Fic: Getting Lost (1/2)
Title: Getting Lost
Author: freshtilapia
Rating: R (for now)
Length: 4,939
Summary: A cocktail of an Achele origin story with 2-10 dashes of angst, 2-3 dashes of self-preservation, 200ml of fluff juice, two shots of sex, one teaspoon of sunshine, a dash of rainbow, and a slice of hope. Thanks to my bb, jbluish, former bartender and forever friend, who read the first 4,500 words back in April.
I think I promised mjacton and darklashes03 that I'll be posting my first and only Achele fic before the year ends. Unfortunately, I still haven't finished it and I don't think I'll finish it anytime this year. But I'll just post it anyway. So this is for both of you. Also, orangekwekkwek.
Warning: Cliffhanger ahead.
“Don’t push me away,” was all she said and the look that went with it pierced straight through your heart.
Before you can say anything else, she’s already dressed in her boy shorts and shirt, storming out of your room and into hers. She’s so upset that she forgot to put on the underwear that’s still on your floor.
You pick it up, close your hand around it, and walk silently out to the corridor, towards her door. It’s shut. You fix your ear on it and softly say her name, “Lea?”
She doesn’t answer.
You try the knob and it’s locked. You look up in frustration then your forehead finds the door.
How did you let it get this far?
“Lea,” you sigh to yourself. Helpless and inconsolable, you lean your back against the door and slide down into a slump. You don’t seem capable of doing anything else right now but think.
You’ve always thought you weren’t compatible. She loves coffee. You love tea.
She’s acerbic and brash and droll and self-assured. You’re demure and kind and shy and weird sometimes. But most of all… you’re a coward.
It was surprising how you’ve become friends in an instant the day that you met. You both laughed uncontrollably for over an hour at the silliest of things. And her laugh! Oh, her glorious laugh that you thought was the only thing that made you smile whenever she’s near.
“I’m looking for a place,” she tells you one day.
“So am I.” And you grin, a big grin.
You could’ve stopped yourself right there but you didn’t know better.
You didn’t know how easy it would be living with her.
It was so easy that you didn’t notice how lively you’ve become when you get up every morning, earlier than you should, just to wake her up. “I’m just not a morning person,” she confessed. You didn’t notice how breakfast had suddenly become one of your favorite things as much as late-night movies or how trips to the supermarket have become so much more enjoyable than before that it took hours before you actually brought the grocery for check-out. You also didn’t notice that you started making playlists of songs that you knew she would enjoy listening to, “Oh God, is that Passion Pit?” You nod and smile meekly. “Amazing!” she exclaims. You didn’t notice these things. You didn’t notice these things until it was too late.
What you couldn’t help but notice was how grumpy she was the second you try to wake her up and beaming the next when she finally opens her eyes to meet yours. You couldn’t help but notice how her nose would crinkle at its base when she’s laughing so hard; and how she would idly mess up her hair when she’s restless; and how she couldn’t stop herself from making a face when she finds something ridiculous; and how she would put one foot up the chair while sipping her first coffee like it’s her last; and how she’d wait for you to finish spreading something better than cream cheese on your bagel before snatching it away to claim it hers. Before you could react, she flashed her brightest smile and you’ve forgotten what you’ve lost. She would eventually claim your heart the same way.
You should have seen the danger signs.
You come home one night after a very long rehearsal in the tin shed to find her on the big black couch with a script in hand and the DVD playing. She spots you through the open door and almost runs toward you like a child eager at the prospect of a new toy. You’ll never want to be someone’s plaything. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.
She wraps her arms around you, squeezes tightly, holds on longer than she should have, and says, “I’ve missed you.”
She lets go and you look at her and smile. Then she insists on knowing how your day went, grabbing you by the wrist and leading you toward the couch. You tell her how much fun it was and that you can’t wait for the shoot tomorrow. You say it’s the best routine you’ve done so far and you thoroughly enjoyed dancing to it.
“I’m a bit jealous. I feel left out,” she admits in her usual sarcastic voice.
You trail off saying you can teach her how and her face lights up.
“Dance for me.” It was not a request.
“What?”
“Please?”
She’s got to be kidding. You tell her as much. And you reason that there’s no way you can pull it off in your sweats. It has to be in jeans and a dress shirt and a hat and a big, metal-you stop abruptly as she scampers into your room and brings something out of the closet.
She goes to her room next and pulls out a fedora. If that wasn’t magic, you don’t know what is.
“Did you bring the demo?”
Of course, you just had to have the demo with you. It’s futile to refuse at this point.
