Freya's POV:
The ice cream parlor was one of those old-school, vintage-looking places that had probably been there since the 90s.
Pastel colors, cute little tables, a counter full of more flavors than anyone should ever be tempted with.
It was a weekday, and it was almost lunchtime, so the place was relatively empty. Just a few women scattered around, enjoying their treats, some chatting, some on their phones, and a few giving them a once-over as they walked in.
She was holding Damien's hand.
Not because he needed to be held, but because she wanted to. And because, well, she could.
He didn't shy away, or show reluctance, or shyness, or disgust, or discomfort.
Freya noticed this when they hugged earlier; it was as if her nephew didn't give it a second thought at all, holding onto her with the equal intensity of a woman who wasn't used to being held.
There was none of that careful distance most men would put up.
Freya was so surprised that she'd have held onto him longer, perhaps even wrapped her legs around him, if she'd thought it wasn't too lewd, or too eager, or perhaps both.
Damien hadn't even mentioned it, but squeezed her hand back.
It was only normal for her heart to do a little flip, a little skip, and a little leap and shoot straight for the moon.
It was intoxicatingly addicting.
Most women grow up without ever being touched by men, only barely able to access the bare minimum of skin contact with male relatives, if any one of those women were blessed with the presence of a masculine figure like that in their lives.
The world was as it was, and was not exactly the best place to grow up in, and raising a man was a tiresome, tedious affair—though certainly rewarding in the end.
Maybe that was another reason why Freya was willing to overlook Damien's 180 degree turn around, because his lack of reservation allowed her some indulgence, some comfort that shouldn't have been afforded without guilt or embarrassment, but it was.
She could now hug him, hold his hand, nudge his side, pat his cheeks, snuggle him with no reservations. Because Damien would take it all in stride. If anything, he'd reciprocate.
And the most shocking part of it all was just how... genuine it was.
Freya had met some men throughout her life, albeit briefly, yet she'd never experienced this particular kind of affection from them.
In the men she'd come across, it was usually performative, over-the-top, disingenuous, and awkward. Their smiles appeared plastic, their movements overly polite, their interactions always measured and restrained, with boundaries in place.
It was extremely rare to experience romance from them, or anything more than obligations and basic necessities of this world, which is what Freya imagined sex to be like, a hurried, mechanical event and sometimes just a brief transaction with more often than not, a fake display of enthusiasm.
She wished her first time with a man would be special and truly fulfilling.
Was it all, perhaps, the natural result of a society shaped by catastrophe and scarce resources?
No wonder there were so many songs, stories, and novels, written by women, centering on the elusive and mystical ideal of finding a single man in the wild, hoping to be scooped up and taken to a Utopian paradise where they would live happily ever after.
But those were nothing more than wishful imaginations, fantasies and reveries.
Because a man like that didn't exist.
She snapped out of her reverie when they stood in front of the counter, with Damien examining each flavor carefully. His hand had slid out of hers, leaving the space on her palm cold and empty.
"Vanilla... chocolate... pistachio...? What's taro flavour?" He was reading the board with all the flavors listed.
"It's an Asian flavouring. Slightly sweet and nutty." The attendant, a brunette young woman, answered him without sparing Freya a single glance; it was pretty normal, actually, and she didn't feel offended by it. "We also have other foreign flavors like Matcha, or Lychee, or Stracciatella, or—"
"Hmm..."
The girl was mesmerized as she stared at the young man in front of her. Her lips parted, and she inhaled a little too sharply. It wasn't an everyday occurrence to see a man these days, especially a gorgeous one.
"Pick whatever you want." Freya told him, holding onto him by the crook of his elbow.
"What if I want everything?" He laughed.
"If you can eat them all, then do so. We can get anything and as much as you want."
"Anything I want?"
Damien chuckled with a disbelieving shake of his head.
"Within reason, but basically, yes."
"You're spoiling me... and likely my stomach too. I didn't work out today just to offset the extra calories from tomorrow's breakfast."
"You're already too skinny. Don't worry about calories."
It didn't take long for his eyes to flit to her exposed midriff, which was usually pressed against his arm. It was a subtle glance, that she'd have missed entirely had she not been staring at him the whole time.
She found it confusing and alarming, discreetly glancing down at her own chest to check if something was out of place.
Nope, nothing.
It wasn't even that hot outside. There was no sweat, no sweat stains, or wetness anywhere.
