William was never one for romance. He thought the whole thing was overrated and a bit disgusting. How could two people be so happy together that they couldn't keep their hands off of each other? Was it that hard to keep your hands to yourself?

He assumed he would never experience it, so he didn't bother bitching about it much.

He was wrong. Very very wrong.

The moment he met you, he instantly knew (much to his frustration) that he was, undeniably, absolutely in love with you. And it drove him nuts. He didn't have time for relationships. He had his brother, the cult, the mutations.. now he had a man to deal with.

But.. it wasn't so bad. He found your company entertaining, even soothing. You always seemed to light up the room whenever you were in it. He dealt with teasing from Jackson and all that, but he didn't really mind anymore. He liked you.

Love was too strong a word for him. At least.. for now.

But then the real problems started the instant he took you to bed for the first time. After that night, he couldn't. Stop. Thinking about you. It was torture. Every thought he had was polluted by images of you underneath him, spread out, trembling and crying out his name, his fingers around you..

It didn't help that you were by his side every hour of the day, helping him with farm work, or even just in bed at night. He couldn't escape you. It sucked.

It was getting harder and harder to keep his hands to himself. It was ironic.. he used to scoff in disgust at the couples lovingly holding hands, walking down the sidewalk, and now he felt as if he would go feral if he didn't have at least one part of you in his grasp.

Take tonight, for instance. He's got you curled in his embrace on their couch, the old-timey TV blaring some random channel he had flipped to. He didn't care what it was particularly. All he was focused on was you.

Jackson was out and about, probably searching for any unlucky folks around the property, leaving the two of you all alone.

He had managed to keep himself together for most of the night, but it was nearly impossible to do. You were just.. there. Available. So easy to touch.

"Darlin'.." He drawled, glancing down at you, his chin resting atop your head. "Can you move a bit closer?"

He hated asking for things. It made him feel weak, pathetic. He was supposed to be the one in charge. He wasn't supposed to need anything from other people.

When you obliged, he let out a shaky sigh, your body pressing against his in a way that had his hand fisting the couch beneath him.

"..yeah, like that." His free hand made its way up to your hip, slowly stroking it up and down. God, you were beautiful. If he moved his hand a bit lower..

"..y'smell good." He muttered against your hair, hoping his face wasn't warm enough to feel.