FIC- What Goes Around... (Mac/Dick)
Title: What Goes Around...
Author: ashleigh (leobrat)
Pairing/Characters: Mac/Dick
Rating: NC-17
Summary: As if he hasn't taken enough...
Spoilers/Warnings: Set during Mac and Dick's first spring break at Hearst, spoils everything up to now, just to be safe. very harsh language and graphic sexual situations.
Author's Notes: I wrote this for the vm_library Anonymous challenge, so I really tried to do something different than I ever had before. The title comes from the fact that I obsessively listened to the JT song (which has nothing to do with the plot), but the sentiment works in the end. ;) It's a very harsh look at M/D, and certainly not my idea of romance, but here it is, for better or worse. This has already been posted at my journal, vm_library, dick_mac and veronicamarsfic, I hope that's okay. Since it was so different for me, I'm really eager to see how people like this style, and I have it entered in the vmwhat_if challenge, so I'd like to see if anyone has any suggestions for the 'next installment'.
His lips slid down her throat, sucking at the pulse beating rapidly against the fragile, thin skin at the base. The movement was slow and torturous. He was teasing her on purpose. He wanted her to suffer. When he stopped kissing her, she let out a quiet, low whimper that sounded childish, then a not-so-quiet, guttural moan as he plucked at her nipples, which were straining against the soft cotton of Parker’s sundress. She clawed at his silky blond hair, grabbing fistfuls of it just for something to hold on to, and still he slid down further to dip his tongue in between the shallow valley of her breasts. He impatiently tore at her dress straps and groaned.
“Fuck...”
There was pain in his voice. She could feel an elastic tight tension in his shoulders under the press of her fingertips. He gripped her hips roughly, and she felt his breath wash over her chest in ragged pants. “Fuck,” he said again, the word coming out sounding like a sob, and she knew that his suffering was just as great as hers.
* * *
It was Parker’s fault. Or maybe she could blame it on Veronica. Either way, Dick and Logan’s Spring Break Bash at the Neptune Grand had decidedly not been her own idea. Logan invited Veronica, to prove that he didn’t care that she had gone out with Piz the previous weekend, and Veronica was going to show up to prove that she didn’t care that he didn’t care. Parker was just excited to get all dressed up and go to a four-star hotel. She was easily amused, Mac thought to herself. It was nice to know that even a sick creep like Mercer Hayes couldn’t change that.
She hadn’t been to the hotel since...since. Her face must have fallen when Veronica announced where they would be going on Tuesday night, and Veronica put her hand over Mac’s, gently saying that Mac didn’t have to go if she didn’t want to. They could scrap the whole idea if she wasn’t ready. But Mac didn’t want to be babied. Veronica was tortured with a taser on the roof of the Neptune Grand, and if she could go back there, so could Mac. All Mac did was sit in a hotel room wrapped up in a shower curtain for half an hour.
It was not nice to know that no matter what the occasion, Parker couldn’t resist using Mac for her very own dress-up dolly. “It is one hundred degrees out there,” Parker had protested. It was really more like eighty. “Really Mac, what is the point of living in southern California if you’re going to wear a sweatshirt and jeans every day of your life?” Veronica was getting dressed at her own house, so Mac had no allies and no choices. Hurricane Parker had spoken, leaving short pastel sundresses and strands of faux pearls in her wake. At least Mac got to wear her own flip-flops, because all of the wedge-heeled sandals Parker put in front of her to match the sea-green Juicy Couture dress were two sizes too big. She did draw the line at the self-tanner Parker tried to spray on her. Veronica texted Mac to let them know that she was parked downstairs and off to the Neptune Grand they went.
* * *
“Hey...Hey, are you okay?” She awkwardly stroked his head, still pressed tightly to her breasts and trembling slightly. And she was sure she could hear him quietly crying. His arms were so tight around her, it felt like he was trying to squeeze the very life out of her- and she thought he just might be. She watched her own hand running through the smooth blond locks- he really did have such girly hair- and was surprised to see how unsteady she was, too.
He wrenched her hand away and slammed it to the wall over her head. She got it. He wasn’t allowing any tenderness. He pulled her other hand up and held both of her wrists with one of his hands. Standing up straight, he was almost a foot taller than her. She had always thought of him as skinny- or at least ‘lean’- but up close, she could see the tight, sinewy outline of his surfer’s muscles beneath his thin tee shirt. “Don’t,” he said, and the word was harsh, a bitter curse.
Her voice was as shaky as her hands, which were flexing involuntarily in his unforgiving grip. “I’m just-“
“Shut up,” he growled, crushing his mouth on hers. Teeth clashed and he bit down hard on the tender pad of her lower lip, and she squeaked out a small gasp. “Shut up,” he said again, very softly.
* * *
The party was eerily normal. Mac didn’t know what she expected- life had certainly gone on without Cassidy Casablancas. In fact, his death had done wonders for the Neptune Grand’s business. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Aaron Echolls had been murdered the same night a tortured, tragic figure of a teenager jumped off the roof.
