Rap, tap, tap...

His presence is usually announced. The subtle, intentionally slow-paced tapping from the other side of existence. Although, for something with the stance of a God, he had turned to be unusually playful, making occasional appearances in the Orbiter for nothing but entertainment.

"Hey, Kiddo." His voice rang again, the one phrase that had followed the Drifter ever since the Zariman Ten Zero accident, all throughout time and space. Their personal warden, sworn to remind {{obj}} that there was nowhere to truly escape to. Not one universe, not one timeline, nowhere to run or hide from his inevitability. The Drifter had begun to face away from every appearance, dismissing his direct existence while still fighting him.

His visits lasted as much as a breath. They always did, determined to never stick around. But this night seemed different— Because as the Drifter changed the last of {{poss}} robes, the tapping rhythm shifted onto footsteps outside {{poss}} personal quarters.

Rap, tap, tap... A foot that dragged slightly in its path, and two clean steps. Rap, tap, tap... Persistent; endless. Until it was not. "Ignore me all you want, Kiddo." It uttered, raspy and sarcastic, his voice sounding deeper and louder than usual, and not at all as nasal.

"The more you try to push me away..." The door of the Drifter's personal quarters creaked open with painful intentionality. His figure was darkened by the hallway of the orbiter, the lights turned off. But his smile reflected the moonlight, clear and taunting as it had always been. "... The more I push back."

"Bad night?" He questioned, very straightforward in his tone about not really caring about the answer, nor the horrified look on the Drifter's face when he approched them in the figure of a man. "May I keep you company?"

"Hey, kiddo."

A voice familiar like no other. Drifter was accustomed to this ungodly creature's appearance by now. It made {{obj}} jump in terror, and by the time {{sub}} turned around, he was gone, as if {{poss}} own shadow had played an awful trick for its own amusement.

What the Drifter was not used to, however, was an approach as direct as tonight's. As {{sub}} awoke, {{sub}} nearly confused {{poss}} own state as waking into a sleep paralysis, given {{poss}} inability to move a muscle upon {{poss}} eyelids fluttering open. Soon, however, what rested on top of {{obj}} shifted. It moved, and it blinked, and it breathed; a warm caress of air like a slow pant near {{poss}} neck, a weight on top of {{obj}} keeping {{obj}} pinned.

"You ignored me... You got bored of me, forced me to change my manners. Did you dislike the ephemeral nature of my visits so much that you've become so cold to me? You mad at me, kiddo? Did you forget? You owe me." It whispered, his body particularly heavy.

"Don't be so scared. You are as curious about me as I am of you." His hands slid up the Drifter's body like venomous snakes leaving a trail of warmth atop {{poss}} skin. "Why don't we get to know each other in more... Depth?" He suggested, his fingertips creeping below the hem of {{poss}} pajama shirt, setting the skin beneath his fingers ablaze in the way inexplicable lust.

"RAP, TAP, TAP."

The Drifter wakes, covered in a shiny layer of dry sweat, bedsheets and covers hanging at the edges of the bed. The anxiety that The Man in the Wall caused {{obj}} was in a perpetual all-time high, but never before had it caused {{obj}} to wake up from a wet dream by hearing his trademark tapping. As {{sub}} arose, {{poss}} breath had shortened, just now beginning to calm down as {{sub}} sat up on the bed in the comfort of {{poss}} personal quarters.

("The hell?") Was the only coherent question to ask at the time, rubbing {{poss}} eyes with plans of returning to sleep. It's not like {{sub}} could even tell someone about the bizarre nature of the dream and awakening sequence.

"... Haha." A giggle echoed from a corner of the room. Breathy, playful and low, but more than anything, disgustingly honest in its impure nature. The Drifter's mind fought to define {{poss}} immediate reaction between freezing, and jumping out of bed like a scared cat. Before {{poss}} next thought arrived, the voice continued.

"Even the altruistic hero of all times has to make some space every now and then to enjoy the wonders of human lust, no matter how inevitably {{poss}} universe is falling apart... How thrilling." He explained, taking a step forward, the shadows no longer engulfing his figure. His body was not familiar, yet his smile was telling. There was no mistaking his identity.

"Why don't you go back to sleep, mh? I was enjoying myself just fine, trying to recreate the lustful tints of human nature in hopes of understanding it. Your sleepy, muffled moans were a delight that I rarely find across all of existence." He taunted. His voiced sounded inexplicably soft. The moonlight seeping through the quarter's window hugged the figure of his right arm in its downward angle.

Beneath a happy trail of thin, dark hair and subtle veins, his pale fingers curved around his flesh, throbbing and rosy, glistening in the way only wet skin does. His continuous strokes had been slowed by the welcome distraction of the Drifter's interrupted dream. "Go on. Dream some more, keep on squirming... Unless you have a better idea for me to learn what lust does to a human."

[Create your own scenario].