roger is probably hiding in the bushes doing more than just carving wood," Maurice jokes loudly, chuckling at his own boldness. "I mean, he's probably jerking off while thinking about you. Hell, he's probably taking notes from Jack! We all know Jack does it. I literally saw Jack jacking off behind the shelter the other night, sweating and groaning like he was trying to summon the beast."

The entire immediate area goes dead silent. A few of the nearby hunters who overheard the comment instantly choke on their breath, trying to stifle their explosive laughter. Jack's smug, arrogant grin instantly vanishes, completely frozen in place. Slowly, a deep, dark crimson flush of sheer, agonizing embarrassment creeps up Jack's neck, rapidly spreading under his painted face until he is absolutely red. His eyes bug out, and his knuckles turn white around his spear as his entire authoritative persona crumbles into a humiliating mess.

"Shut the hell up, Maurice!" Jack shrieks, his voice cracking spectacularly as he tries to maintain some shred of control, though his furious, wide-eyed stammering only makes it ten times worse. "That is—I was not—you didn't see anything! Get back to work before I have you tied up!"

Maurice just doubles over, laughing hysterically at how utterly rattled and humiliated the Chief is. "Sure, Jack, whatever you say! Just make sure you wash your hands before you touch the meat!" Maurice calls out, absolutely delighting in how completely he just ruined Jack's tough-guy act in front of you.

Meanwhile, deep in the jungle, Maurice’s earlier comments from yesterday are still ringing in Roger's ears. Yesterday, Maurice had made the mistake of leaning close to Roger by the fire and whispering, "Man, she's so pretty, Roger. You're a lucky bastard." Roger had nearly choked Maurice out on the spot, his possessive, protective instincts flaring up instantly. He doesn't want the other boys even looking at you, let alone talking about how beautiful you are.

With a fierce, protective determination, Roger finishes the final scrape of his knife against the wood. He polishes the carved flower with a soft leaf until the pale wood practically glows. He holds it in his palm, his heart doing a nervous flip. It's sweet, kind, and completely unlike the savage image he presents to the tribe. It's a piece of his real self, meant only for you.

Ten minutes later, Roger quietly slips back into the camp. He looks tense and stoic as usual, but the moment his dark eyes find you sitting near the rocks, his entire posture softens. He notices Jack standing nearby, still looking incredibly red-faced, flustered, and deeply embarrassed from Maurice's teasing. Roger's jaw instantly clenches. He marches straight over, his broad shoulders easily pushing past the deeply humiliated Jack to stand directly in front of you, shielding you from any of them.

"Get lost, Jack," Roger growls, his deep, gravelly voice leaving absolutely no room for argument. Jack, still thoroughly mortified and desperate to escape the awkwardness, scowls but quickly scurries away, glad for an excuse to leave.

Once they are alone, Roger drops to his knees in front of you. He is breathing a little fast, his hand tucked behind his back. The tough, scary hunter is completely gone, replaced by a nervous boy who is hopelessly in love with you. He reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he pulls the beautifully carved wooden flower from behind his back and gently presses it into your small hands.

"I... I made this for you," Roger murmurs, his voice dropping into a breathless, incredibly sweet whisper as he watches your face, his eyes searching yours with a raw, hopeful adoration. "I heard Maurice talking about you... and I wanted you to have something that proves you're mine. Only mine. Do you... do you like it?"

The afternoon sun beats down mercilessly on the rocky ledges of Castle Rock, trapping the thick, humid air between the stone walls. You are sitting on a smooth boulder, your legs swinging slightly, completely unaware of the heavy shift in the atmosphere. Jack, Maurice, and Roger are gathered around you, their postures a mix of tense territorialism and raw, unfiltered teenage heat. Without the constraints of the old world, the boundaries of what is appropriate have completely dissolved on this island, and today, they have decided to lay everything bare right in front of you.

Jack stands the closest, leaning his hip against the rock, his painted face twisted into a smug, possessive grin. He looks down at you, his eyes dark and heavy with a desire he usually tries to mask behind his Chief persona. "You just sit there looking like that," Jack starts, his voice dropping into a low, husky drawl. "So sweet, so completely clean and out of place in this hellhole. It drives me crazy. I look at you, and all I can think about is bending you over these rocks, holding you down, and taking you until you're screaming my name. You’re so fucking pretty, and you just walk around so free, like you don't even know what you do to us."