The party looked- God, it looked just like Logan and Dick’s post-graduation party, with a few different faces.
Veronica had been dragged off somewhere by an extremely intoxicated Logan. She had gone with him to avoid a scene, and Parker had stuck by Mac like a trooper, constantly asking if she was okay, if she was having a good time, until Mac was ready to haul back and jump off the roof herself. Instead, she just steered Parker towards some cute boy that Mac knew from her freshman seminar- cute, nice, flirty and safe- firmly telling Parker for the umpteenth time that she didn’t need a baby-sitter. This was like the time that her father had brought her up to the diving cliffs of their campsite near Redwood when she was eleven and petrified of heights. Her father told her that she just had to face her fears, if she jumped off (like her cousins did) she would see it wasn’t so bad. It was horrible, but at least he left her alone about it after that.
She didn’t know if she would be so lucky as to get out of future trips to the Neptune Grand.
What she needed was for time to fly by, like in that episode of Buffy where the world moved around her at the speed of light. Why couldn’t she just blink and have this night be over? Or get one of those computer chips that the Trio planted on Buffy? That would work, too. Boys were looking at her. It had to be Parker’s dress. Boys were looking at her like they looked at Parker. Mac didn’t like it, at all. She wanted something to put around her shoulders, to hide herself.
She didn’t like being this uncovered. It reminded her of what it was like that night, running around that hotel room naked, ripping open the closets and drawers, hoping to god that some wayward guest had left a bathrobe, a sweatshirt, god, a bra behind. No thanks to the California sun, she wanted to keep every inch of her up to her throat closed off. As funny as it sounded, she had to feel constricted, had to feel encased, or she couldn’t breathe.
There was a coffee shop down on the next block. She could slip down and be back in an hour- that would be a respectable enough amount of time before she asked Veronica and Parker to leave. She made her way to the door, ducking her head down to cover her face with her hair.
“Bonnie! My Bonnie flies over the ocean! Where you going, girl, where’s my Bonnie baby?” Mac gasped as two arms closed around her from behind, lifting her straight off the ground. She would recognize that voice anywhere.
She struggled instinctually. “Dick, put me down!” she said, though her voice was choked. He was holding her too tight.
“Aww come on, Bonnie girl,” he was drunk. “You’re not still mad about that paternity test, are you?”
Paternity test? She didn’t even want to know. “Dick, put me...” She shoved at the golden-brown arms holding her around the middle, but they wouldn’t budge. And then she felt soft, wet kisses along the back of her neck. That did it.
She slammed the hard point of her elbow into his gut, and he let her go. She slid to the floor, but before she could get away, he grabbed her wrist and spun her around to face him. And his eyes flew open when he looked into her eyes. And he let go of her wrist like her skin burned him. “You...what the fuck...” He shoved his hair out of his eyes and glared at her. “The fuck,” he said again.
Mac couldn’t take it any more. She didn’t want to be there any more than he wanted to look at her. She took off running into the hallway, frantically punching the buttons on the elevator. “Come on, come on,” she muttered. She glanced back to the penthouse, Dick was still standing in the door, glaring at her. The light finally dinged on her floor and the elevator doors open. She looked up and Dick was still standing there. Dammit, who the hell planned those doors to face the penthouse? So the rich could watch and laugh at the little people who fled in shame?
* * *
He tipped her head all the way back, still holding her wrists over her head. He pulled his lips a centimeter over hers, and up close, she could see the desperation in his eyes. She opened her mouth to say something- she didn’t know what, but something. This was getting out of control.
But he wasn’t having any of that. “Shh,” he whispered. “Don’t.” And he descended on her mouth again. She expected his kiss to be harsh, ravaging, like before. But he brushed his lips across hers with an aching tenderness, as if he was every bit as ready to break as she was. His hands came down, sliding down her back and over her hips. He finally allowed her to bring her own arms down and she wrapped them tightly around his neck, pulling him down to her, clinging to him, as if they held onto each other, the world would stay solid under their feet.
And then she felt him balling up her skirt in his fists and sensed the cool air dancing over her naked thighs.
* * *
Mac decided that she despised the penthouse, if for no other reason that it took forever to get back down to the lobby. The elevator stopped on three floors before it hit the seventh floor, and six extraordinarily large men in business suits got on. They were practically cartoon caricatures. God must hate me, she thought to herself. The elevator was right next to room 724. That was the room where Mac had lost her innocence, her healthy teenage libido, and half her sanity...but not her virginity.
The door was taking an obscenely long time to close, and Mac could feel one of the men- the largest one at that- breathing down the back of her neck. “Hey sweetie,” he leered at her. God, this was not her night. Without answering, she darted out of the elevator, just as the doors were closing behind her.