You change into your makeshift cowgirl outfit as she inserts the disc into the player. You walk back in front of her, shaking your head as you go. She laughs and cheers you on as you hook your thumbs on the pockets of your jeans and lean on your left leg to strike a pose, hip swung to the side. You look at her with intent and a smug look on your face. It astounds you how easily you can get into character just like that.
She turns the music on and you begin to strut. You try so hard not to smile but end up smirking the whole time. A few more steps repeated and you lift the hat up and down with both hands as you walk purposely to the left. Then you move directly toward her, bidding her to come hither and raising an eyebrow. She cheers again and giggles like a schoolgirl, eyes fixed on you.
You raise the hat with your right hand, cover your face with it, and move your hips from side to side.
She hoots and claps and shouts, “Work it!” You half-expect her to produce a five-dollar bill, wave it around then shove it in your pants.
The next day you filmed in front of a large audience but you weren’t dancing for them. You’ve never felt sexier your entire life and you didn’t even stop to wonder why.
You should have seen the danger signs. But you were already so far out to sea.
She started giving you a hug every time they yell “Cut!” or “Take five, everybody!” But who’s counting?
She started leaning on you when she’s dead tired or giddy with laughter and when you’re making her coffee or waiting in line to buy coffee. She started resting her hand on your hip when you’re cooking, when you’re baking, when you’re simply within reach. She started holding your hand when you’re sitting next to each other or when you’re walking around or anywhere, really. She started holding your hand and you started feeling it’s no longer yours.
You’re watching Sabrina one night as her head begins to feel heavier on your shoulder. Moments later, she worms her way behind your back, stretching sideways across the couch. Somehow you’ve always known why she bought it.
You lean on her stomach and you simultaneously take each other’s hand. You feel a jolt, electric in your veins, and you curse under your breath. She brings your hand closer to her chest and clings to it with both of her hands. You feel her heart thumping and you willingly let her take your hand captive that night, and the next night, and the night after that.
You could’ve stopped yourself right there but you didn’t want to.
As much as she was previously satisfied with just the lampshade and the TV on, she has grown accustomed to your hand to get to sleep. She would drag it all the way to her bed and you along with it.
You bring a book with you once.
You prop yourself up on the pillow, your left hand holding the book upon your chest while your right hand is under the custody of its new owner. Oh, the betrayal! You will learn not to trust in any other part of your body in time.
“Do you need your other hand?” she asks you casually as you struggle to turn the page.
“What other hand?”
And she breaks into a fit of giggles. All of a sudden, one of the hands that used to hold your right hand down snakes its way across your waist.
You freeze.
I wonder if I’ve been changed-I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night. Let me think-Let me think. Was I the same when I got up-the same when I got up this morning? I almost think- I almost think I can remember-I almost think I can remember feeling-feeling a little-Damn it.
You close the book and hardly sleep a wink that night.
The next day, the scent of sweet-smelling shampoo rouses you to morning and it’s coming closer.
You feel the bed dip by your feet and you slowly open your eyes. She’s brushing her hair and her towel loosely falls behind her back, all the way to-you quickly close your eyes again as she stands up to walk across the room. You didn’t dare to move until you hear banging in the kitchen.
Some nights, you actually get to sleep in your bed. You’d get home earlier than she does and you take advantage of the time you can think straight to accomplish something. On those nights, you make sure to leave your door unlocked and your night light on.
When she gets home, she takes a shower, slips into her bed clothes, quietly enters your room, and curls up beside you. And whatever position she may find you asleep in, she always manages to take one of your arms to wrap around her and pull you closer.
You could’ve stopped yourself right there but you didn’t.
You stir in the middle of the night, your face nuzzled in her hair and lips very close to her ear. You’re both lying on your sides and she’s tucked under your arm.
Your breathing is deep and steady and you are wide awake.
You breathe in. You breathe out. You keep your eyes closed. You breathe in. You breathe out. She shifts in her sleep. You breathe in. You breathe out. Her head turns a bit closer. You breathe in. Her ear brushes your lips. You breathe out. It lingers there. Breathe in. You struggle for air. Breathe out. Your lips part, ever so slightly. Breathe in. Her ear grazes your lips, back and forth, and back and forth, and back and-Breathe. You couldn’t stop yourself.
You close in on the rim of her ear with a dry and chaste kiss. Her whole body stirs. You cautiously travel from the side of her ear down to her lobe, placing small and delicate kisses as you go. She tilts her head a little. You kiss behind her ear. Then she starts moving her head slowly, guiding your kisses from her jaw to her chin to her-you stop and hover right above her lips. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh my God. Oh my God. You can feel her warm breath mingling with yours.