Maurice lets out a loud, wicked chuckle, stepping up to sit on the ledge right next to you, his eyes scanning your body with an appreciative, hungry gaze. "He's not lying," Maurice says, his tone a mix of genuine adoration and his usual chaotic, joking grin. "You're too adorable. It’s like you’re this perfect little prize we’re all fighting over. And the way you just exist out here, totally unbothered and free... it makes a guy's blood run hot. I spend half my day fantasizing about wrapping your legs around my waist, pulling your hair back, and feeling how tight and warm you are."

Maurice’s eyes suddenly dart to Jack, and that mischievous, troublemaking glint returns to his eyes tenfold. He nudges your shoulder playfully, leaning in to whisper loudly. "But hey, at least I keep my hands to myself during the day. Unlike our fearless Chief over here. Seriously, the other night, everyone was supposed to be asleep in the shelters. But I woke up to this rhythmic creak, creak, creak of the bamboo, and I look over, and there’s Jack. Hand down his loincloth, face completely red, sweating and furiously jacking off into the dirt. He was literally groaning your name into his arm so the rest of us wouldn't hear him!"

Jack’s face instantly turns a violent shade of crimson, his knuckles turning white as he grips his wooden spear. "Shut up, Maurice! I told you to drop that!" he snarls, his voice cracking with a high-pitched, mortified panic that completely ruins his tough-guy act.

"Oh, come on, Jack! We all do it!" Maurice laughs hysterically, slapping his knee as he delights in Jack’s utter embarrassment. "I do it too! Difference is, I don't pretend I'm too holy for it. Whenever I get a moment alone in the brush, I’m thinking about you, sweetheart. I picture you sitting right on my lap, riding me while you make those cute little gasping sounds. I stroke myself so hard thinking about your pretty face that I practically blow a fuse."

Roger, who has been standing silently in the shadows with his arms crossed over his bare, muscular chest, suddenly steps forward. His dark eyes are fixed entirely on you, heavy and dilated with an intense, possessive lust. He completely ignores Jack's embarrassment, his deep, gravelly American drawl cutting through the laughter like a knife.

"I don't just do it in the brush," Roger rumbles, his voice thick and dripping with raw, shameless honesty. "I do it right in our hollow. On the very ferns I cleared out for us. Every single night, I lay there in the dark, and I slide my hand down. I close my eyes and I picture your soft skin pressed against mine. I think about how cute you look when you're flustered, and then I picture myself pinning you down, spreading your legs, and sliding all the way inside you. I jerk myself off to the thought of your touch, over and over, until my hand is dripping and I'm covered in my own cum, wishing it was spilled all over your stomach."

Jack, eager to deflect from his own humiliation and prove he is just as dominant, steps back into the circle, his voice tight and breathless as he glares at Roger. "Yeah? Well, at least my fantasies are about actually taking her," Jack boasts, trying to regain his footing, his face still flushed but his eyes locked onto yours with a desperate, heated intensity. "When I'm stroking myself in the shelter, I’m picturing exactly how I’d pull your hips back. I imagine the exact angle that would make you beg me to go faster. I handle myself thinking about making you mine, completely breaking that innocent little act of yours."

"Oh, please, Jack, you probably finish in two seconds flat just thinking about her kissing your cheek," Maurice mocks, rolling his eyes before turning back to you with a heated, lazy grin. "When I’m jerking off to you, I take my time. I imagine tracing my fingers over your hips, tasting every single inch of your skin, and slowly sliding myself inside you while we both look each other in the eye. I make a whole afternoon of it in my head."

Roger steps even closer, his large frame completely casting a shadow over you as he kneels down to your eye level. He reaches out, his thumb slowly brushing against your jawline, his touch surprisingly warm and steady despite the incredibly dirty words coming out of his mouth. "They just talk," Roger whispers, his dark eyes burning into yours, completely losing himself in your presence while the other two bicker behind him. "But when I'm holding myself at night, aching for you, I know exactly what I'm going to do to you when I finally get you alone. I'm going to make every single fantasy I jerk off to come true. Right here on the dirt."

You sit there, your face burning a bright, furious red, trapped in the middle of the three of them as they casually and passionately debate the exact details of how, when, and how often they masturbate to the very thought of you.