She stepped to the right, and closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She peeked one eye open. Yep, there it was. 724. Mac felt like she was frozen to the carpet in the hallway. She couldn’t move. It was just a door. She reached a hand out to the gilded numbers. It was just a hotel room. Nothing special. After Veronica had gotten her out, the hotel staff had cleaned it up and put fresh sheets on the bed and towels in the bathroom, and they checked in new guests the next day. Like nothing happened.
Mac thought she heard voices from inside, and tried to move away from the door. Now this was world-class creepy, lurking in hotel hallways. Not what people were paying $365 a night for, for someone to eavesdrop on their getaway trysts. Before she could move, the door to 724 swung open and Mac came face-to-face with a good-looking guy in his mid-thirties. He raised his eyebrows at Mac. “Can I...help you?” She could hear a giggling female voice somewhere within the room.
She shook her head, her mind at a loss for words. With a roll of his eyes, he shut the door, probably to go back to having sex, and Mac held her arms around her waist. She felt light-headed. She could hear her father’s voice in her head, goading her into taking that leap off the cliffs. “You’ve got to face your fears, Cindy, it’s no way to go through life being a scaredy-cat.”
She stepped back in front of the elevator, shifting from one foot to another, and when the doors finally opened- and the elevator was, thankfully, empty- she punched the button for the roof.
* * *
She went still as he knelt in front of her, pulling her underwear down around her ankles. She didn’t know what he was doing, and didn’t even know what she wanted him to do. So she didn’t say anything. He shoved her skirt back up around her waist, and looked up at her, then back down at the dark triangle between her thighs.
Her face was flush pink. She felt so exposed- on display, and waited for him to judge her. He had the beginnings of a lascivious smile on his face. She held her breath as she watched him slowly stick his tongue out and drag it along her slit, and she let out a wanton moan that she could scarcely believe was coming from her own lips. He looked back up at her with a sneer, and quickly hooked an arm behind her knees and lifted her, settling her down on her back on the cold, hard cement and knelt between her spread, open thighs.
* * *
It was cooler on the hotel roof than it was on the ground, which made sense- the roof was a cemetery.
She rubbed her hands over the goosebumps on her arms. There was no trace of him up here either. Totally normal. Well, whatever was normal to be on top of a hotel. Pipes and electrical units. A semi-spectacular view- Neptune wasn’t much to look at, after all. The world hadn’t stopped spinning when Cassidy killed himself...And in reality, her life had gone on too. She went to therapy and started college, and she even kissed a boy. Not that anything had come of it. Bronson, like any other college guy, expected a natural progression of things after that first kiss. Mac had frozen up the first time he tried to kiss her on his couch, in the dark of his bedroom, and things had gotten awkward. He didn’t call her after that.
And there was this damn, stupid part of her that Cassidy wouldn’t let go. She had been hysterical when Veronica found her that night, and later on, Veronica told her that she kept saying, over and over, “He took everything.” That was Veronica’s gentle way of asking her if she had been raped.
Mac looked out around the roof, trying to map out what happened that night before Cassidy jumped off the roof. She walked to the edge, and tried to picture him sprawled out on the ground below, bloody and cold and dead. She didn’t see him afterwards. There was no funeral, no memorial service- God, who would have gone? She really wasn’t even sure if she would have.
“Fuck you, Cassidy,” she said out loud, the obscenity foreign on her tongue. “Fuck you!” She said again louder. Then she screamed it, “Fuck you, Cassidy!” She was so close to the edge, and the wind was blowing. It was strong, it could easily blow her over. Was that how it happened for him? Did he not mean to jump, and was just pushed by the wind? He was always so slight- it could have happened. “Fuck you,” she said again. She heard a catch in her voice, and felt tears filling her eyes. Damn. She had cried enough over Cassidy Casablancas, and yet he insisted on taking more.
She kicked at the air, wishing so desperately that she had something to throw off the roof. Something to throw or something to hit or kick or tear at. She wasn’t that close to the edge. She had at least a foot of space. But that didn’t stop her from clinging to the arms that pulled her harshly back. And then she fought again. Tore at the arms around her, beat on the solid chest behind her. Who the hell was lurking up on that roof? Who else would want to be up here?
She finally shoved the figure off of her when they were a good distance away from the edge, and shuddered when she realized that she had been grabbed and manhandled by Dick for the second time that night.
His eyes were blazing blue, hot with anger. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m...I’m...What are you doing up here?” She turned the tables on him, steadying her breathing.
His mouth set in a tight line. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” He said again. “What, are you going to pull some kind of fucked-up Romeo and Juliet shit over my psycho fag of a brother?”
Mac breathed deep to steady herself. “You thought I was going to jump? Hasn’t he taken enough?”
His eyes flew open in fury and he raised a hand tightly closed in a fist. Mac flinched, but then he pointed at her, his expression like that of a panther ready to pounce. His voice came out soft, velvet smooth, almost a whisper. “Then what are you doing here?”
