~Touch Me ~ Unlove you fic #15 and #11
To make up for the hideous post with the table, here is the second fic of that universe. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be allowed to do that if I posted it in a comunity, but since I don't... *shrugs* Anyway, I couldn't bring myself to choose between the two prompts that inspired this story, so, as long as I don't come up with a new plot idea for either one of them, this fic will do for both.
Title: Touch me
Rating: soft R (angst and mention of sex)
Prompts: #11 I thought I needed this
# 15 This is my desperation in action
Wordcount: 2 127
Note: Unbeta'd, please point out any mistake
( Prompt table here)
You look at him and you just know you’ve got the biggest grin ever on your face, but you can’t help it. He’s cute, he’s smart, and for tonight, he’s yours. At the very least, it all seems to have started off alright.
Your eyelids are heavy, and part of your brain desperately tries to make you focus and behave yourself, but it’s becoming increasingly easy to just ignore it. It tells you that you’ll regret it in the morning, which is probably true, but at some point along the past few months, you just stopped to care about that sort of things. Actually, the worse it’ll be in the morning, the more you crave it while drunk. And fuck, but are you drunk.
You try to catch up on the conversation, because it seems you zoned out at some point, and now he’s talking to your cousin -the one who fucked his best mate the first week you came into town and still acts like she’s so fucking pure; yeah, that one- with full-on flirting. You wonder why he’s trying so hard with her although he clearly has no chance, and never tried, or even pretend to, with you, although you had sex a couple of times.
If you hadn’t had worse before, maybe you’d be hurt. You know that, because you can still feel a soft sting somewhere in your chest, but the alcohol already did its magic on your nerves so it’s ok. She’ll never fuck him anyway. She’s not like that. You snort at the thought. You hope no one noticed, but you shouldn’t worry. Nobody’s paying you any attention.
You observe your cousin now, and a bitter smile graces your lips. You never really liked her, and until a year or so ago, she was sort of the black sheep of the family. As a kid and a teenager, she was fat and ugly, aggressive, rude, and not really on the bright side. Now though, she’s changed into a beautiful woman (well, if you like giants, which apparently guys do… must be the long and perfect legs), bitchy and arrogant but somewhat reserved. She’s still dense, but she’s learned to hide it. Aggression and rudeness became self-confidence, and stupidity and lack of opinions passes now as universal tolerance. It still amazes you that you seem to be the only one to see right through it. She’s good.
You watch her looking down on him, even though they must be as tall and you’re all sitting anyway, and you hate her with a fury. She’s smug and contemptuous, she knows he wants her and she’s playing along at his expense, because she relishes the power she has over him. It’s all a game to her. What’s worse is that she also knows you claimed him long ago, and this is her way to laugh in your face. When the smirk you plastered on your lips becomes too hard to hold onto, you grab your beer and gulp down a few mouthfuls. You drink so fast it makes you choke, and there are tears in your eyes. Still, the beer is good.
The numbness still lulls you pleasantly, you still can’t quite discern things around you, but somehow the feelings you attempted to drown resurface too sharp again and you wonder how much it will take to take the edge off. You wonder how much more your body can take before you pass out. You hope there’s an in-between.
Suddenly, you decide you need a good laugh and throw yourself head first in the conversation. Wasted as you are, you could laugh at about anything. You bet you could even debate on child abuse and find it hilarious, so yeah, really, you’re not too worried about the topic, you just need a distraction.
That’s what you’re telling yourself when you realize they’re not into any kind of funny or light talk, they’re discussing the future. You blink. For a moment, you wonder if maybe you’ve slid into a parallel universe where bunnies wear flashing earrings and your cousin and he are actually planning their life together. Maybe you fell through a hole, like Alice in Wonderland, and you just can’t remember it. Maybe you’re just that drunk you’ve got hallucinations. You blink again. Nope, it’s still the same old world, same old reality. You’re not quite sure you’re relieved.
