Okay, this fic was born at 2:30 or something in the morning as a direct result of me reading something rated M and wanting to write something hot myself. Man, that sounds completely weird. It took about 2-maybe 1 and ½ hours. Anyways, I also wound up throwing Shakespeare in there (read Midsummer Nights' Dream in English... And I wanted to look up a quote, the second one in this, actually, to put at the beginning... I got a bit carried away), anyways, they're in italics and, since you probably won't recognize them, they're from Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene II. Lol, I actually did this scene last year.
This story's sort of random... But it's the product of a deviant mind... Anyways, I also blame this on the fact that I re-read "Paper Moon", this freaking awesome RFR fic... That, unfortunately, hasn't been updated in over a year, I believe. So anyways, the title's a tribute to that fic. And it's an awesome song that happened to actually be in a Life With Derek episode.
Oh, and it was born out of listening to way too much Paper Moon because I love them way too much and have like... all their songs in my iPod/iTunes. Except for the one about cuttlefish and the one that's on their CD from Quince Records.
Also, I don't mention who she and he are, so I suppose they could be virtually anyone, but I think you'll figure it out... ;)
Site finally let me update! Yay!
A plague o' both your houses! I am sped.
She walked downstairs, completely unaware of his presence. Well, she wouldn't be that unaware for long, now would she?
After all, he wasn't exactly the kind of guy you could really ignore. Not even if you wanted to, like she most certainly did. That's why he loved bothering her, teasing her...
It got him off, the arguments. Not that he'd ever tell her that. Please, and be that transparent, yeah right...
And if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl,
For now, in these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
She noticed him, all right, but never in the way he wanted her to. How many months had it been? It had to be six, at least. But probably more, because here it was, summer again... And he wanted to claim what had been rightfully his since he'd seen her that day in the mall and pointed and said "You're mine."
Because she was, his, that is. She just didn't know that quite yet. But he would make sure she did soon enough.
He hated how she never noticed the way he checked her out at every available opportunity. Not even when she wore that red shirt that was so low already and kept falling off her. Or when she'd dressed up, and he'd seen her midriff and choked on his cereal. Couldn't she see through his plaster-thin act? Why couldn't everyone? The F he'd gotten in Acting Freshman year already proved he couldn't act to save his life, so why did they believe him?
Even now, his eyes roved over her form. She was wearing a tank-top that bared a tantalizing amount of skin, daring him to do something. It dared him, no, in fact, it taunted him to push the straps down, pull it over her head and go after exactly what he wanted. Oh, how he hated waiting. And he was tired of waiting for her to see through his act. Tired of wasting his time trying to get her to like him. As if that would ever happen.
And that skirt she was wearing... so short it was almost indecent. The denim reminded him of summers on the beach, meeting girls and staying there until sundown. It reminded him of sliding up the denim, the feeling of the gritty sand that clung to his skin afterwards in the darkness. He missed that feeling, wishing she was that sort of girl. But she wasn't, obviously enough. She didn't even look half as trashy as any girl he'd ever dated.
What wouldst thou have with me?
He didn't really get why he wanted her so bad it was driving him crazy. Well, that's not true. He did, but just wanting her because she was so unattainable seemed stupid to him. He'd dated so many prettier girls. And she wasn't easy; she was so naïve it hurt. Plus, she was unavailable, and if he went after her, he'd be sure to lose a good friendship. So, and here's the real dilemma... Why didn't he care?
Why did he really want her that bad? It wasn't like there were any feelings involved... In fact, she got on his last nerve. Some days he absolutely hated her. And yet, on some perverse level, that was the attraction. And there was an attraction there. An undeniable attraction that neither of them would admit to, but they both knew it. Or, at least, he knew it.
Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.
He'd grown sick of her parading around in all those skimpy clothes day after day, driving him more and more insane. Didn't she know what she was doing to him? Hell, this was Canada, not Kansas. It wasn't a sauna out there. Yet he still felt hot and sweaty.
Of course, that could be because the air conditioner was broken. But after debating it for the past week, he decided now was time to make his move. Today was the day, and damn the consequences. It was the perfect day, too. Everyone else was out of the house at a waterpark. Just him and her all alone.
She would never know what hit her. But he would, and he was looking forward to it very much.
She was sweaty already, and it was barely twelve. He'd just woken up, so he wasn't exactly wearing much either, but the jeans helped to hide just how turned on he was. Her hair was damp, curling at the tips. A drop or two of sweat ran down her arm from time to time when she adjusted her all-too visible black bra strap. Oh, she was too cruel, and he hoped the black heat burned itself into her skin.
Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any
in Italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon
moody to be moved.
Sweat beaded on her chest, occasionally getting carried away and gliding smoothly across her collarbone, down her milky-white skin, and disappearing between the ample cleavage the shirt offered. Every time that happened, he wanted to rip off the shirt just to see where it had gone. And maybe mess around a little and do something else.
She fanned herself with her shirt, flashing tempting bits of midriff every few seconds. He made it a contest to see how far he could see up her shirt. He didn't get very far. Every now and then, she would dab at her forehead with her forearm, biting her lip from the sweltering heat. He wasn't sweating, but he sympathized with her. She made him feel what the heat could not.
And so, the thoughts swirling around in his head vanished when her feet hit the floor. He knew. That was it. That was his moment. And in a flash, he was up and across the room, blindsighting her. He didn't know he could move so fast. She was taken aback, scared by the utterly wild look in his eyes. She sucked in a breath, and there he was, so suddenly, all up in her face without warning, out of nowhere.