Mac looked back out to the edge of the building. “I’m...I’m taking it back.” Dick was quiet behind her, Mac could hear him breathing. She was very still, and didn’t know how long she stood there. He was quiet, too- very quiet. So quiet that when she felt his lips coming down on the soft skin where her neck met her shoulder, she gasped in surprise.
He turned her in his arms to face him, and pulled her by the back of the neck to kiss her. His kiss was harsh and angry, nothing seductive about it. She was still for a second, and then responded, without thinking. This wasn’t lust between them, or even attraction. This was devastation. When he moved to suck her earlobe between his teeth, biting down sharply, she hissed. “Dick...Dick, what are you doing?”
He lifted his head, and pulled her into him again. “I’m taking it back, too.”
* * *
She hissed when the concrete scratched her back, and he looked down at her again, almost looking angrily. But then he drew off his own shirt. “Sit up,” he grunted.
“Huh?” she answered, breathless.
He pulled her up with one hand, and spread the tee shirt underneath her, before pushing her shoulders back down. He sat back up, and looked down at her. She thought that might be what he enjoyed the most about this, looking down at her. He spread her thighs with his big hands, opening her completely and she held her breath as she watched that blond head descending on her and jumped up when he licked at her again.
He chuckled, but she didn’t even care that he was laughing at her when his tongue found her hard little clitoris and he nipped it delicately. She whimpered. It hurt, but she didn’t want him to stop. “You’re going to come for me, you frigid little bitch,” she thought she heard him say, and she still didn’t care. His mouth was moving over her, licking and nibbling, and scraping his teeth, and she was shaking beneath him. He slid his long middle finger deep inside of her and she cried out at the stretch. “Jesus...Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, closing his mouth over her clit again and flicking his tongue in a sweet counter-motion to the slow thrust of his finger.
When tiny tremors racked out around his finger, he withdrew and pulled her tightly to his mouth. She tried to push him away- she wanted to at least enjoy her first orgasm in peace, and his eyes watching her from between her legs didn’t help. But he was determined to make her scream. And to her eternal humiliation, she did. She whimpered and begged and finally screamed his name out in a choking sob before he gave her release.
And when she finally stopped trembling, he lifted his head and sat up on his heels. He opened the front of his jeans, and his cock sprang out, fully erect. She was surprised to see that he had totally shaved his groin. It made him look all the more long and golden. She pushed herself up on one elbow, to sit up and weakly put out a hand. She couldn’t. She wasn’t ready for that.
But he had other plans, and he took her hand as an offering and wrapped it around him. Her hand was still, limp, and she was embarrassed to say she didn’t know what to do. “Well, hold it,” he said. She stayed still though, and he closed his fingers over hers and showed her how to touch him, what rhythm worked. She was not surprised that he liked it rough, and soon he took his own hand away, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
And she understood his determination. She wanted to do everything to him that he had done to her; she wanted to make him beg. But unfortunately, she didn’t have enough experience to know when to stop, and his release was far too easy and quick. He pushed her back and slid over her, thrusting against the downy softness of her stomach once, twice, three times and then spending himself all over her belly.
He was breathing hard, and he was heavy on top of her, and Mac still didn’t move. He was gripping her shoulders tight enough to bruise. Finally, he got up, and Mac looked down, dragging her fingers through the sticky mess on her stomach. He pulled her to a sitting position and took his shirt back. But instead of putting it on, he carefully wiped her stomach off and pulled her to her feet. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say to that. She was still a total mess and she didn’t know how she was going to make it down back through the hotel, and how she was going to evade Veronica and Parker’s questions. “I...um...I can’t find my underwear,” she said.
He looked from side to side and then around the roof a little. “I can’t either.”
The coolness of their afterglow was excruciating. She needed to get away from him, needed to get off the goddamn roof, away from those angry, piercing blue eyes of his. What the hell was supposed to happen now?
He threw his shirt in one of the roof’s trash receptacles, and approached her again.
She tried to speak, “I...”
“Get out.”
Her eyes widened. That was it?
He said it again, and she could hear the bitter despair in his voice. “Get out. And don’t come back here. His ghost doesn’t need to be raised.”
Mac turned and quickly fled the roof, no longer caring what happened to her underwear. Going back to the party was out of the question- she had to get out of there immediately. She ran right down into the hotel lobby and to the taxi stand. She avoided looking in any mirrors or glass- she didn’t want to see how disheveled she surely was, with her dress straps stretched out, her skirt wrinkled, and of course, the noticeable wet spot in the front.
She finally let her tears flow when she got into her cab.
* * *
Dick watched her small figure out on the ground as she shifted from one foot to another waiting for a taxi. Frigid little bitch. He tried to put the image of tears welling in her eyes out of his head, but that didn’t work. He would never forget the way she looked at him. Just like he would never forget the way she looked when she came, or the raw way his name sounded when she screamed it. Just like he never forgot the mindless crush he had on the smart girl in his math class freshman year. One more thing his brother took from him.