Your attempt at participating must have been noticed this time though, because they’re both looking at you with expecting faces. “Huh?” you manage. They glance at each other with that look. If your blood wasn’t so thick with alcohol, you bet it would rush straight to your cheeks. But it doesn’t so you try to ignore the judgment and play it cool and in full control. Of course you fail, your movements are clumsy and sloppy, and your eyes have difficulties focusing on anything specific, but it was worth a shot.
He repeats the question, and you wish you would’ve stuck to your daydreaming. There’s absolutely nothing on earth that you dread more than people asking what you plan on doing. Unfortunately for you, it’s such a common, innocent question, that it always comes up at some point, however hard you try to avoid it. There’re only so much lies you can tell. It’s exhausting, really.
You want to smile and tell him about colleges and travels and career plans, you want to cook him the perfect answer, the one he wants to hear, and serve it with a smile on your lips and a dreamy look in your eyes, but you can’t. It’s past 1 a.m. and the night is cold, your glass is empty and you just can’t. Not this time, it’s too hard and you’re too tired. Besides, your cousin is looking at you with an expression hovering between curious and mocking and it’s pissing you off.
Instead, you go for biting snark and painful truth. That reasonable side of your brain yells at you to just shut the fuck up already but like before you ignore it. You doubt you could, even if you wanted to, you’re too far gone by now. Later, you’ll blame it all on the alcohol, and it won’t be a complete lie.
For the moment, though, it’s honesty time. You tell him everything. You tell him that you’re not nineteen like you’ve told him before, but just a few weeks above seventeen. You tell him that you don’t know what you’re gonna do next year because you can’t see yourself living that long. In fact, you barely can see behind tomorrow because every day it keeps getting harder and harder and you have no idea how you’re gonna get through the next day, let alone the next week or the next month.
You tell him that he should just forget about your cousin who is indeed a slut and did sleep with his best friend, but since she won’t ever admit it why bother? You even have the nerve to shoot her a direct look and gain the satisfaction of seeing her totally horrified and off-balance. You hope you’ll be able to remember that look.
You tell him that you’re here, and willing, that so far he’s the nicest one you’ve ever slept with and that you’re oh so grateful for him not hurting you and even trying to make you feel good, that no one else’s bothered before and that you want that again, so please please please, if he could just look at you and touch you and fuck you, please, you could be really naughty if he wants you to, or sweet, whatever he wants, you’d do anything, just please…
Your voice breaks at the end of the tirade and you wish you wouldn’t have said a single word. You close your eyes because you can’t bear to see his face, strange mixture between totally freaked out, horrified and disgusted. When you open them again there’s also pity in them and you try to lose yourself in the humming that goes on in your head. You’re glad you’re so drunk, because you don’t think you could survive this otherwise.
It occurs to you that if he knew that, you would have just made your point about the whole not-being-able-to-go-through-any-other-day thing, and you find this hilarious. When you said you could laugh about anything… You’re tempted to giggle, but you doubt they would understand.
After apologizing profusely to him and casting you a hateful and disdainful glance, your cousin grabs her purse and stomps off, leaving you here. There’s only the two of you now and the humiliation, along with the need of him, grow stronger by the minute.
The silence is deafening, what with the alcohol making your ears ring loudly inside your own head. You suspect you’re the only one with that problem, but reckon that both of you suffocate under its weight. It’s not reassuring in any way.
He finishes his beer slowly, sitting in front of you, watching you. You’re feeling whiny now, and you don’t know if the words really escape your lips or if it’s all in your head. Either way, you’re pretty sure he can tell exactly what you’re thinking of because you don’t make a good job at keeping your poker face, and you’re certain he can see the need you have of him, of his touch, in your every feature. You really couldn’t care any less anymore, because nothing matters anymore.
When he stands up, you stand up too and throw yourself at him, trying to kiss him. You’re surprised when he doesn’t shove you away, because you didn’t expect even that much, but you still cling to him like to a fucking life-preserver you’re afraid to lose, because you know you’ll drown without him.
