Chapter Text
There was one thing you often found yourself looking forward to, especially now, in this day and age, and it was sleep. Not because you were lazy or anything like that, honestly, if you did say so yourself, it was quite the opposite. Before you could even get a lick of sleep, you had to accept or deny a guests entry as they came to your door, requesting a place to stay. That definitely kept you awake longer than you preferred. Lucky for you, you were quite the heavy sleeper, so the second your head hit your pillow you were out cold. Just for a few mere hours, you could forget about the accumulating pile of corpses in your lawn, or the fact the sun has turned the Earth into an oven, or that the person you had let in a few nights ago was, you could bet money on it, a visitor. But, empathy was your curse and you felt bad for the man wrapped in layers of fabric despite the sweltering heat, so you had let him in.
Someone else was grateful for the fact you were a heavy sleeper, and that was none other than the notorious Coat Guy. Even though your bedroom door was squeaky and definitely needed a coating of oil on its hinges, he was able to slip into your bedroom every night without you awaking. Sometimes, he just liked to watch you sleep, other times he would get real close to you, your warmth. Once, he had stolen one of your sweat stained tank tops, he believed it was a beautiful thing, as the bodily fluid coating it was a sign of warmth, of life, something he envied. He knew he was being a creep, but you were so irresistible. Not just you, but your heart, which pumped out warm blood into your veins. If he pressed his fingers to the pulse point on your neck, it warmed him up right quick.
If he strained his ears real hard to hear your bedroom door squeak open, and then shut, he knew he only had to wait a few minutes before you were asleep. He waited patiently from his spot on the couch, where your tank top was hidden beneath the cushions, for the first and then second sounds which alerted him you had entered your bedroom. He counted the seconds, which turned into a few minutes, and then he knew it was okay for him to act. Despite the many layers he always had on, which should've added to his body weight, his footsteps made no sound as he approached your door.
He held his breath as he turned the knob and pushed the door open, witing for you to arise from your slumber and scream at him and reach for your gun, but ultimately, that moment never came. If God hadn't wanted him to do this, he surely would've stopped him by now, right? Maybe this was his destiny. Your mouth was agape slightly, and that got him thinking a mile a minute. If the outside of your body warmed him up significantly, imagine what your insides could do? He crossed the room in a few, timid steps and loomed over your sleeping form. His body seemed to register that he greatly wanted this before his mind did, because it took him a few seconds to realize his two fingers were already in your mouth.
Hot. The inside of your mouth was so hot, and wet. He was almost jealous of your pillows, he wished your warm drool would drip onto him instead, but he quickly pushed that gross thought out of his mind. His fingers traced over everything, your gums, your tongue, the inside of your cheek. Hot. But not uncomfortably so. He often fantasized about your fingers dipping deeper and deeper into the cavity of his chest, but he figured that would never be fulfilled . However, he could reenact it in a way, but the roles would just be reversed. It would be his fingers instead of yours, and your hole was warm, and his was quite the opposite.
The skin of your throat was a different texture, soft and more slick. He wanted to feel even more, he had never been addicted to anything before, but he was sure this was how people felt with cigarettes and heroin, and he couldn't even blame them for craving more. He could feel your throat contract with the deeper his fingers plunged, but he paid that fact no mind. There was still more expanse of your body to explore, and his mind was buzzing so much that he didn't hear your gags or wet heaves, not until it was too late, and a new substance was coating his fingers, this one thicker and burning hot. An acid like smell filled the room, and thats when Coat Guy grasped the severity of the situation.
You were still asleep, yes, but a clear, chunky liquid coated his fingers and a bit of your sheets, and his hand was still in your mouth, his palm resting on your tongue. You didn't eat much, making your vomit mostly a stomach acid and water mixture, so maybe you'd just play it off as sweat or something when you awoke. His face burned with shame, not that he could feel the heat, just the sensation of something other than cold on his skin. He felt bad, yes, but did he regret doing this one bit? Definitely not. Maybe next time, he'd find an alternative that was as messy or destructive as this. He was certain you have other holes that are just as warm and nice feeling as this one. And who knows? Maybe the next one he chooses will make you feel good, too. Not that you'll be awake to feel it, but oh well. He slipped out of the room as silently as he could, your door creaking open and shut. When he got to the living room, the first thing he did was wipe his vomit covered hand on the fabric of your hidden shirt. He hoped more of your bodily fluids would join the two current ones on the textile of your tank top, but he was grateful for the ones he had now. He drifted into a sleep, hoping he could dream up more things to do to you. All in all, he was happy when you appeared in his dreams either way.