Oh, God.
And then, she kisses you.
And you’ve never tasted anything sweeter.
She kisses you deeply and gradually, savoring your lower lip. And you’re convinced you’ve never kissed anyone else. A gentle bite, a flick of the tongue, and she seems to have no intention of pulling away. So do you. You kiss her ardently and tenderly, relishing every millimeter of her upper lip. Then she invites you in her mouth. You eagerly oblige. She offers the full breadth of her tongue. And you forget all your fears.
It went on and on and on and on. It was like a dream that you didn’t want to end.
The familiar chords of Elliot Smith bring you to your senses.
I'm in love with the world, through the eyes of a girl, who's still around the morning after.
You instinctively reach out to tap the alarm without opening your eyes and your hand fumbles about your bedside table. You hear a quick snigger and you stop.
And you remember.
All at once, you feel terrified and thrilled and foolish.
“Good morning.” You hear the smile in her voice and you steel yourself.
You turn to look at her and she’s gazing at you adoringly.
“How long have you been awake?”
She smiles and shrugs, “I didn’t check the time.”
You both do nothing but stare at each other for a while. And you wouldn’t mind carrying on like this the whole day. But she breaks the spell.
She tucks your hair behind your ear, strokes your cheek with her thumb, and rests her hand on the side of your neck. Then she smiles and leans forward and kisses you again, and again, and again, and again.
You honestly don’t know how you managed to get through that day. To think you had to be in a wheelchair!
Your mind constantly drifts away, and from time to time, you realize that you have been smiling inadvertently for the better part of the hour-every hour. You probably can’t produce a scowl to save your life.
You’re particularly grateful that your lines didn’t require you to dig deep and were relatively light that day. When you had to be angry, you compensated by gritting your teeth. But still-
“We’re baking!”
And you almost doubled over.
There’s hardly any opportunity to be together outside of your apartment for the next four days. You’re flying to New York separately to perform at the Fox Upfronts and she’ll be leaving in the morning. With every chance you get, you wind up kissing feverishly.
You make out in your trailer, in her trailer, in Naya’s trailer by mistake, in the bathroom, in the bathroom of the Chateau, in every other bathroom, in the stairwell, behind the tin shed. You were both tempted in the elevator once but you were pretty sure it had a camera and were forced to resist.
You both made the most of the very limited time, and as a result, she didn’t have any sleep before her flight.
You spent one and a half days apart but afterwards, the two of you were inseparable. New York was a blast and the weekend was incredible. You were so busy and everything felt so ridiculous that you didn’t get the luxury to think.
It is only during the wait at the airport for your return flight to LA that it hits you.
You’ve got two burning questions in your mind.
You decide that you didn’t want to dwell on the first one because you know the answer swings both ways and either way, it frightens you. Even if you try to look for the answer, you’re fairly certain it’ll only lead to another question, then another, then another, and you may never find the answer. For a second, you considered asking her. Perhaps she can-Perhaps she will-No, no, you immediately shake it off. You’re afraid of what the answer will be but not as much as the one who can give it.
The second question is somewhat easier to cope with. Lord knows you actually look forward to the coping.
You see yourself one fateful night with a bottle of wine and candles lit all around and Melody Gardot crooning, I don’t know why it came along, at such a perfect time, but if I let you hang around, I’m bound to lose my mind. And you’re rolling to the rhythm of-Oh, God. You quiver.
Why am I- What if she-How will it-But I’ve never-you try not to panic.
You know the answer will come soon.
You want the answer to come soon.
This must be remedied.
When in doubt, research. You remember an email a friend of yours sent a few years ago. It contains, uhm, instructions. And you all found it useful and, uhm, stimulating. Reading it before arriving in LA is necessary to take away your growing trepidation, if not for anything else.
And iPhone does the job. You turn the Wi-Fi on, open your mailbox, scroll upward to the search field, and type: how to give good head. You tap on the message and start reading.
A few sentences later, a wave of embarrassment flushes your cheeks. You take a quick glance at everybody. They’re all busy being silly. And Lea’s being super cute.
She catches you staring.
Oh my goodness, she’s coming this way. You frantically tap the address field, type on it, and tap one of your bookmarked pages.
“What’re you doing?” she asks playfully then grabs your wrist to turn your phone her way.
She takes one look at it and snorts, “Di! Not that pet octopus again?”
If she only knew-you were reading about an entirely different pet.