He tells you he doesn’t want to have sex with you, not again, that you’re way too young for him and that he’s sorry, that he didn’t know. You hear reproach and faint resentment in his voice, but it doesn’t get further than that.
He tries to let you down easily, for which you are grateful, but you don’t let him shove you away, you babble and you beg, you fucking beg him to let you spend the night with him. You tell him that you want him, that he doesn’t need to be afraid you’ll be more clingy after that (because for one, you don’t think it’s possible), that you’re leaving town tomorrow and won’t come back, that you don’t even love him, you just need to feel him…
He looks right into your eyes and whatever he sees there must be pretty upsetting because his eyes get so sad, it makes your heart ache a little, and you wonder what is so powerful inside you that can make him change his mind. You have a feeling it’s nothing you can be proud of and you’re about to reach the limits of your own embarrassment when he hugs you tight, crushing you really, kissing your hair, a hand rubbing your back in gentle touches.
You don’t let go of him and he murmurs soothing words to you, that it’s okay, that you can stay the night, if only you promise you’ll just sleep and cuddle and don’t push for sex, and oh my god that’s it you’re crying, because these are the best words you’ve ever heard in your entire life, and it’s so perfect…
You sob a little while against his shoulder, and you can feel your whole body relaxing and going slack against his. It occurs to you that you must look horrible but it’s okay because he’s got you and doesn’t care. You can also feel the effect of the alcohol retreating when things come more and more into focus as time goes by.
Suddenly, the exhaustion of all the turmoil catches up with you and you yawn. He leads you to his now familiar room, undresses you very carefully as if you were a china doll and you oddly wonder what’s up with that. It’s not like you’re breakable.
He lays you down on the bed and puts the sheet over you. He looks once again deep into your eyes, sighs, attempts a weak smile, and kisses your forehead. You smile happily, but your eyelids feel so heavy all of a sudden, you can’t keep your eyes open.
You hear him take his clothes off, and when he slips under the sheet next to you, you curl up against him and hold him tight. You breath in his scent, feel the muscles rippling under his skin, and you can’t help the grin on your face. The biggest grin ever. That’s when it finally hits you.
You never wanted to have sex with him.
Title: Touch me
Rating: soft R (angst and mention of sex)
Prompts: #11 I thought I needed this
# 15 This is my desperation in action
Wordcount: 2 127
Note: Unbeta'd, please point out any mistake
( Prompt table here)
You look at him and you just know you’ve got the biggest grin ever on your face, but you can’t help it. He’s cute, he’s smart, and for tonight, he’s yours. At the very least, it all seems to have started off alright.
Your eyelids are heavy, and part of your brain desperately tries to make you focus and behave yourself, but it’s becoming increasingly easy to just ignore it. It tells you that you’ll regret it in the morning, which is probably true, but at some point along the past few months, you just stopped to care about that sort of things. Actually, the worse it’ll be in the morning, the more you crave it while drunk. And fuck, but are you drunk.
You try to catch up on the conversation, because it seems you zoned out at some point, and now he’s talking to your cousin -the one who fucked his best mate the first week you came into town and still acts like she’s so fucking pure; yeah, that one- with full-on flirting. You wonder why he’s trying so hard with her although he clearly has no chance, and never tried, or even pretend to, with you, although you had sex a couple of times.
If you hadn’t had worse before, maybe you’d be hurt. You know that, because you can still feel a soft sting somewhere in your chest, but the alcohol already did its magic on your nerves so it’s ok. She’ll never fuck him anyway. She’s not like that. You snort at the thought. You hope no one noticed, but you shouldn’t worry. Nobody’s paying you any attention.
You observe your cousin now, and a bitter smile graces your lips. You never really liked her, and until a year or so ago, she was sort of the black sheep of the family. As a kid and a teenager, she was fat and ugly, aggressive, rude, and not really on the bright side. Now though, she’s changed into a beautiful woman (well, if you like giants, which apparently guys do… must be the long and perfect legs), bitchy and arrogant but somewhat reserved. She’s still dense, but she’s learned to hide it. Aggression and rudeness became self-confidence, and stupidity and lack of opinions passes now as universal tolerance. It still amazes you that you seem to be the only one to see right through it. She’s good.
