Summary: And every time she leaves him her life feels a little more monotonous. Summer is finding that she cannot play her role anymore. The routine is old. Oneshot.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, so don't talk to me about lawsuits.

A/N: Hmm…where to begin with this one? It was an idea brought about by a line in a Fall Out Boy song, a scolding from a dance instructor, and a dream. It's been building; this is just the explosion. It's kind of a sequel to Friction and kind of a stand alone. I suppose that portion is entirely up to you.


I only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me

She spends lazy afternoons sprawled out across soft cotton sheets, eyes tracing his movements through a filter of dark eyelashes. Her skin holds the appearance of melted butter: glistening, aching, and melting into the mattress. He can taste salt when his lips trail down her torso.

And every time she leaves him her life feels a little more monotonous.

She hasn't decided why she still pretends to be okay with the routine. She wants to think that she can hold a conversation with her best friend without wondering why he stays with her; wants to pretend that she's one hundred percent focused on her boyfriend's gentle touches and shy kisses.

But unfortunately for her, the routine is old, dead, buried, and she can't seem to play her role anymore.

Because when it's her boyfriend that she's kissing her eyelids burn with images of another boy. A blond rebel without a cause and fuckfuckfuck does it hurt more than she'd admit.


She somehow ends up alone with nothing to do. The summer heat swells through her sparkling glass windows, pulsating and forcing her to soak ice cubes on the back of her neck. Tiny, almost-frozen droplets of water glide down the porcelain skin of her shoulders and she shivers, cursing to herself as she watches the men outside work on repairing the pool.

Her parents couldn't figure out what had clogged the filters.

She didn't bother to tell them she'd lost her bikini bottoms the last time she was left home alone. She also didn't bother to tell them who had pulled them off.

She bites her lip and grins. Marissa is out of town with her mother, having been forced into a "family weekend" in Palm Springs. Seth is amusing himself elsewhere; she doesn't particularly care what his afternoon adventures entail. Her teeth gnaw at her bottom lip for another moment before she nods, fingers flying over the numbers on her phone.

And it rings.

Once, twice, three times, oh.

His voice fills the line and she lets out a breath she hadn't noticed she'd been holding. Her plea is like velvet, filtering through the receiver and caressing him, touching him, allowing images of her to cascade through his mind. He agrees without another thought and she presses her lips to the microphone end of her cell phone, murmuring her thanks before the line is disconnected.

Not ten minutes passes before the door closes with a soft click behind her.

And he feels the corner of his mouth tilt up.

"Hot out?"

The question catches her off guard and she pauses at the edge of his bed, bobbing her head up and down.

"Scorching," she agrees softly. He turns to face her, back leaning against the window, chest gloriously uncovered in an attempt to escape the California sun. Her mouth curves into a small grin and he notices the way her brown hair is plastered to her head and her eyes are shining in an almost-challenging way. Frayed shorts barely succeed at hiding the toned curves of her hips and a white tank top does little, if anything, but cling to her moist skin.

When she bites her lip his eyes stop their wandering and flicker upward toward her mouth.

"So what's the point in being here?" She raises an eyebrow as she crawls onto the mattress and plants herself in the middle of it, legs spread tantalizingly and arms locked at the wrists behind her to hold her up. "Because no offense, Summer, but we've never really cooled down on any of your visits."

She smiles at him innocently. "There are big strong men trying to unclog our pool filters; I was bored."

His lips curve up in a sardonic grin and his eyes sparkle at the memory. "Poor girl," he teases lightly. She sighs overdramatically and sinks back into the pillows.

"Wanna make me feel better?"

He's at the edge of the bed now and he falls forward, hands bracing him on the springs as he crawls over her and frames her with the wiry sinew of his arms. Her fingers trace trails down his chest and she giggles at the way he shudders from the sensation. He sinks to his elbows and plants a chaste kiss on her collarbone.

"How could I ever make you feel better?"

Her lips trace his jaw, his neck, and his earlobe is caught between her teeth sharply. He groans against her ear and feels her lips curve into a smile against his skin.

"I could think of a few techniques," she whispers quietly. It's like a secret; a whispered confession behind closed doors meant for only his ears. And to an extent, it is: a dirty little secret, a nagging feeling in his stomach when he's with his girlfriend.

His response is to push his hands under the elastic-like fabric of her tank top, massaging, circling, and exerting pressure against her skin as his lips find that spot on her neck that makes her squirm. And squirm she does: two thin, excruciatingly smooth legs encasing his waist in an attempt to pull him closer.

"Care to share?"

He's teasing her now, flicking at the button on her shorts so that it opens without notice. She arches slightly, pressing her hips into his as response. He closes his eyes tightly and lets out a harsh breath that glides across her skin and makes her undulate against him.

"Fuck," he curses quietly. She smiles coyly and continues her actions. He groans again and peels the garment off of her skin, breath hitching in his throat when he looks back at her.

She isn't shy.

And he can feel himself hardening in response to the way her mouth seeks out his and presses against it again and again, kisses increasing in pressure and intensity along the way. "Ryan," she whispers into his mouth, gasping as his hand finds his way into her shorts and under the lacy fabric of her panties. "Ryan," she grinds out his name again, forcing her eyes to stay open so she can look in his eyes.

"How can I make you feel better?" he smiles and kisses her softly, lips trailing down the angle of her jaw and across her collarbone. When his finger finds its way inside of her she gasps and digs her nails into his shoulders.

"Fuck me," she whispers.

And he kisses her again as another finger glides against wet silk.


She doesn't know why she let it happen. It was stupid and careless and screamed warnings at her. But she had. She'd stayed and ended up falling asleep curled into his arms.

And when she hears the distinct voice of her boyfriend reverberating off the glass windows of the pool house she wants to fold herself into the mattress and disappear.

Seth stops dead in his tracks at the site of her sprawled across his best friend's chest. Brown hair tucked into the curve between her shoulder and neck, covering a small portion of his perfectly toned chest, brown eyes staring at him in horror.

Despite the look in her eyes, the only thought in her mind is that the routine is finally falling to pieces. And that makes her smile. Just a little.