Fanfic: After Juliet: Whiskey
He tastes of cheap whiskey and a little of lemons as you kiss him hard. Your tongue in his mouth, your lips on his, your hands on his shoulders as you pin him against the wall. His hands are at your waist, his fingers slipping between she used to do that tee shirt and trousers to touch hot skin. His fingers are cold. It’s sort of nice.
The slight shock of his fingers against your hot flesh pulls you back into the moment. You calm a little, slow down your frenzied kissing his lips are soft like hers and pull back to look at him. He blows a strand of hair out of his face, a gesture that is ridiculously adorable and he has her eyes smiles at you, uncertain.
“What’s wrong?”
You shake your head a little to clear it. You’ve both been pounding the whiskey and you’re more than a little unsteady. Certainly you’re more unsteady than you care to admit. “Your hands are cold.”
“Oh…” he looks down at them. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s - it’s okay. I like it.”
He nods. “Okay.” He moves as though to take his hands from your waist, but you look at him again and he leaves them there. An awkwardness is in the air. There is silence for a few seconds.
“You want another drink?” you hear yourself ask.
He nods. “I’ll get it. Same again?” You nod, too. He steers you towards a bench against the wall and gently pushes you down onto it. So he has noticed how drunk you are. You don’t care, really.
He opens the Tantalus and glances back at you. You watch him through half closed eyes. Your whole body is humming.
“This is your dad’s good whiskey,” he says.
“I know. I don’t care. Fuck him. Fuck him,” you repeat for good measure.
“Rosaline,” he says. His voice is soft. He sounds like her.
You smile at him. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
He brings you the drink over and next to you on the bench. He’s got a drink of his own that he sips as he hands yours to you.
“What about Benvolio?” he asks.
“Fuck him. Fuck Benvolio.” You gulp at the glass thirstily and he shoots you a warning look.
Then he smiles. “You’re fucking a lot of people tonight.” A pause as what he’s just said sinks in. “Not like that! I didn’t mean -” he back pedals fast. You reach out and pull him closer, your hand on the back of his neck. You kiss him again, softer, more tender than earlier. He reciprocates, his hand brushing the hair behind your ear, stroking your neck.
He touches that part on your neck that she always found so easily makes you go a little crazy with lust and you moan into his mouth. He pulls back quickly.
“I do something wrong?”
“No! God, no, the opposite.” You take his hand and put it back there, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot straight to your core. “Gianni - I want you to-” but he’s already pressed his lips to your neck and you tip your head back because it feels so good. His lips part and his hot tongue is just there and it feels just like it used to when she would do it like a part of you is dying because you’re not entirely sure how to breathe.
His tongue flicks against your neck and shivers run down your spine as his teeth lightly graze your skin.
She used to go straight for that part of your neck. Her hot mouth would attach there and her tiny hands work their way down your body until they slipped under the waistband of your underwear where they would work their magic.
He kisses you on the mouth again and you pull him in closer, wanting every inch of you to be touching him. You push yourself upright so that he’s got you pinned against the wall and his whole body pressed against yours and you can feel the hardness against your thigh.
His hand slips under your shirt and cups your breast gently and his hands are bigger than hers you’re aware of your nipple hardening against his soft touch. He smiles as he kisses you she always took it so seriously and you feel it, and you smile, too.
You break the kiss and glance through the open door down the hall to where your bedroom is and you look back at him with a question in your eyes.
“You want to-?”Her he says, and you nod.
With one last hungry kiss he steps backwards from you and entwines his fingers with yours, allowing you to lead the way to your bedroom. You trail your hand along the wall until you reach your bedroom and step inside. He follows you inside and you never fucked her here you close the door behind you. You stand there, a little self conscious as he looks around your room. You’re glad it’s tidy. He turns back to you, seemingly equally uncomfortable. He appears to make up his mind and reaches out his hand to you again, leading you to sit on your own bed. You like that he’s taking the she always took the lead initiative.
You sit for a few seconds, looking at each other. The ridiculousness of the situation occurs to you, and apparently to him as well, as the corners of his mouth twitch. “So,” he says, in a slightly amused voice. You wonder what she would do smile at him, a shared joke.
“So,” you reply. You lean in for another kiss, and he pulls back a little, looks at you seriously.
“Are you sure?” You nod, and he says “Rosaline…” and he sounds like her.
“Gianni,” you say, and you pause, and take a breath. “I’m sure. I want to be doing this. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want you to be.”
He smiles, and he looks relieved, and it occurs to you that you’re less drunk than you thought you were. Her eyes shine out of his face and you’re sure you want this. You kiss him again, hard, and the taste of whiskey almost overwhelms you.
It’s he who pulls it back, slows the kiss down from the frantic pace you set. His tongue is gentle and undemanding, his face feels soft against yours and his hands are on your back, holding you close. You snake an arm around his neck to pull him closer, your other hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. His hands move to the hem of your shirt and then to your skin, to your back, undoing your bra with deftness that surprises you a little.
Your hands drop to the hem of his tee shirt and you break the kiss, lifting it over his head. You take a moment to appreciate a well made body - Gianni obviously works out, and he is toned, without being too defined. There is something comfortingly different, something so different from her soft curves very male about him when you see him like this.
He kisses you gently on the forehead and hesitantly begins to lift your tee shirt. You raise your arms, and he pulls it over your head, taking your bra with it.