You watch her looking down on him, even though they must be as tall and you’re all sitting anyway, and you hate her with a fury. She’s smug and contemptuous, she knows he wants her and she’s playing along at his expense, because she relishes the power she has over him. It’s all a game to her. What’s worse is that she also knows you claimed him long ago, and this is her way to laugh in your face. When the smirk you plastered on your lips becomes too hard to hold onto, you grab your beer and gulp down a few mouthfuls. You drink so fast it makes you choke, and there are tears in your eyes. Still, the beer is good.
The numbness still lulls you pleasantly, you still can’t quite discern things around you, but somehow the feelings you attempted to drown resurface too sharp again and you wonder how much it will take to take the edge off. You wonder how much more your body can take before you pass out. You hope there’s an in-between.
Suddenly, you decide you need a good laugh and throw yourself head first in the conversation. Wasted as you are, you could laugh at about anything. You bet you could even debate on child abuse and find it hilarious, so yeah, really, you’re not too worried about the topic, you just need a distraction.
That’s what you’re telling yourself when you realize they’re not into any kind of funny or light talk, they’re discussing the future. You blink. For a moment, you wonder if maybe you’ve slid into a parallel universe where bunnies wear flashing earrings and your cousin and he are actually planning their life together. Maybe you fell through a hole, like Alice in Wonderland, and you just can’t remember it. Maybe you’re just that drunk you’ve got hallucinations. You blink again. Nope, it’s still the same old world, same old reality. You’re not quite sure you’re relieved.
Your attempt at participating must have been noticed this time though, because they’re both looking at you with expecting faces. “Huh?” you manage. They glance at each other with that look. If your blood wasn’t so thick with alcohol, you bet it would rush straight to your cheeks. But it doesn’t so you try to ignore the judgment and play it cool and in full control. Of course you fail, your movements are clumsy and sloppy, and your eyes have difficulties focusing on anything specific, but it was worth a shot.
He repeats the question, and you wish you would’ve stuck to your daydreaming. There’s absolutely nothing on earth that you dread more than people asking what you plan on doing. Unfortunately for you, it’s such a common, innocent question, that it always comes up at some point, however hard you try to avoid it. There’re only so much lies you can tell. It’s exhausting, really.
You want to smile and tell him about colleges and travels and career plans, you want to cook him the perfect answer, the one he wants to hear, and serve it with a smile on your lips and a dreamy look in your eyes, but you can’t. It’s past 1 a.m. and the night is cold, your glass is empty and you just can’t. Not this time, it’s too hard and you’re too tired. Besides, your cousin is looking at you with an expression hovering between curious and mocking and it’s pissing you off.
Instead, you go for biting snark and painful truth. That reasonable side of your brain yells at you to just shut the fuck up already but like before you ignore it. You doubt you could, even if you wanted to, you’re too far gone by now. Later, you’ll blame it all on the alcohol, and it won’t be a complete lie.
For the moment, though, it’s honesty time. You tell him everything. You tell him that you’re not nineteen like you’ve told him before, but just a few weeks above seventeen. You tell him that you don’t know what you’re gonna do next year because you can’t see yourself living that long. In fact, you barely can see behind tomorrow because every day it keeps getting harder and harder and you have no idea how you’re gonna get through the next day, let alone the next week or the next month.
You tell him that he should just forget about your cousin who is indeed a slut and did sleep with his best friend, but since she won’t ever admit it why bother? You even have the nerve to shoot her a direct look and gain the satisfaction of seeing her totally horrified and off-balance. You hope you’ll be able to remember that look.
