RP: Shopping
Date: 8 June 2005
Characters: Mandy Brocklehurst, Zacharias Smith
Location: The Market
Status: Private
Summary: Shopping sucks, but Mandy makes it bearable.
Completion: Incomplete
( He'd always hated shopping. )
Characters: Mandy Brocklehurst, Zacharias Smith
Location: The Market
Status: Private
Summary: Shopping sucks, but Mandy makes it bearable.
Completion: Incomplete
( He'd always hated shopping. )
Undeterred, Zach leaned in murmuring extremely silly things that were obviously meant to distract her guard from the ghosting kiss that landed on her ear a second later, sending a sharp sweet tingle through her. Mandy parted her lips on a careful breath, lowering her eyelids as she glanced away. She almost didn't believe what came out of his mouth next.
They'd not talked since that strange series of owls on Wednesday night, hadn't gone to see each other the whole of yesterday, but she'd somehow managed to fool herself into thinking the next time he referred to that gift, it might be in a charmingly sweet way.
Not Zacharias Smith, professional prat. Mandy vowed to herself that she'd dig into the charms section at Bookworm and see if she could find something that staved off this infernal, horrible blushing she'd taken to doing whenever he looked at her in that amused, speculative way. She tilted her chin up and met his gaze with a level one of her own, despite the heat in her face.
"Well, you know I only have one of that specific design, so I guess you'll just have to take a good look and see what you think, Smith," she murmured sweetly, and turned her denim-clad backside to him, idly strolling to the next stall.
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And that blush...
Her arse filled out those jeans nicely. Very nicely, and he felt his groin tighten and his stomach contract just watching her move. He watched avidly for a moment before following.
"Hey," he whispered in her ear, catching up. "I don't see any lines, but that means nothing. Denim is too thick." He reached around and tugged at a beltloop below her belly. "I'll have to have a closer look, I'm afraid." He grinned and hugged her back against him. "How are you? You're going to help me shop, yeah? Please? I'll stop teasing... unless you don't mind. I do like teasing you."
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Straightening up, she let out a breath as he was right there again, lips to her poor ear, barely grazing her sensitive warm skin as he whispered. For a second that was all the contact there was, and then he tugged her close, her back flush against his chest, and all she could think was that he'd feel how fast her pulse was going now and that it gave him much more advantage than he really deserved. But then she bit her lip and relaxed back against him, smiling softly to herself. Because Zach's heartrate wasn't exactly unaffected either.
She could feel his thumb hooked at the top of her beltloop, resting right against her stomach, and wondered at how it was possible to be so hyperaware of one square inch of skin. She drew a breath. "Just splendid, thanks. You'd better stop teasing if you want to get any shopping done," she warned him, but her arch glance over her shoulder softened meeting the smiling blue of his gaze. He looked glad to be holding her that way, honestly glad for her and it was so familiar and sweet that she laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "How are you, yourself?"
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"You really going to help me shop? Fantastic. I've no idea what one buys when one lives alone. Do they sell self cooking meals here? How about house elves that will cook for you?" He pressed his face against her shoulder for a moment before letting go and stepping back just a bit.
"So show me what I need. I'm in your hands today." He batted his eyelashes. "Be gentle."
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She grinned up at him as he let her go, though, pretty sure he'd never force her hand that way since he'd tried to rile her up about it too many times before. And smiling back, he actually flirted with those eyelashes, in a ridiculously exaggerated way that perversely was both so sexy and so cute that Mandy had to restrain herself from kissing him and seeing what would happen. She pinched his cheek instead.
"Show you what you need? You need a firm hand, is what you need, Smith. Gentle, indeed," she scoffed, hooking her arm into his. "This is going to be such fun. First stop, dry goods. You need flour, rice, pasta, sugar..." She gave him a happy smirk. It felt rather satisfying, getting to play the know-it-all to someone who was an even worse cook than she was.
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He watched her for a moment, wondering if she was serious. "You really think I need a firm hand?" Cause that was just... way to close to what he was afraid of. He was sure she was just saying it to be funny, but he'd feel better after she admitted it.