You finish the rest of the email on the plane and fidget in your seat. The contents of the email aren’t all to blame. You keep on looking across the aisle and, just this once, you firmly believe that wearing bras should be mandatory. And you seriously don’t know what makes you more uneasy, the dampness between your legs or the reason for it. This flight is taking too long…
When are you getting off?
You’re hot and heavy in your trailer on the first day back on set and sprawled across the couch. You’re on top of her with your thigh pressed between her legs, her knees folded up.
She lifts her right leg a little bit higher to rub against you. You moan in her mouth as your tongues continue to twist and unravel within. After some time, you come up for air, lips sore and aching. But you don’t stop there.
You move your parted lips down to the throbbing on her neck, licking, biting, and sucking. She tilts her head, threads her fingers through your hair, and pulls the strands gently by the roots. You linger on her neck until she arches her back. She wants you to go further down.
You kiss the skin along the strap of her tank top, remove your right hand from her hip, and slide the string down her shoulder with your fingers. She arches again. You place your mouth just above her breast and your hand cupped just below it. You inch lower and nibble at the softness exposed. Your hand continues to stroke her side until it decides to slip underneath her shirt. She shudders at the contact. You take it as a cue and place your mouth where your hand had been.
You remove your left hand behind her back to join in on the fun. Hands and mouth travel upwards, with your hands leading the way, slowly rolling her top off of her.
But Lea Michele is impatient. She strips her top off herself. You look up and marvel at the sight before you.
Something doesn’t seem right.
Why is she wearing a bra?
You try to process this mystery as she takes your face with both hands to kiss you, to caress your back, to pull on your shirt until it joins her tank top on the floor. She sits up to kiss you again but you obsess over one thing: Must…get rid…of bra.
Your hands grope around her back and successfully unhook her bra then-there’s a loud knock on your door.
“Fuck,” she mutters as you instinctively turn your head toward the door.
A crew calls out, “Dianna?”
She secures her bra as you scurry to get the shirts on the floor and shout back, “Coming!”
Your eyes meet. “I wish,” she mutters again.
Your nervous laugh gets muffled as she goes for one more kiss before you slip back into your shirts and step out of the trailer.
You can’t get her words out of your head.
Did I hear it right? Did she just-Does she really-
“Ok, moments away here, guys,” the AD announced.
You bring your attention back to the scene in the choir room, away from your nagging questions. It doesn’t occur to you that you were asking yourself all the wrong ones.
But the dance rehearsal would rob you of all your worries that day. The whole cast stayed on the lot until almost two in the morning.
You feel sorry for her when you get home. She still had work to do. They’ve rewritten one of her scenes that need to be shot the next day.
You wait in your bed for her to get out of the shower but your eyes feel heavier, and heavier, and heavier…
You must have passed out because the next moment you open your eyes, the sun is up.
Your alarm picks Summerbreeze by Emiliana Torrini and you just let it play.
She’s still fast asleep.
You leave a trail of kisses on her neck but she doesn’t move an inch. Hmm, this should work every time.
She must be very tired.
If your alarm or your kisses don’t wake her up, the smell of coffee certainly will.
True enough, it only took a minute before you hear heavy footsteps down the hall after the coffee’s ready.
You look over your shoulder to see her dragging herself to the kitchen, all bleary-eyed and sulking, straight to you.
She immediately wraps her arms around your waist and places a kiss on your nape. You hold her arms and purr.
“Did you finish reading your new sides for work?”
“No,” she mumbles back as she buries her face between your shoulder blades.
You chuckle, “Why not?”
“I watched you sleep… the whole time…”
You bite your lower lip and beam. And you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face the whole day even if you tried.
She’s watching the dailies behind the piano, holding a pair of headphones tightly against her ears, and smiling by herself. You’ve been watching her from across the room, seated in a chair on the platform, and smiling by yourself. Every now and again she would blurt out, “Amazing!”
The girl is all kinds of adorable.
She takes a quick look at you and her smile widens. So does yours. You let out a deep sigh.
That’s when it sneaks up on you.
It doesn’t hit you like a ton of bricks or strike like lightning. The realization softly creeps its way into you like a perfect stream of light through your window at daybreak.
She has stolen your heart.
Your eyes never leave her as she takes off the headset, hands it over to the crew, crosses the room, and sits beside you. In an instant, you’re holding each other’s hand on your lap, fingers entwined.
You don’t know exactly what kind of expression you had on your face but it draws out an almost imperceptible lip bite from her and you almost lost it. You take a deep breath and settle on bringing her hand to your lips, kissing the back of her palm-five seconds too long.