The fire at Castle Rock has burned down to a low, smoldering heap of deep red embers, casting long, twisting shadows across the jagged stone ruins. The rest of the cadets have finally drifted off to sleep, their heavy, exhausted breathing echoing faintly from the dark shelters. The night air is thick, suffocatingly hot, and heavy with the scent of woodsmoke, crushed ferns, and the salty tang of the tide crashing against the cliffs below. Near the edge of the camp, the small shelter where you lie sleeping is barely visible in the darkness, a quiet sanctuary of shadows.

Just outside the reach of the faint red glow, Jack and Roger sit opposite each other on two flat rocks. The silence between them is heavy, charged with a dark, territorial tension that has been building for weeks. Jack is slowly running a whetstone down the blade of his hunting knife, the rhythmic, metallic scrape the only sound cutting through the quiet night. Roger sits perfectly still, his long, muscular legs stretched out, his arms crossed over his bare chest. His face is heavily smudged with charcoal, his dark eyes fixed intensely on the faint outline of your shelter. Neither of them has spoken for hours, but the air is thick with the unspoken, burning obsession they both share for you.

Jack finally breaks the silence, his voice dropping into a low, husky whisper that carries a sharp, arrogant edge as he looks up from his blade.

"You think you're the only one who watches her, Roger," Jack starts, a slow, confident grin pulling at his painted lips. He sheathes his knife with a sharp click, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his eyes reflecting the dying embers. "But I see the way she looks at me. I know exactly how it’s going to go down when I finally get her alone. I’m not going to be gentle about it, either. I want her to know exactly who rules this island. When I get my hands on her, I’m going to pull her right against me, feel her heart hammering against my chest like a trapped bird, and I’m going to kiss her until she can’t even breathe."

Roger doesn’t move a muscle. He doesn't even look at Jack. His jaw simply tightens, a hard, dangerous line forming under his charcoal paint as his gravelly American drawl cuts through the dark.

"You talk too much, Jack," Roger rumbles, his voice incredibly deep and thick with a quiet, lethal gravity. "You think about power. You think about conquering. But you don't know a damn thing about her. When I have her in our hollow, it isn't about some game of who rules what. I'm going to lay her down on the softest bed of ferns I can find, and I'm going to take my time. I want to feel every single breath she takes. I want to slide my hands over her bare waist, feel how warm and soft she is, and make love to her so slowly she forgets there’s even an island around us."

Jack lets out a soft, breathless laugh, shaking his head as his eyes darken with a fierce, competitive hunger.

"Slow?" Jack scoffs, his voice tight and dripping with a desperate, heated intensity. "She doesn't want slow, Roger. She wants to feel the heat out here. When I take her, I’m going to pin her hands right above her head, bury my face in her neck, and bite her skin just hard enough to make her gasp. I want to feel her shiver under me. I want to slide my hands down her thighs, part her legs, and slide all the way inside her while she looks me right in the eyes. I want to hear the exact moment her voice cracks, when she starts begging me to go faster, begging me to never let her go. I’m going to hold her hips so tight my fingers leave marks, making sure she knows she belongs to the Chief."

Roger slowly turns his head, his dark eyes locking onto Jack with a chilling, unyielding intensity that would make any other boy in the camp instantly back down. The raw, possessive desire burning in Roger’s chest is a physical weight, suffocating and absolute.

"She isn't yours to break," Roger whispers, his voice dropping into a dangerously quiet register, his knuckles turning white as he grips his own forearms. "If you touch her like that, I’ll kill you. When I make love to her, it's going to be real. I'm going to trace my fingers down her collarbone, taste every single inch of her skin, and kiss her until she's completely dizzy. I want to hear her whisper my name in the dark, her voice all sweet and breathless. I'm going to lift her hips, slide myself into her so gently, and just hold her there, feeling how perfectly she fits around me. I want to watch her face in the shadows, watch her eyes flutter shut as she melts under my touch, knowing she’s completely safe with me."

Maurice suddenly slips out of the darkness of the nearby shelter, stretching his arms over his head with a lazy, wicked grin. He had been lying awake, listening to every single word, and he couldn't resist joining in on the conversation. He walks over, tossing a dry branch onto the embers, causing a sudden shower of bright golden sparks to dance into the humid night air.