“Fuck you,” he said out into the night.
Author: ashleigh (leobrat)
Pairing/Characters: Mac/Dick
Rating: NC-17
Summary: As if he hasn't taken enough...
Spoilers/Warnings: Set during Mac and Dick's first spring break at Hearst, spoils everything up to now, just to be safe. very harsh language and graphic sexual situations.
Author's Notes: I wrote this for the vm_library Anonymous challenge, so I really tried to do something different than I ever had before. The title comes from the fact that I obsessively listened to the JT song (which has nothing to do with the plot), but the sentiment works in the end. ;) It's a very harsh look at M/D, and certainly not my idea of romance, but here it is, for better or worse. This has already been posted at my journal, vm_library, dick_mac and veronicamarsfic, I hope that's okay. Since it was so different for me, I'm really eager to see how people like this style, and I have it entered in the vmwhat_if challenge, so I'd like to see if anyone has any suggestions for the 'next installment'.
His lips slid down her throat, sucking at the pulse beating rapidly against the fragile, thin skin at the base. The movement was slow and torturous. He was teasing her on purpose. He wanted her to suffer. When he stopped kissing her, she let out a quiet, low whimper that sounded childish, then a not-so-quiet, guttural moan as he plucked at her nipples, which were straining against the soft cotton of Parker’s sundress. She clawed at his silky blond hair, grabbing fistfuls of it just for something to hold on to, and still he slid down further to dip his tongue in between the shallow valley of her breasts. He impatiently tore at her dress straps and groaned.
“Fuck...”
There was pain in his voice. She could feel an elastic tight tension in his shoulders under the press of her fingertips. He gripped her hips roughly, and she felt his breath wash over her chest in ragged pants. “Fuck,” he said again, the word coming out sounding like a sob, and she knew that his suffering was just as great as hers.
* * *
It was Parker’s fault. Or maybe she could blame it on Veronica. Either way, Dick and Logan’s Spring Break Bash at the Neptune Grand had decidedly not been her own idea. Logan invited Veronica, to prove that he didn’t care that she had gone out with Piz the previous weekend, and Veronica was going to show up to prove that she didn’t care that he didn’t care. Parker was just excited to get all dressed up and go to a four-star hotel. She was easily amused, Mac thought to herself. It was nice to know that even a sick creep like Mercer Hayes couldn’t change that.
She hadn’t been to the hotel since...since. Her face must have fallen when Veronica announced where they would be going on Tuesday night, and Veronica put her hand over Mac’s, gently saying that Mac didn’t have to go if she didn’t want to. They could scrap the whole idea if she wasn’t ready. But Mac didn’t want to be babied. Veronica was tortured with a taser on the roof of the Neptune Grand, and if she could go back there, so could Mac. All Mac did was sit in a hotel room wrapped up in a shower curtain for half an hour.
It was not nice to know that no matter what the occasion, Parker couldn’t resist using Mac for her very own dress-up dolly. “It is one hundred degrees out there,” Parker had protested. It was really more like eighty. “Really Mac, what is the point of living in southern California if you’re going to wear a sweatshirt and jeans every day of your life?” Veronica was getting dressed at her own house, so Mac had no allies and no choices. Hurricane Parker had spoken, leaving short pastel sundresses and strands of faux pearls in her wake. At least Mac got to wear her own flip-flops, because all of the wedge-heeled sandals Parker put in front of her to match the sea-green Juicy Couture dress were two sizes too big. She did draw the line at the self-tanner Parker tried to spray on her. Veronica texted Mac to let them know that she was parked downstairs and off to the Neptune Grand they went.
* * *
“Hey...Hey, are you okay?” She awkwardly stroked his head, still pressed tightly to her breasts and trembling slightly. And she was sure she could hear him quietly crying. His arms were so tight around her, it felt like he was trying to squeeze the very life out of her- and she thought he just might be. She watched her own hand running through the smooth blond locks- he really did have such girly hair- and was surprised to see how unsteady she was, too.
He wrenched her hand away and slammed it to the wall over her head. She got it. He wasn’t allowing any tenderness. He pulled her other hand up and held both of her wrists with one of his hands. Standing up straight, he was almost a foot taller than her. She had always thought of him as skinny- or at least ‘lean’- but up close, she could see the tight, sinewy outline of his surfer’s muscles beneath his thin tee shirt. “Don’t,” he said, and the word was harsh, a bitter curse.
Her voice was as shaky as her hands, which were flexing involuntarily in his unforgiving grip. “I’m just-“
“Shut up,” he growled, crushing his mouth on hers. Teeth clashed and he bit down hard on the tender pad of her lower lip, and she squeaked out a small gasp. “Shut up,” he said again, very softly.
* * *
The party was eerily normal. Mac didn’t know what she expected- life had certainly gone on without Cassidy Casablancas. In fact, his death had done wonders for the Neptune Grand’s business. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Aaron Echolls had been murdered the same night a tortured, tragic figure of a teenager jumped off the roof.