You get a glimpse of Chris’ eyebrow rising in slow motion and mouth hanging open. You look at him sheepishly but he turns away swiftly with a grin. No one else noticed.
And Lea, it seems, is too preoccupied by the shape of your lips… or its color… its texture… maybe even how it feels on her lips… or the rest of her body…
Alas, you went home that night still so exhausted that you only ever managed to kiss whatever body part is right next to your lips as you cuddled.
By morning, you wake up alone in bed.
She has a very early call time and it really annoys you that you weren’t able to kiss her good morning. But then you remember that everyone will be getting the full weekend off and you suddenly have a smile stretched from ear to ear.
It’s late in the afternoon when you see her again.
You’re standing in front of Craft services when she appears across the table. You instantly get distracted from getting your food.
She looks straight into your eyes and mouths, “I… miss… you… so… much.”
You just want to lunge over the table and take her right then and there.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you hold your breath, muster all the willpower you have left to channel Quinn, raise your eyebrow, and mouth back, “I… know…”
And feigning calm, you flip your hair and simply walk away-leaving her slightly perplexed and considerably turned on. You position yourself somewhere where she would be at least three people away from you. Any closer and you would surely be delirious.
You try to avoid her the whole day and you have no idea why, but you resort to counting. There’s one… and two… then three… four longing glances… five… six… you don’t know how long you can keep this up.
It’s 9:14 pm when you get home. You collapse on the couch and remind yourself how to breathe properly again.
And you wait.
But time passed by so slowly that night that it got more and more difficult for you to fight sleep.
It’s already way past midnight and you’ve been waiting for more than three hours. You really want to be there for her when she arrives. You can picture the big pout on her face when she does.
Another minute passes by… and then five… then ten… twenty-nine. You almost drift off to sleep when you hear a forceful rattling of keys.
Before it registers that she’s home, she had slammed the door, dumped everything she was carrying, and jumped on top of you.
With a burning look, she takes your face with both hands and kisses you urgently… hungrily… desperately.
You respond with as much urgency… and hunger… and desperation.
And your body comes alive, every square inch of it tingling.
You feel as if you’ve woken from a drunken stupor into another kind of drunken stupor-one without an ounce of alcohol in your system and with your senses heightened. You are intoxicated by her breath, her scent, her taste, her-everything. And you continue to kiss her in a daze. You know that you have lost your mind when the only words you can put together are Oh, God, and Lea.
Lea… who is pinning you against the couch… Lea… whose lips are locked with yours… Lea… whose tongue swivels in your mouth as yours do in hers… Lea… who has her knees bent on either side of your hips, chest pressed against your front, fingers threading your hair… Lea… who is leisurely rubbing her self forward and backward and forward and backward between your thighs...
You moan.
And you start wanting more-more touching, more contact, more skin…
You let your hands travel down her side and slip underneath her shirt.
She gasps and stops kissing you.
But before you can protest, she sits up and raises her arms by her head, folding them while looking straight into your eyes…
You feel faint as you sit up to follow her lead and with hands shaking, you grasp at the hem of her shirt and start dragging it up and she closes her eyes as you pull it over her head.
She opens them again and immediately locks on yours, searching… for what, you don’t really know. But you’re absolutely sure that you’ve never looked at anyone the way that you’re looking at her now…
And for a time, you sit just there, silent and rapt in the moment.
She studies your face with her eyes and her fingertips ghosting along your forehead… your cheeks… your lower lip… your neck… the middle of your chest… just below your breasts… your ribs… your waist...
She turns her gaze back to you with a question on her face.
You answer by slowly unbuttoning your blouse.
She wets her lips…
…and waits for the last button to come undone before capturing your lips again between her own, placing her hands at the base of your neck and sliding your top off your shoulders and your arms.
You kiss deeper as your hands grope behind her back to unhook her bra. She removes it for both of you in a hurry, desperately wanting to feel you against her bare skin, and wraps her arms around your shoulders.
Your bodies touch and two moans escape.
She clings tighter and brings her left foot down on the floor and starts pulling you off the couch.
You both stand and blindly move in the general direction of your bedrooms, kissing feverishly and groping for the buttons of your jeans, wiggling out of them and leaving them on the floor.
Then her back hits a wall.
And you start kissing her neck, tasting every inch of it, before moving down her chest and teasing the soft mound to your right until she groans, arching her back and presenting a nipple that craves your attention and your mouth.
You draw it in and she rewards you with the kind of moan that reverberates throughout your body…