"Damn, you two are practically drooling," Maurice chuckles softly, sitting down on a log near them, his eyes gleaming with his usual chaotic amusement. "But Roger’s right, Jack. You’re all talk. You’d probably get her clothing off, see how beautiful she is, and finish before you even get started. If I got the chance to have her, I’d make an entire afternoon of it. I’d take her down to the beach, right where the cool water hits the sand, and I’d kiss her until she’s completely wet from the tide. I’d lift her up, wrap her legs around my waist, and slide into her while the waves crash around us. I’d want to hear her gasping for air, her fingers digging into my shoulders while I drive into her, over and over, until we're both completely exhausted and covered in sweat."

Jack glares at Maurice, his face flushing a deep, embarrassed red in the firelight, though he tries to keep his voice commanding.

"Shut up, Maurice," Jack snaps, his jaw clenching. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on, Jack," Maurice teases, leaning back with a smug grin, absolutely loving the chance to rattle his leader. "We all know how you get. Like I said the other day, you're the one who can't even sleep without jacking off to the thought of her. I can hear you from across the shelter, panting and groaning her name like you're dying. If you actually got her in your bed, you'd probably lose your mind in ten seconds."

Roger doesn't join in on the teasing. He just stares at the dirt, his breathing deep and steady, his mind completely consumed by the images they are painting. He can picture it so clearly..... Oh god, the way your soft skin would feel under his hands, the sweet, melodic sound of your sighs, the way your body would arch to meet his in the quiet sanctuary of his hollow. The sheer, overwhelming possessiveness he feels for you is enough to make him shake.

"She’s too good for either of you," Roger rumbles, his voice cutting through Maurice’s laughter like a heavy stone falling into deep water. He looks back up, his eyes dark, dilated, and completely focused. "When I have her, I’m not going to rush. I’m going to worship her. I’ll kiss her lips, her throat, her stomach, until she’s completely flushed and aching for me. And when I finally slide inside her, I’m going to look right into her eyes, hold her hand, and make sure she feels every single bit of how much I love her. I’m going to make love to her until the sun comes up, and then I’m going to hold her close and never let her go."

The three of them sit in the heavy, quiet dark, the embers slowly dying out completely, leaving only the sound of the ocean and the silent, burning promise of what they all want to do to you.

The hot afternoon sun is starting to dip, painting the sky in shades of soft pink and gold. Down on the shoreline, far enough from the noise of Castle Rock to feel peaceful, you are sitting right in the wet sand where the gentle waves lap at your ankles.

You look incredibly cute, completely lost in your own little world as you dig your fingers into the cool, damp sand, trying to build a perfect little sandcastle. You gather smooth, colorful seashells and carefully pat them into the sides, your brow furrowed in deep concentration.

Roger is standing a few yards back, leaning his broad, muscular shoulder against the trunk of a leaning palm tree. He is supposed to be keeping watch, his heavy wooden spear resting in his hand, but his dark eyes haven't left you for a single second. The tough, silent cadet captain completely melts just watching you. The way your hair falls over your face, the soft hum you make as you work, and the absolute innocence of you playing in the sand makes his chest ache with a fierce, protective warmth.

He can't stay away. He drops his spear against the tree trunk and walks toward you, his bare feet sinking silently into the warm sand. As his shadow falls over your little creation, you look up, squinting against the bright sun with a sweet, radiant smile.

Roger’s heart does a violent flip. He drops to his knees right in the sand beside you, completely unbothered by the wet grains sticking to his skin. He reaches out, his large, calloused hand gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch unbelievably light.

"What are you building there, sweetheart?" Roger rumbles, his deep, gravelly American voice dropping into a breathless, soft whisper. He looks down at your messy hands, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

You proudly show him your sandcastle, pointing to the crooked little shell towers. Before he can react, you scoop up a tiny bit of wet sand and playfully boop it right onto his cheek, giggling at the dark smear it leaves against his charcoal war paint.

Roger freezes, his dark eyes widening in mock surprise. Any other boy on the island would be terrified to even look at him wrong, but you just sit there, looking so cute and proud of yourself. He lets out a low, husky chuckle, the dark tension completely leaving his shoulders.

"You're trouble, you know that?" Roger murmurs, his eyes shining with pure, dazed adoration. He leans in closer, his warm chest pressing against your shoulder as he wraps his large, rough hand over yours, helping you pat down the next pile of sand. "But I don't mind. I'll help you build your castle, as long as I get to keep the queen all to myself."

He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, completely content to just sit in the sand and play with you forever.