"Why do I need that stuff," he asked, following her obediently. "I mean, rice and pasta I can see... but flour and sugar... that sounds like you expect me to actually make something. You know I'm pants at doing anything in the kitchen. It'll be wasted, yeah?"
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His next question puzzled her, not so much the words but the way he watched her as he said it. As if he really wondered, and she thought they'd joked around so much over the years that it was odd he'd ask in that serious tone. She reached up and rubbed at her arm in distraction, uncertain because it seemed he needed some kind of reassurance and she really wanted to give it, but didn't know what it was.
"You need a firm hand in the sense that you're a very unscrupulous Hufflepuff who'll grab the advantage if I so much as turn my back," she said at last and started walking to the door to the indoors market, her mouth twitching into another smile. "As you just recently demonstrated. I give you an inch and you run off with the whole leash." She paused, then smiled wider yet spoke more quietly, glancing up at him. "I didn't say I didn't like it."
They'd reached the shelves stocked with dry goods, and she reached up and firmly placed packages of sugar and flour in his bag. "Sugar for tea and cereals and, well, it's good to have sugar around. Flour for ... never mind, every pantry should have flour in it or it doesn't deserve the name. Rice." She dropped it in the bag, and reached for more packages. "Pasta. Salt." She tugged him by the elbow to another shelf. "Canned stuff. Just pick what you like."
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"Ah, I see," he said, following her as she walked away. "Least you don't think it's weakness of character that I need help with. I can pretty much agree with my impulsivness, however I'm a bit offended that I'm being compared to a dog." He poked her in her side, just to see her squirm. She squirmed well in thos jeans. He could get used to seeing that. "Yeah. Well, just cause we like something doesn't always make it okay, does it?" he muttered. "Not to say you shouldn't like it, but perhaps I shouldn't." And he was babbling. "I'll just shut up now. Shopping, right? Shopping. I'm glad you're here, I bloody hate shopping."
He followed obediently and tried to protest as she continued tossing stuff into his bag. "But... what's... hey..." Couldn't get a word in edgewise. Sighing and shaking his head, he followed her to the next shelf. "All right, food ready to eat out of a can is something I understand. We should have came here first." Lentils, peas, tomatoes, lime curd, mincemeat, branston pickle, plum jam, marmite. He'd have likely continued for days if he'd not looked up to see her watching him. "What?" he asked, grinning at her. "Never seen a batchelor shop before? It's not a pretty sight, I know."
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She should've known it was only subterfuge. When Zach leaned in closer, lowering his voice, her stomach dropped at the suggestiveness of his remark. Her breath a bit shaky, Mandy gave him a wary look because she simply couldn't believe he'd intended her to make the association she'd just done. Her gaze inevitably fixed on his mouth and she could tell from the wicked way it curved up in response that her interest was embarrassingly evident. And that he'd fully intended her to think of exactly what she had. And that he knew precisely the image that was running through her mind that very second. She dropped her gaze abruptly, the basket handle clutched hard in a sweaty hand.
Maybe he felt a little sorry for her, because that finger poking her side was more friendly than tormenting, and she glanced at him with a frown as he kept talking. She was thrown from her own distraction as she realized that something was definitely off. From that intense sensuality a moment ago to this nervous ... babbling. There was no other word for it. He'd got something on his mind and she intended to figure it out. Just not right now.
Shopping. He was right, shopping was good. Even if he hated it. But Zach showed more inititative at the canned goods shelf than she'd have expected. Her eyebrows climbed as his bag filled up with cans and glasses of condiments, and she shook her head.
"Actually I'm fascinated. But ... bachelor?" She tried in vain to bite back a giggle. "Smith, that's adorable. I didn't know you thought of yourself that way. It makes me think of you in slippers, smoking a pipe. In a flannel nightrobe," she said, giving the giggles free rein as she tugged on his arm again. "Come on, let's go outside to the stalls and find you some fresh goods."