"Aunt?"
Freya was once again drawn from her thoughts by Damien's inquisitive look, as he'd realized she had grown quiet and probably unaware she was being spoken to. "What will you have?"
"Oh." She snapped her gaze up to meet his. "Umm... I'd have vanilla with two scoops of Rocky Road, and with toppings of... honey drizzle, chocolate chips, and... sprinkles, I guess. What about you?"
Damien gave her a weird look. A raised eyebrow with a slight tilt of the head and the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips.
Freya gulped as discreetly as she could. Her nephew had no business looking this hot even while he was frowning.
"I just placed my order, in case you weren't paying attention."
"I was—was busy thinking about my ice cream." She corrected, trying to rearrange her face into an expression of annoyance and failing to do so.
She must've looked comical in his eyes.
"Oohh-kay."
And then came that smile. One that took her by complete and utter surprise.
Freya didn't know if she'd made his day, but a smile from a man like him was sure to turn heads all around the parlor. He sure made her day.
Even the poor girl scooping the ice cream at the register was busy trying to inconspicuously steal glances at him, and of course, not entirely focusing on doing her job.
Their ice cream was ready not much later. She chose the outdoor tables in the parking lot. They didn't get the perfect one under the awning, because some woman had snuck in to take that before Freya could get it, but the weather wasn't as bad either.
She sat next to Damien, as opposed across from him, leaning over just so their arms would be touching, because she didn't want that cool and soothing sensation of their physical proximity to go away.
"Here." She handed him a spoon.
"Thanks." He smiled at her and dug his spoon in.
Freya watched in rapt fascination as the tip of his tongue lapped around his treat, a vanilla mound with a light smattering of sprinkles and fudge sauce on top, and chocolate ice cream underneath; not your typical male-preferred combination.
The wet sounds were almost lewd and his eyes fluttered close in an expression of sheer pleasure as his tongue roved across the scoops of cold dessert.
"Is this the reward for my hard work today, or a trap for my overenthusiastic indulgences? Mm..." He drawled. "Because if this is a trap...I don't mind falling in."
He winked, and the last bit of Freya's frozen insides shattered into nothing.
That was her fucking cue.
"Do you always eat with your eyes half-closed?" She tried to joke. Her voice didn't sound stable.
"Hmm." He turned to look at her, and his eyes narrowed even further above his smile. "Only when I'm enjoying something."
The smile in itself was enough to make her weak at the knees and a pool of wetness started between her thighs.
The almost lustful, come-hither look was another layer on a cake.
It didn't mean anything. It was just some playful banter, and Damien definitely wasn't doing it on purpose, or playing with the deep sensations that every cell in her body was absorbing right now.
But if Damien's eyes kept being this mesmerizing, Freya might just end up being the first person ever to combust at the hands of a man and get banned from public view.
"Oh."
She smiled as confidently as possible and pushed the treat into her mouth.
Ice cream usually slid down her throat without any hitch. But it suddenly felt like a brick was stuck.
What the hell, since when did ice cream give her such trouble?
She forced the sugary dessert down with a big gulp of water and finally looked up to meet those mercurial, almost liquid silver eyes.
He wasn't smiling.
Just staring.
Looking a lot more intense than she expected.
She swallowed, cleared her throat.
"Yours look good, can I try?"
Her attempt at a joking laugh was horrendously ill-timed and sounded like some strange wheeze and even stranger cackle, and she was done for.
Freya wasn't usually like this. Even with Damien, she always composed and level-headed, enough that she was probably intimidating to him, even.
"Sure, go ahead."
He replied casually, pushing his bowl towards her.
Freya's hand darted out before Damien could retract it. Her fingers closed around his spoon.
"Thanks." She murmured, though no one had offered.
She plunged the spoon into his vanilla swirl, the fudge sauce clinging to the metal as she lifted it to her lips. The cold hit her tongue first, then the sweetness, but underneath it all was the scent.
It was like some sort of foodgasm.
As she pulled it out, she couldn't help but think of other things she could have this sort of reaction with, things that weren't cold and weren't technically edible, but were very pleasant nonetheless.
Damien watched her, his expression unreadable.
The spoon emerged from her mouth with a soft pop, clean of all traces of ice cream except for a single drop of melted vanilla at the tip.
Her tongue flicked out over the metal, tasting the barest remnants of the man in front of her before returning the spoon to the bowl.