The party looked- God, it looked just like Logan and Dick’s post-graduation party, with a few different faces.
Veronica had been dragged off somewhere by an extremely intoxicated Logan. She had gone with him to avoid a scene, and Parker had stuck by Mac like a trooper, constantly asking if she was okay, if she was having a good time, until Mac was ready to haul back and jump off the roof herself. Instead, she just steered Parker towards some cute boy that Mac knew from her freshman seminar- cute, nice, flirty and safe- firmly telling Parker for the umpteenth time that she didn’t need a baby-sitter. This was like the time that her father had brought her up to the diving cliffs of their campsite near Redwood when she was eleven and petrified of heights. Her father told her that she just had to face her fears, if she jumped off (like her cousins did) she would see it wasn’t so bad. It was horrible, but at least he left her alone about it after that.
She didn’t know if she would be so lucky as to get out of future trips to the Neptune Grand.
What she needed was for time to fly by, like in that episode of Buffy where the world moved around her at the speed of light. Why couldn’t she just blink and have this night be over? Or get one of those computer chips that the Trio planted on Buffy? That would work, too. Boys were looking at her. It had to be Parker’s dress. Boys were looking at her like they looked at Parker. Mac didn’t like it, at all. She wanted something to put around her shoulders, to hide herself.
She didn’t like being this uncovered. It reminded her of what it was like that night, running around that hotel room naked, ripping open the closets and drawers, hoping to god that some wayward guest had left a bathrobe, a sweatshirt, god, a bra behind. No thanks to the California sun, she wanted to keep every inch of her up to her throat closed off. As funny as it sounded, she had to feel constricted, had to feel encased, or she couldn’t breathe.
There was a coffee shop down on the next block. She could slip down and be back in an hour- that would be a respectable enough amount of time before she asked Veronica and Parker to leave. She made her way to the door, ducking her head down to cover her face with her hair.
“Bonnie! My Bonnie flies over the ocean! Where you going, girl, where’s my Bonnie baby?” Mac gasped as two arms closed around her from behind, lifting her straight off the ground. She would recognize that voice anywhere.
She struggled instinctually. “Dick, put me down!” she said, though her voice was choked. He was holding her too tight.
“Aww come on, Bonnie girl,” he was drunk. “You’re not still mad about that paternity test, are you?”
Paternity test? She didn’t even want to know. “Dick, put me...” She shoved at the golden-brown arms holding her around the middle, but they wouldn’t budge. And then she felt soft, wet kisses along the back of her neck. That did it.
She slammed the hard point of her elbow into his gut, and he let her go. She slid to the floor, but before she could get away, he grabbed her wrist and spun her around to face him. And his eyes flew open when he looked into her eyes. And he let go of her wrist like her skin burned him. “You...what the fuck...” He shoved his hair out of his eyes and glared at her. “The fuck,” he said again.
Mac couldn’t take it any more. She didn’t want to be there any more than he wanted to look at her. She took off running into the hallway, frantically punching the buttons on the elevator. “Come on, come on,” she muttered. She glanced back to the penthouse, Dick was still standing in the door, glaring at her. The light finally dinged on her floor and the elevator doors open. She looked up and Dick was still standing there. Dammit, who the hell planned those doors to face the penthouse? So the rich could watch and laugh at the little people who fled in shame?
* * *
He tipped her head all the way back, still holding her wrists over her head. He pulled his lips a centimeter over hers, and up close, she could see the desperation in his eyes. She opened her mouth to say something- she didn’t know what, but something. This was getting out of control.
But he wasn’t having any of that. “Shh,” he whispered. “Don’t.” And he descended on her mouth again. She expected his kiss to be harsh, ravaging, like before. But he brushed his lips across hers with an aching tenderness, as if he was every bit as ready to break as she was. His hands came down, sliding down her back and over her hips. He finally allowed her to bring her own arms down and she wrapped them tightly around his neck, pulling him down to her, clinging to him, as if they held onto each other, the world would stay solid under their feet.
And then she felt him balling up her skirt in his fists and sensed the cool air dancing over her naked thighs.
* * *
Mac decided that she despised the penthouse, if for no other reason that it took forever to get back down to the lobby. The elevator stopped on three floors before it hit the seventh floor, and six extraordinarily large men in business suits got on. They were practically cartoon caricatures. God must hate me, she thought to herself. The elevator was right next to room 724. That was the room where Mac had lost her innocence, her healthy teenage libido, and half her sanity...but not her virginity.
The door was taking an obscenely long time to close, and Mac could feel one of the men- the largest one at that- breathing down the back of her neck. “Hey sweetie,” he leered at her. God, this was not her night. Without answering, she darted out of the elevator, just as the doors were closing behind her.
