RP: Shopping

[shh_zach]

Date: 8 June 2005
Characters: Mandy Brocklehurst, Zacharias Smith
Location: The Market
Status: Private
Summary: Shopping sucks, but Mandy makes it bearable.
Completion: Incomplete

Comments

[shh_zach]

Zach tensed as Mandy placed the bags on the floor and he held her eyes as she moved toward him. His heart seemed to be beating violently against his chest and he wondered just where this was going and found the anticipation almost overwhelming.

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.

[shh_mandy]

Mandy stood in a daze as Zach closed his palm over her hand, shut his eyes, kissed her fingertips. The gesture was almost unbearably tender, and it was answer enough. There was a slight tremor in her whole body as she saw him pick up the bags and go into the kitchen, moving with a deliberate quiet that somehow said everything about the churning emotion under the surface control.

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."

[shh_zach]

A soft touch to his back and Zach was amazed that she still wanted to touch him at all. How could she not think less of him?

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."