You tell him that you’re here, and willing, that so far he’s the nicest one you’ve ever slept with and that you’re oh so grateful for him not hurting you and even trying to make you feel good, that no one else’s bothered before and that you want that again, so please please please, if he could just look at you and touch you and fuck you, please, you could be really naughty if he wants you to, or sweet, whatever he wants, you’d do anything, just please…
Your voice breaks at the end of the tirade and you wish you wouldn’t have said a single word. You close your eyes because you can’t bear to see his face, strange mixture between totally freaked out, horrified and disgusted. When you open them again there’s also pity in them and you try to lose yourself in the humming that goes on in your head. You’re glad you’re so drunk, because you don’t think you could survive this otherwise.
It occurs to you that if he knew that, you would have just made your point about the whole not-being-able-to-go-through-any-other-day thing, and you find this hilarious. When you said you could laugh about anything… You’re tempted to giggle, but you doubt they would understand.
After apologizing profusely to him and casting you a hateful and disdainful glance, your cousin grabs her purse and stomps off, leaving you here. There’s only the two of you now and the humiliation, along with the need of him, grow stronger by the minute.
The silence is deafening, what with the alcohol making your ears ring loudly inside your own head. You suspect you’re the only one with that problem, but reckon that both of you suffocate under its weight. It’s not reassuring in any way.
He finishes his beer slowly, sitting in front of you, watching you. You’re feeling whiny now, and you don’t know if the words really escape your lips or if it’s all in your head. Either way, you’re pretty sure he can tell exactly what you’re thinking of because you don’t make a good job at keeping your poker face, and you’re certain he can see the need you have of him, of his touch, in your every feature. You really couldn’t care any less anymore, because nothing matters anymore.
When he stands up, you stand up too and throw yourself at him, trying to kiss him. You’re surprised when he doesn’t shove you away, because you didn’t expect even that much, but you still cling to him like to a fucking life-preserver you’re afraid to lose, because you know you’ll drown without him.
He tells you he doesn’t want to have sex with you, not again, that you’re way too young for him and that he’s sorry, that he didn’t know. You hear reproach and faint resentment in his voice, but it doesn’t get further than that.
He tries to let you down easily, for which you are grateful, but you don’t let him shove you away, you babble and you beg, you fucking beg him to let you spend the night with him. You tell him that you want him, that he doesn’t need to be afraid you’ll be more clingy after that (because for one, you don’t think it’s possible), that you’re leaving town tomorrow and won’t come back, that you don’t even love him, you just need to feel him…
He looks right into your eyes and whatever he sees there must be pretty upsetting because his eyes get so sad, it makes your heart ache a little, and you wonder what is so powerful inside you that can make him change his mind. You have a feeling it’s nothing you can be proud of and you’re about to reach the limits of your own embarrassment when he hugs you tight, crushing you really, kissing your hair, a hand rubbing your back in gentle touches.
You don’t let go of him and he murmurs soothing words to you, that it’s okay, that you can stay the night, if only you promise you’ll just sleep and cuddle and don’t push for sex, and oh my god that’s it you’re crying, because these are the best words you’ve ever heard in your entire life, and it’s so perfect…
You sob a little while against his shoulder, and you can feel your whole body relaxing and going slack against his. It occurs to you that you must look horrible but it’s okay because he’s got you and doesn’t care. You can also feel the effect of the alcohol retreating when things come more and more into focus as time goes by.
Suddenly, the exhaustion of all the turmoil catches up with you and you yawn. He leads you to his now familiar room, undresses you very carefully as if you were a china doll and you oddly wonder what’s up with that. It’s not like you’re breakable.
He lays you down on the bed and puts the sheet over you. He looks once again deep into your eyes, sighs, attempts a weak smile, and kisses your forehead. You smile happily, but your eyelids feel so heavy all of a sudden, you can’t keep your eyes open.
You hear him take his clothes off, and when he slips under the sheet next to you, you curl up against him and hold him tight. You breath in his scent, feel the muscles rippling under his skin, and you can’t help the grin on your face. The biggest grin ever. That’s when it finally hits you.
You never wanted to have sex with him.