She stepped to the right, and closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She peeked one eye open. Yep, there it was. 724. Mac felt like she was frozen to the carpet in the hallway. She couldn’t move. It was just a door. She reached a hand out to the gilded numbers. It was just a hotel room. Nothing special. After Veronica had gotten her out, the hotel staff had cleaned it up and put fresh sheets on the bed and towels in the bathroom, and they checked in new guests the next day. Like nothing happened.
Mac thought she heard voices from inside, and tried to move away from the door. Now this was world-class creepy, lurking in hotel hallways. Not what people were paying $365 a night for, for someone to eavesdrop on their getaway trysts. Before she could move, the door to 724 swung open and Mac came face-to-face with a good-looking guy in his mid-thirties. He raised his eyebrows at Mac. “Can I...help you?” She could hear a giggling female voice somewhere within the room.
She shook her head, her mind at a loss for words. With a roll of his eyes, he shut the door, probably to go back to having sex, and Mac held her arms around her waist. She felt light-headed. She could hear her father’s voice in her head, goading her into taking that leap off the cliffs. “You’ve got to face your fears, Cindy, it’s no way to go through life being a scaredy-cat.”
She stepped back in front of the elevator, shifting from one foot to another, and when the doors finally opened- and the elevator was, thankfully, empty- she punched the button for the roof.
* * *
She went still as he knelt in front of her, pulling her underwear down around her ankles. She didn’t know what he was doing, and didn’t even know what she wanted him to do. So she didn’t say anything. He shoved her skirt back up around her waist, and looked up at her, then back down at the dark triangle between her thighs.
Her face was flush pink. She felt so exposed- on display, and waited for him to judge her. He had the beginnings of a lascivious smile on his face. She held her breath as she watched him slowly stick his tongue out and drag it along her slit, and she let out a wanton moan that she could scarcely believe was coming from her own lips. He looked back up at her with a sneer, and quickly hooked an arm behind her knees and lifted her, settling her down on her back on the cold, hard cement and knelt between her spread, open thighs.
* * *
It was cooler on the hotel roof than it was on the ground, which made sense- the roof was a cemetery.
She rubbed her hands over the goosebumps on her arms. There was no trace of him up here either. Totally normal. Well, whatever was normal to be on top of a hotel. Pipes and electrical units. A semi-spectacular view- Neptune wasn’t much to look at, after all. The world hadn’t stopped spinning when Cassidy killed himself...And in reality, her life had gone on too. She went to therapy and started college, and she even kissed a boy. Not that anything had come of it. Bronson, like any other college guy, expected a natural progression of things after that first kiss. Mac had frozen up the first time he tried to kiss her on his couch, in the dark of his bedroom, and things had gotten awkward. He didn’t call her after that.
And there was this damn, stupid part of her that Cassidy wouldn’t let go. She had been hysterical when Veronica found her that night, and later on, Veronica told her that she kept saying, over and over, “He took everything.” That was Veronica’s gentle way of asking her if she had been raped.
Mac looked out around the roof, trying to map out what happened that night before Cassidy jumped off the roof. She walked to the edge, and tried to picture him sprawled out on the ground below, bloody and cold and dead. She didn’t see him afterwards. There was no funeral, no memorial service- God, who would have gone? She really wasn’t even sure if she would have.
“Fuck you, Cassidy,” she said out loud, the obscenity foreign on her tongue. “Fuck you!” She said again louder. Then she screamed it, “Fuck you, Cassidy!” She was so close to the edge, and the wind was blowing. It was strong, it could easily blow her over. Was that how it happened for him? Did he not mean to jump, and was just pushed by the wind? He was always so slight- it could have happened. “Fuck you,” she said again. She heard a catch in her voice, and felt tears filling her eyes. Damn. She had cried enough over Cassidy Casablancas, and yet he insisted on taking more.
She kicked at the air, wishing so desperately that she had something to throw off the roof. Something to throw or something to hit or kick or tear at. She wasn’t that close to the edge. She had at least a foot of space. But that didn’t stop her from clinging to the arms that pulled her harshly back. And then she fought again. Tore at the arms around her, beat on the solid chest behind her. Who the hell was lurking up on that roof? Who else would want to be up here?
She finally shoved the figure off of her when they were a good distance away from the edge, and shuddered when she realized that she had been grabbed and manhandled by Dick for the second time that night.
His eyes were blazing blue, hot with anger. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m...I’m...What are you doing up here?” She turned the tables on him, steadying her breathing.
His mouth set in a tight line. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” He said again. “What, are you going to pull some kind of fucked-up Romeo and Juliet shit over my psycho fag of a brother?”
Mac breathed deep to steady herself. “You thought I was going to jump? Hasn’t he taken enough?”
His eyes flew open in fury and he raised a hand tightly closed in a fist. Mac flinched, but then he pointed at her, his expression like that of a panther ready to pounce. His voice came out soft, velvet smooth, almost a whisper. “Then what are you doing here?”