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"I don't own slippers. Or a pipe. And I'll have you know that I never wear flannel. As if." He gave a very exagerated shudder. "You should know me well enough to know I have better taste than that." He grinned and popped her on her arse as she tugged him toward the outside stalls. "Fresh goods? That sounds like something that will have to be used or tossed within the week. I'll suck at that." Rows of cabbage and potatoes and carrots and turnips filled the area. He followed her until she came to a stop at the potatoes, wrapping a few for him and tossing them into his bag.
"Can't I just move into the local pub? Or you could just come feed me all my meals. I'll spring for the french maid skirt," he added with a leer.
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"What you do," she explained patiently, "is eat your veggies before they rot. It's really not such a difficult concept, Zach, and it'ill make you grow big and strong. Potatoes are good, and carrots. And leeks, yum. They're my favourite. We'll make leek pie some day. I saw a recipe in my granny's book." She filled his bag as she spoke, and then proceeded to get tomatoes and zucchini and lettuce. In response to the French maid comment she just gave him a stern look and pushed him off to another stand to get bread, butter, eggs and milk. She watched him pay the dairy stall owner, and then come back to pay for his vegetables.
"Let's apparate back," she said, nodding to his wand since she was holding her own basket in one hand and Zach's bag with vegetables in the other. "Side-along, if you please. And you know you get dizzy from apparition, so if you fall when we arrive please try to not sit on the eggs," she said, sticking her tongue out to him again just because she'd liked the way his eyes had crinkled in response the first time she did it.
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"Hang on, love. I'll try not to drop you on that pretty arse, all right?" Kissing her nose he tightened his hold and apparated them back to his flat. Darkness pressed down around them, constricting, and Zach took a deep breath once it abated and his living room materialized around them. He was so focused in trying to keep them both upright that he completely forgot about letting her go.
That was the only reason he was still holding her.
Really.
"All right?" he whispered, his lips brushing against her temple. He could feel her heart beating against his chest and how the hell had it gotten so hot in here?
Belatedly he pulled away, running his hand through his hair and fighting not to blush. "You've not seen the place since I've been back. Let's put these up and I'll show you what all I've done."
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She stared at the red patch of skin on his neck, bared as he'd swept his hair back with that awkward gesture. Her heart was beating just as fast as before but this was a painful, harder pulse, making her swallow hard. Glancing down at the groceries she was still holding, she quietly put the basket and bag down on the floor, flexing her numb fingers, and closed the two steps' distance to Zach, who was meeting her gaze with beginning apprehension. She raised her hand, gently touching her fingertips to the fading red patch, the sort of mark only a lover's mouth would leave in such a place. It was hard to imagine any other explanation.
The bloke who kissed him, she thought, kissed him in a way that had made Zach drop his gaze and blush when he spoke of it. She just knew. The man downstairs.
Mandy parted her lips to speak, but pressed them together again when all that came out was a small stupid hitch in her breath. At last she just raised her gaze to his, only asking the question with her eyes, her fingertips still resting softly on the red mark right at the pulse point of Zach's neck.
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But things did not turn out the way he'd hoped.
At all.
Mandy's sweet, soft fingers went to his throat and he tensed further, seeing her eyes drop to what he bloody well knew was still a fucking mark on his throat that he'd forgotten to heal. She made a sound in her throat, one that made his chest hurt, and when she looked up at him again, what he saw in her eyes made him wish she'd simply hit him with a blunt object.
Fuck.
Unable to hold her gaze, he dropped his eyes, reaching up to cover her hand with his, holding it there for a moment. He closed his eyes, pulling their joined hands from his throat and kissing her fingertips gently. Squeezing her hand one last time he let go and went to retrieve the bags and take them into the kitchen. Once they were piled on the table he ran a hand through his hair again, feeling a bit ill.
Placing his palms flat on the table he bowed his head. "I don't know what I'm doing," he said quietly, not turning to even see if she had followed. "Please, don't think less of me. I can't bear that."
It was selfish of him to ask that of her, but he already felt as if he were barely hanging on.
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She couldn't just stand there and watch him like that. It was too ingrained, this pattern of give and take, gentleness and teasing, touch and comfort. She followed, stopped right inside the door when she saw him place his hands on the table as though he needed the support, the bow of his hunched back taut with tension.