She stared at him playfully, twirling a lock of hair around one finger. "Yum!"
"......."
His lack of a response made her realize just how odd her behavior must have seemed to him. She stopped playing with her hair, suddenly embarrassed.
"You're unexpectedly lively today..." He observed, tilting his head slightly. "Is everything okay?"
"... just having a good day with my nephew." She shrugged. "I haven't had ice cream in so long."
"I see."
His smile returned, and it almost made Freya sigh in relief.
"Hey, uh... you have something..."
Damien reached for her face, and Freya froze, her eyes widening as she realized he was about to do something. His thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away something, and then it was gone.
"Got it." He showed her the tiny white speckle on his thumb.
Freya's heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she was surprised her chest didn't have heart-shaped indentations.
"Thanks." She smiled brightly, appearing outwardly unbothered; a skill she had learned through the years, thanks to a certain someone.
xXx
She unashamedly monopolized more of Damien's time.
Even after the ice cream, they stopped at a karaoke box run by a Korean family, where she had her fill of laughter, fun, and a few drinks.
It wasn't like her to act this way, this brazen indulgence.
But there was no one else but her and Damien in the room, and it wasn't like her nephew would be offended by her behavior. She lounged with reckless abandon across the velvet couch.
Her arms were thrown wide, fingers loosely curled over the cool leather of the couch's backrest, one leg over the other.
She sometimes picked her glass and took long sips of wine, holding the burgundy liquid inside her mouth before swallowing slowly.
With the lights and music, it was more like being at a bar.
The wine, despite not being aged in the finest oak barrels, didn't taste all that bad after it settled in her tongue.
Her eyelashes fluttered as she stared at Damien sing. He moved a little to the beat, his head slightly tilted, one hand loosely gripping the microphone stand. He chose a song she didn't know, but probably something either Iris or Ivy would like.
"This ain't how it's supposed to be; the plans have fallen through~♪"
Damien's voice was low and rich, tumbling off his tongue with a steady, passionate flow.
Freya could see how relaxed he was now, and it was a very sexy thing to witness.
"Uh, come on, come on, uh, you'd better change the way it's gonna be, why can’t you love me, love, love, love me~♪"
"What should I do? Uh, what should I do? To be your lover, I want to be your lover, baby~ ♪" He swayed a little, a hint of a smile on his face. "You say I ain't your type, I'm not the one you're looking for, but here I am, uh, and I'm yours, I'm yours, let me be yours~♪”
His voice cracked a little on the last word, and Freya could swear she was about to lose her mind from the sheer hotness of it.
"Oh... oh, oh, oh... you know I want you, even though you say that you don't want me… ♪"
She was the only audience, so he was only staring at her, playing with the microphone, throwing a playful grin or two her way. It was easy to fantasize that he was dedicating this to her.
She bit her lip and took another gulp of her wine.
"Let me change your mind... tonight... oh, oh, oh... just let me, try...♪"
The melody slowly died down. He finished with a small bow and smile. "That was fun. Your turn, Aunt."
"Uhh..." Freya had completely forgotten that she had to sing at all. "Maybe another time. I'm just gonna... drink... for now." She said, not bothering to hide her embarrassment, and poured herself more wine.
At this point, she didn't care if she'd get drunk.
"Ah, come on." Damien laughed as he sat back down, not too close but enough to be in touching distance. "I wanna hear you sing. You must have a beautiful voice, I'm sure."
"Maybe..." Freya took another sip. "But I'm not in the mood right now. You... you keep singing, Damien. Let me hear more of you."
“Hmm…” He shrugged, taking a rejuvenating gulp of his water. "What do you want to hear?"
"Sing a song about love." She blurted out.
“I just sang one.”
“Sing something more romantic.”
Freya didn’t know—couldn’t have known—that a man singing a song about love and longing would be one of the most erotic things that a woman could possibly hear.
The first time wasn't quite as impactful as his second or third song. The first time she was just mesmerized by how good he actually was.
Then she started to listen to the lyrics, imagining a world where the owner of that very same voice might be singing it with her in mind, chasing after her, longing for her, dying for her.
She wanted it so bad that she started to have an increasingly difficult time concentrating on her thoughts.
Then she noticed the way his voice dipped low and breathy and soft, like a moan that was never quite a moan.
And all she could think about was whether it sounded just as soft and breathy when he was lying in bed with a woman.
Freya realized that coming here was probably a mistake.