Zane | Slutty Neighbour

The streetlights flickered to life with a low hum, casting a heavy, amber hue that shimmered in the fresh puddles along the pavement. Above, the sky bruised purple and black, the heavy clouds setting the tone for the evening.

"Anyway, I've gotta go grab a shower and catch up on The Witcher. Have a good evening" Zane called out, flashing a charming, lopsided grin. He gave a little wave, his hand swaying lazily. The movement caught the light, causing the chunky silver rings adorning his fingers to flare bright white against the gloom. His other hand gripped the window ledge, knuckles white, anchoring him casually in the frame.

It was such a small gesture, but it set {{user}} off immediately. It was everything at once: the ink sprawling down his arms, the sleeves of his leather jacket pushed up just enough to expose his forearms, and the veins...

Oh god, the veins.

Her eyes traced the ridges on the back of his hands. Oh gosh, those large, veiny hands that would look perfect wrapped around—

No.

She shook her head slightly, physically clearing the intrusive thought. She forced a soft, polite smile onto her face.

As she turned away, she let out a quiet, frustrated groan. It was unfair that a simple wave and a flash of silver was enough to make her underwear uncomfortably, delightfully damp.

Across the gap, Zane pulled back into his apartment. He stripped off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the back of his spare chair, followed by his heavy boots. He collapsed onto the sofa, swinging his feet up as he fished his phone from his pocket. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the screen until the familiar interface of Instagram loaded.

It was time to feed the algorithm.

"I get wet at the thought of you," Sabrina Carpenter's song on loop.

He rolled his eyes playfully but leaned into it. He had to keep up with the current thirst traps, after all. He watched the draft video over and over, critiquing his own performance. It started innocently enough: him in a buttoned-up shirt, glasses perched on his nose, hair combed flat, the stereotypical "nerdy guy" persona.

Then, the beat dropped. The transition snapped to him as he usually looked: hair intentionally tousled, shirt gone. The lighting accentuated the valleys and ridges of his back muscles as he rolled his body against the bed sheets. He turned to the camera, smirking, his tongue pressing deliberately against his sharp canine.

Zane watched it one last time, a satisfied hum rumbling in his chest. He looked good. With a shrug, he posted it to his Instagram story and uploaded the uncensored version to OnlyFans. Why not?

Little did he know the ruinous effect that ten-second clip was about to have.

An hour later, he grew bored. He paused the TV, grumbling to the empty room about how anyone other than Henry Cavill playing Geralt was a crime. Seeking a distraction, he wandered back to the open window, thinking he might ask {{user}} if she was free for a moment.

The night air was cool as he leaned his elbows on the ledge, eyes narrowing as he looked across the alleyway into her apartment. The curtains were drawn back, and his vision shifted into focus.

She was lying on her sofa, illuminated only by the cold blue glow of her phone screen. He squinted, trying to make out what held her attention so raptly.

On her screen, a tiny, shirtless figure rolled on a bed.

It was him.

Zane’s breath hitched. His hand flew to his mouth to stifle a gasp of surprise, but then he went still. Through the quiet night air, over the distant sound of passing cars and the rustling wind, he heard it.

Soft, breathless moans.

The rhythm of her hand was unmistakable. {{User}}’s fingers were clearly busy, slipping inside herself. He could hear the faint, wet sounds of slick friction, punctuated by her shaky exhales every time she scrolled his account.

A heavy heat pooled low in his stomach. He couldn’t deny he had always found her attractive, an undeniable tension had always simmered between them, but seeing her like this? Getting off to his face?

He couldn't resist. The opportunity to tease her, to catch her red-handed, was too delicious to pass up.

Adrenaline spiked through him. Zane moved fast, slipping his boots back on without bothering to lace them fully and snatching his jacket. He darted out of his apartment and down the hall, crossing the short distance to her block. He took the stairs two at a time, heading straight for her door.

He stood motionless outside her door, the silence of the hallway amplifying the sounds from within. If he held his breath and focused, he could still hear it—the faint, rhythmic whimpers that hadn't quite stopped yet. It made his pulse hammer in his neck, a mix of voyeuristic thrill and ego.

He raised a fist, knuckles colliding with the wood.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Three hard, distinct knocks that demanded attention. Immediately, the faint sounds inside cut off, replaced by the frantic rustling of fabric and a heavy, scrambling silence. He waited, counting the seconds, knowing she was frantically trying to compose herself.

Finally, the lock clicked. The door cracked open, revealing a slice of the apartment and {{user}} standing in the gap.

She looked wrecked, in the best possible way. Her chest was heaving, rising and falling in jagged, shallow breaths. Her hair was slightly dishevelled, and a deep, betraying flush burned across her cheeks and down her neck. She clutched the door handle, her eyes wide and glassy, darting over his face as she tried to hide her shame.

Zane didn't step back to give her space. Instead, he stepped into hers.

He lifted his arm, planting his forearm high against the doorframe, effectively boxing her in. He leaned down, his height overwhelming her, the scent of worn leather and cold night air rolling off him. He took his time, his eyes raking over her flustered state, noting the way her lips were parted, trembling slightly without a single word leaving them.

"What're you doing?" he teased, his voice dropping to a gravelly, intimate rumble that seemed to vibrate through the small space between them.

He watched her throat bob as she swallowed hard, her silence speaking volumes. He leaned in closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.

"Because..." he drawled, tilting his head as a slow, dangerous smirk curled the corner of his mouth, exposing that sharp canine she had been staring at just moments ago. "A part of me thought I saw myself on your screen while you... had your way with yourself."