"Think less of you?" she whispered. His words made no sense to her, but the ache in his voice did. She stepped closer, placed a hand carefully between his shoulder blades. "That's ... not exactly the problem here, Zach," she said, her voice sounding frail and disconnected to her ears, the words like torn links from a thin chain.
She'd walked into this situation with her eyes open, but that didn't mean she'd wanted to see. Right off the edge of the cliff, and the drop was harder than she'd thought. But she knew the way her stomach had been in knots all week hadn't been only excitement over the tension between them. It had been because she'd sensed the ambiguity in his response, moments of sheer sexual awareness broken off as he hedged and turned oblique. She just hadn't wanted to think he'd encourage her so blatantly when he was already seeing someone else. Had told herself that he'd never.
"It's just..." She faltered for a moment, before a flare of pride gave her voice new strength. "It's that on Sunday you were ... kissing my face, poking your hard dick at my stomach, and on Wednesday you were sending me sexy underwear and sweet, suggestive notes, and meanwhile you've ... had some person sucking at your neck and God knows what else, and it's just not bloody fair to do that to someone, Zach. Think less of you? Believe me, the only reason I've not given you a black eye to match that lovely mark is that presumably that person is a man." She let her hand drop from his back and backed away a few steps, leaning against the countertop as she rubbed tiredly at her temple.
"Because I knew you'd have to," she said, bitter-tasting yet gentle concession. "I knew it was only a matter of time."
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But then she began speaking and things became a bit more clear in his mind. He almost wished they hadn't been. Her voice sounded accusing, hurt, and fuck he didn't want her hurt, didn't want her to sound so broken and angry and pained. And she was right to be all of those things, that was the bad part.
She was fucking right.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so very much like crying. And that in itself pissed him off even more at himself. Jesus Christ, why the fuck couldn't he act like a man?
Forcing himself, he turned to face her, feeling as if he'd had all the air knocked out of him, and knowing he'd done it to himself. "Perhaps you should," he said. His voice sounded odd. "Give me a black eye. I didn't... I never meant to hurt you. And you're right, I fucking... I'm fucked up, Mandy. I don't fucking know what to do, all right?"
The anger at himself built quickly and he pushed off from the table and walked to the window, needing to move, unable to look at the pain in her face any longer. Clenching his jaw he looked out over the street below, unseeing. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked quietly, his voice brittle and shaky. "Because at this point, if you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them. Sunday... I had no idea that two days later I'd end up pressed up against a fucking wall by another man, letting him snog me, and fucking liking it." He gave a bitter laugh. "I fucking liked it."
Gritting his teeth he punched the wall beside the window as hard as he could, splintering the pane around the edge and bloodying his knuckles. The pain enough to let some of the anger drain away. Not all, but enough to get himself under control. His hand slid down the newly white paint, leaving a streak of red.
Turning, he balled his fist, the ache serving to help him stay focused, and he made himself look at her again.
"I don't want this. I don't want to be abnormal, I don't want to feel like I'm going insane, and more than anything in this entire world, I don't want to hurt you. But I'm so fucking scared all the time, and when you're around I'm just bloody not. You make things better and then your lips are so fucking soft and your eyes and your skin and the way you smell and God, please tell me what I'm supposed to do. Because next second Wayne walks into the room and my cock reacts the same fucking way. It's not right, it's fucking insane, and I bloody well know it and there's not a Goddamn thing I can do about it. Because he's so fucking understanding about the whole thing and and honest to god good guy who seems to actually give a shit and he makes it too fucking easy and I'd rather him punch me in my face for being a prat. It'd damn well be easier."
He moved in front of her, scared to touch her, but wanting to so badly. He reached up with the hand that wasn't bleeding and touched her face. "You're my best friend in the entire world. I can't lose you. I can't. And... I'm sorry. I'll do whatever it is you want me to do to fix this." He snorted. "Hell, you probably have a better idea of what I need to do to fix this. Castration maybe? How about a lobotomy?" He averted his eyes. "I'm so sorry. That's pretty pathetic, I know, but I don't know what else to say."
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