Away to heaven, respective lenity,
And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!
He was acting so strangely to her. He barely had the time to get out a weak, "I want you," before his libido took over, and he was kissing her. Just like that. She tasted sweet, too sweet, and it felt all wrong, but he didn't care.
She did, of course. She wasn't comfortable with him pressed against her in every single conceivable way. She wasn't comfortable with his tongue shoved halfway down her throat. And she certainly wasn't comfortable with his roaming hands all over her body. So she forcibly shoved him, hard, pushed him far away. "No!" She screamed, trying to run away.
But she didn't count on him coming back. He grabbed her wrist, and she backhanded him with the other hand. The red mark stung his cheek, but that didn't stop him from kissing her again. He had all the right moves, and she really hated to admit that. Her lips were traitors as they responded to his advances. She had a boyfriend, and she loved him! Or that's what she thought she felt, but the heat was confusing everything, changing everything she'd thought she'd known.
She was proud and victorious as she broke away from him again. She wasn't going to give in. She wasn't like that, not one of those other girls. "I don't want this!" She cried, feeling frustrated and just wanting to leave. She suddenly missed her boyfriend. She ached for him, not this strange man. She tried to pass him, but he blocked her way. He always blocked her way.
"I think you do," He countered, and she had no reply. Of course, what could she say to that? So he kissed her again, ferociously, and, being his pushy self, forced her up the stairs. Her thought processes were flawed and slowing, and she didn't know what to do. What could she do? She'd tried to stop him, but that hadn't stopped him at all. Resistance was futile; that much, at least, was obvious.
O calm, dishonorable, vile submission!
And before either of them knew quite what was going on, she was kissing him back with reckless abandon, running her hands through his messy hair. Her back was against the wall, hands trailing down his cheeks. She moaned into his lips, and he pushed the straps of her top down her shoulders. His hands were rough and possessive as his lips trailed down her neck, not caring if he was leaving a mark. He was marking his territory, claiming his rightful belonging.
In a second, he had her skirt unzipped. It fell to the floor, but she didn't notice, and if she did, maybe she didn't care. His jeans felt tight and confining. Her fingers struggled with the zipper, but he was soon free. Passion overwhelmed them both, searing their senses. Their skin burned, but the sweat kept them cool.
He freed her hair and it fell down around her face, damp and in curls. He ran his hands through it, her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. They stumbled into his bedroom, but she didn't notice. If she had, she would've immediately backed out, found her skirt and ran out to her boyfriend. She would've screamed. She would've done something. But she didn't, so she didn't do any of that. It was just a harmless, random flirtation, right? And she was allowed to have a momentary crush... It wasn't serious.
Her shirt hit the floor at some point between his bed and his desk. Neither of them realized it, or even what any of this meant. They just got carried away, caught up in the moment. And then it was skin against skin, nothing in the way, nothing to stop them. They were just there, with the door and window wide open, not caring about anything but the moment.
His lips crashed upon hers. Her back hit the bed, and he followed, feverishly kissing every part of her he could touch. She tasted so good and he wanted more. More, more, more.
As dearly as mine own, be satisfied.
They weren't quiet or shameful. They didn't care. It was a raw, pure moment of humanity. Of stupidity. A mistake of fatal attraction.
As they lay there, panting, after the ecstasy had waned, she realized the terrible thing she'd done. She felt suddenly ashamed and stupid, and she just hated him. She hated him even more than she had before because he'd gotten exactly what he wanted. Her.
And without sparing another word to him, she ripped the thin sheet off, draping it around herself ashamedly. She scrambled around, picking up her clothing. She ran away from him, to the bathroom. The scalding hot water of the shower burnt her skin, but she hoped it had killed the bacteria. She felt dirty and used and sick. Sick to her stomach, disgusted with herself and despising him. She hated him. She hated him. She hated him.
But she hated herself too. And she felt so guilty for risking her relationship with the boyfriend she loved for something so STUPID as a roll in the hay with him, a playboy. She hated feeling like another notch on his already full bedpost. She hated feeling violated. She hated herself for giving in to him like some stupid girl. She wasn't some dumb girl with her hormones in overdrive. There was no excuse. She hated that she'd wasted something so important on someone as undeserving as him. She hated that she'd liked it. She hated that she'd gotten lost in the moment. And she hated herself most of all for hating the fact that it was a completely meaningless fling.
I have an interest in your hearts' proceeding:
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding.
But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine
That you shall all repent the loss of mine.
So she painted on a smile and tugged on those same clothes. And she walked right out the door and ran all the way to her boyfriend's house, seeking the comfort she so desperately needed. And, as she greeted her sweet boyfriend, she thought back to the man she'd left on that bed, exposed. She scowled, somehow knowing that he was smirking.
In fact, he was smirking. He'd gotten what he'd wanted for well over a year, and it had been a thousand times better than he imagined. And he'd finally gotten that oh-so elusive control in their battle of wits. From now on, things would be forever toeing that awkward line between them. She would always notice him now and never forget him, regardless of whether she wanted her to or not. He held the power in his hands, and it felt so good. So, yes, he was fully satisfied, in every sense of the word, for once.
And so it came to pass that as he gloated, she stewed in her anger, regretting what she'd so stupidly done. If she could, she would've gone back in time and undone it. But you can't undo what's already done. Once again, he got what he wanted, just as he always did.
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
Tell me what you think... Reviews are seriously appreciated.
Oh, and it's a one-parter, so don't look for a sequel.