He leans back a little, and his hand reaches out to cup your breast. You watch, feeling like you should be feeling more self conscious than you are. When his hand touches the pale skin nobody has touched you there since her you feel a warmth spread through you, and as his finger tips trace across sensitive skin you lean in for another kiss.
As your bodies mesh together you are aware of your nipples pressing against his bare skin, the warmth and the slight friction making you increasingly aware of the heat between your thighs.
She would leave you a sign and you would come to her - a ribbon on your dressing table, or a rosebud pinned to your pillow. You would go under cover of darkness to her room, through the house if it was raining, but you preferred to go out of your window and around the end gable to hers. She would never get up to let you in, you would push her door open and just slip into bed beside her.
The pace of the kisses increases, and he encourages you onto your back. He hovers over you, propped up on elbows and knees, not putting his weight on you. He smells of sandalwood and something she always smelled of flowers dark and fruity. It’s a comforting sort of smell.
You pull on his shoulder, and he lets his weight rest on you a little. You can feel the bulge of him against you, and you bring up a hand to stroke his face. He pushes your hair out of your face and kisses you deeply, and you arch up towards him. He slips on leg between yours and the delicious pressure against your core makes you whimper. His hand is at the back of your neck and his lips are soft and you never felt it this much with her the pressure is building and you think that you might almost be about to explode.
You decide to take the lead and, using one of the tricks you’ve used far too many times while fighting boys, you shift the both of you so that now he’s on his back and you’re straddling his slim hips. You lean down, enjoying how helpless he looks, and kiss him lightly and teasingly. He catches you, pulls you closer, kisses you harder. He runs his hand down your back, letting it rest at the small of your back. His touch sends shivers up your spine. You let out a heavy breath as you relax and let your body cover his.
He rolls you over again, and after kissing you once more, sits back on his haunches and unbuttons your trousers. You struggle to sit up and look rather pointedly at the pronounced bulge in his own. You watch your hand reach out and touch it gently, and he lets out a long hissing sound and says, “Fuck, Rosaline.” You smile, and unbutton his trousers, freeing his erection.
It’s bigger than you thought it would be, and wider. You look between it and she would be horrified his gentle, concerned face, and you know that you want this.
“It doesn’t matter what you say,” you hear yourself say, “in a situation like this, anything is going to sound ridiculous or perverted.”
He smiles. “You are so beautiful,” he says, and you grin back at him.
“Do you have -” you say, and he nods.
“You want to -” he says, and you bite your lip and nod, too. He reaches into his pocket and gets out his wallet. You don’t watch. Instead you take the opportunity to wriggle out of your trousers and your white cotton underwear, leaving you naked in more ways than one. You kiss him again, and he mutters something like “Lay back down.”
You relax back into your pillows and close your eyes. Staring at the stars painted on your ceiling would feel oddly wrong at a time like this. There’s a crinkling sound, and your bed creaks a little, and then he’s over you again, his lips meet yours and he nudges your thighs apart. You willingly comply, and then you feel him at your entrance. It’s more like pressure than anything, and then it hurts a little bit as he enters you.
It’s hot pain, not raw, and there’s pleasure, too. You can feel yourself adjusting to take him in. He’s being very still, and you suppose he’s trying not to hurt you. He kisses you softly, but there’s a question in the kiss, and you murmur, “I’m okay,” into his mouth.
Then he pulls out a little, slowly, and pushes back in again, and it hurts a bit more for a moment and then it’s nice again. He begins a slow rhythm, and you roll your hips in a circle because it’s beginning to feel really good.
He reaches down with his hand, and you feel his cool finger against your clitoris, and the pressure combined with the feeling of him inside you sends a shudder of pleasure down your body. He strokes it again, gently, in a circle, and you begin to feel the wall of pleasure building in your lower back where it always does.
He murmurs “Rosaline,” and you kiss him slowly, cupping his cheek with your hand.
She never spoke when you went to her. You don’t remember how it began, but there must have been a first time. You went, you made love with her and you went away again. That was all there was to it.
The rhythm is beginning to build, and while he’s still being gentle, he’s moving faster and the tiny circles he’s drawing in pleasure on your clit are getting tighter and faster and faster and tighter and your hips are rolling in rhythm with his now and when your orgasm comes it’s a bit of a shock to you because you thought you wouldn’t ever come for someone else.
A few seconds later he gives one deeper, slightly harder thrust, and a gentle moan escapes him, and he comes, too. He presses a hot kiss to the side of your neck and lets his weight rest on you for a few seconds before rolling off, leaving you to curl up on your side, still breathing heavily. He climbs off the bed and returns a few seconds later to curl himself around you. His chest presses to your naked back, and his hand rests on your stomach, your legs spooning together naturally. You clasp your hands in front of your face and try not to feel the tears pricking the backs of your eyes.
The last time you went to her was the night of that ball. You went to her, only to find her entertaining another. You turned and left silently. You would forgive her anything.
You can’t help but feel them, and you can’t stop them from falling. Gianni strokes your stomach and kisses the back of your neck.
“I’m not her,” he says softly. You nod.
“I know,” and then the tears fall for real and he hugs you closer.
“I love you, but I can’t be her, not even for you.” He kisses your shoulder again. “I can’t be Juliet.”