Mac looked back out to the edge of the building. “I’m...I’m taking it back.” Dick was quiet behind her, Mac could hear him breathing. She was very still, and didn’t know how long she stood there. He was quiet, too- very quiet. So quiet that when she felt his lips coming down on the soft skin where her neck met her shoulder, she gasped in surprise.
He turned her in his arms to face him, and pulled her by the back of the neck to kiss her. His kiss was harsh and angry, nothing seductive about it. She was still for a second, and then responded, without thinking. This wasn’t lust between them, or even attraction. This was devastation. When he moved to suck her earlobe between his teeth, biting down sharply, she hissed. “Dick...Dick, what are you doing?”
He lifted his head, and pulled her into him again. “I’m taking it back, too.”
* * *
She hissed when the concrete scratched her back, and he looked down at her again, almost looking angrily. But then he drew off his own shirt. “Sit up,” he grunted.
“Huh?” she answered, breathless.
He pulled her up with one hand, and spread the tee shirt underneath her, before pushing her shoulders back down. He sat back up, and looked down at her. She thought that might be what he enjoyed the most about this, looking down at her. He spread her thighs with his big hands, opening her completely and she held her breath as she watched that blond head descending on her and jumped up when he licked at her again.
He chuckled, but she didn’t even care that he was laughing at her when his tongue found her hard little clitoris and he nipped it delicately. She whimpered. It hurt, but she didn’t want him to stop. “You’re going to come for me, you frigid little bitch,” she thought she heard him say, and she still didn’t care. His mouth was moving over her, licking and nibbling, and scraping his teeth, and she was shaking beneath him. He slid his long middle finger deep inside of her and she cried out at the stretch. “Jesus...Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, closing his mouth over her clit again and flicking his tongue in a sweet counter-motion to the slow thrust of his finger.
When tiny tremors racked out around his finger, he withdrew and pulled her tightly to his mouth. She tried to push him away- she wanted to at least enjoy her first orgasm in peace, and his eyes watching her from between her legs didn’t help. But he was determined to make her scream. And to her eternal humiliation, she did. She whimpered and begged and finally screamed his name out in a choking sob before he gave her release.
And when she finally stopped trembling, he lifted his head and sat up on his heels. He opened the front of his jeans, and his cock sprang out, fully erect. She was surprised to see that he had totally shaved his groin. It made him look all the more long and golden. She pushed herself up on one elbow, to sit up and weakly put out a hand. She couldn’t. She wasn’t ready for that.
But he had other plans, and he took her hand as an offering and wrapped it around him. Her hand was still, limp, and she was embarrassed to say she didn’t know what to do. “Well, hold it,” he said. She stayed still though, and he closed his fingers over hers and showed her how to touch him, what rhythm worked. She was not surprised that he liked it rough, and soon he took his own hand away, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
And she understood his determination. She wanted to do everything to him that he had done to her; she wanted to make him beg. But unfortunately, she didn’t have enough experience to know when to stop, and his release was far too easy and quick. He pushed her back and slid over her, thrusting against the downy softness of her stomach once, twice, three times and then spending himself all over her belly.
He was breathing hard, and he was heavy on top of her, and Mac still didn’t move. He was gripping her shoulders tight enough to bruise. Finally, he got up, and Mac looked down, dragging her fingers through the sticky mess on her stomach. He pulled her to a sitting position and took his shirt back. But instead of putting it on, he carefully wiped her stomach off and pulled her to her feet. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say to that. She was still a total mess and she didn’t know how she was going to make it down back through the hotel, and how she was going to evade Veronica and Parker’s questions. “I...um...I can’t find my underwear,” she said.
He looked from side to side and then around the roof a little. “I can’t either.”
The coolness of their afterglow was excruciating. She needed to get away from him, needed to get off the goddamn roof, away from those angry, piercing blue eyes of his. What the hell was supposed to happen now?
He threw his shirt in one of the roof’s trash receptacles, and approached her again.
She tried to speak, “I...”
“Get out.”
Her eyes widened. That was it?
He said it again, and she could hear the bitter despair in his voice. “Get out. And don’t come back here. His ghost doesn’t need to be raised.”
Mac turned and quickly fled the roof, no longer caring what happened to her underwear. Going back to the party was out of the question- she had to get out of there immediately. She ran right down into the hotel lobby and to the taxi stand. She avoided looking in any mirrors or glass- she didn’t want to see how disheveled she surely was, with her dress straps stretched out, her skirt wrinkled, and of course, the noticeable wet spot in the front.
She finally let her tears flow when she got into her cab.
* * *
Dick watched her small figure out on the ground as she shifted from one foot to another waiting for a taxi. Frigid little bitch. He tried to put the image of tears welling in her eyes out of his head, but that didn’t work. He would never forget the way she looked at him. Just like he would never forget the way she looked when she came, or the raw way his name sounded when she screamed it. Just like he never forgot the mindless crush he had on the smart girl in his math class freshman year. One more thing his brother took from him.
“Fuck you,” he said out into the night.