By: 1000th Ghost
"Be my bad boy,
Be my man,
Be my weekend lover,
But don't be my friend."
-CASCADA (Bad Boy)
In an old house in Paris that was covered in vines
Lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.
The smallest one was Madeline.
In another old house that stood next door
Lived Pepito, the son of the Spanish Ambassador.
"Cuatro. You trip a fifth time, I'm not catching you."
Madeline stuck out her tongue and hastily detangled from her rescuer. "It's these shoes! How anyone can walk in such things is beyond me."
He glanced at her feet. The shoes were black and shiny and strappy and skimpy and had the highest, thinnest heels he had ever seen. He would have laughed at the absurdity of her wearing – or even owning – such provocative footwear if she hadn't looked so mind-blowingly picante.
"Then why wear them?"
No! He mentally slapped himself. Why suggest that? He wanted her in those shoes, wanted her to keep wearing those shoes, wanted her to live in those shoes-
"Oh, je ne sais pas." Madeline shrugged. "Aggie wanted to go to the party because Tony's hosting it since his parents are out of town, and Danielle is going with Peter, who's friends with Tony, and Juliette was going to go, but her horoscope said it was a bad idea, and Vicki's going just because she's Vicki, and Aggie wants someone else there so Tony will think she's actually there with people she knows and not just to be with him, and I had to wear these shoes because it's a party, and Vicki forced me to borrow them because I have to look-" She gestured to her blue-sequined mini dress.
"Are girls always that loco about boys?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.
"You mean googly-eyed?" She scoffed. "Definitely not."
He caught her arm and steered her off the sidewalk towards the house they were headed for.
"Oh, that is right. You're tough as nails." He noticed her smirk out of the corner of his eye. "At least you're only wearing those shoes to support Aggie. I thought it was because they made you taller."
He fancied her red hair was about to turn into flames of fury, but before she had a chance to reply, he had knocked on the door. It was immediately answered by someone – Tony, Madeline supposed – who did not greet them except to say, "There's half a couch open in the back."
They walked inside the pulsing music, and she promptly stumbled in the dim lighting. He grabbed her shoulder, and she grabbed his arm, and somehow she managed to keep upright.
"You said you would not catch me again."
Possible-Tony tapped Pepito's shoulder and pointed into the darkened room. "The couch. It's back there."
Oh, the couch. Of course, the couch they were supposed to be migrating towards. That couch.
Pepito thanked him uncertainly, and they started in the general direction. She continued to hold his arm as a crutch but then clutched it tighter and pressed herself flush against his side as a staggering figure appeared out of the woodwork and practically fell on her.
The unknown boy reached out a hand as if to take hold of her breast, and she shrieked slightly before another faceless figure materialized – a blond…Vicki? – and the two crashed into each other and proceeded to lip wrestle against the wall.
"The couch," Madeline demanded, leaving bruising finger marks on his arm, but he was already furiously leading her away.
Completely ignoring the couple occupying themselves on one half of the couch, he sat down, pulling her along with him. She was practically in his lap, they were so close together, and he hissed, "What were you thinking, going to one of these parties? What did Miss Clavel say?"
"She doesn't know and…and I didn't know! Nobody told me it was a make out party."
"I can't believe ese chico," he snarled, still fuming. "I wanted to knock him out-"
"You should have," she responded briskly.
Pepito arched an eyebrow. "It would be cruel." He paused. "I think you'd disown me."
She said nothing and looked at him as though she was waiting for him to do something and then looked away.
They sat silently, Madeline absentmindedly tapping a finger to the beat of the music, until a voice behind them urgently whispered, "Kiss him, you dolt!"
Madeline turned to find Aggie leaning over the back of the couch, clearly concerned.
"People will notice you're not kissing, and they'll know you're with me, and they'll tell Tony and-"
"Pourquoi didn't you tell me this was a make out party?!" Madeline snapped.
Aggie blinked. "I told you to bring Pepito – bonjour, Pepito – I thought it was obvious."
"Aggie, that does not even remotely make sense!"
"I mean, you two are always together and…" She trailed off, seeing how confused the boy and girl were. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I honestly thought…you're really just friends, after all this time?" A male voice called her name from somewhere in the din, and she quickly whispered, "It's Tony; I have to get back. Just, please…it's only kissing, right?"
Then she was gone, and Madeline decided to turn the awkward moment into a business transaction.
"Well, she said we have to, so-"
She was interrupted by an unnecessarily loud moan from the couple next to them.
"We could always leave," he suggested.
No! There he went again, blatantly saying the exact opposite of what he wanted because – why? Well, because he had been her reform project or something, the bad hat that she had made into the world's most wonderful boy. She wanted him sweet and docile and untainted and definitely not capable of acting on the lecherous thoughts in his head.
"Oui, we could leave…" If there was a hint of disappointment in her voice, he chalked it up to his own imagination. "…but I don't want to let Aggie down." Then again, if she was offering-
-as long as he did not seem too eager.
"To help nuestra amiga."
"Yes, f-for…for Aggie."
He made sure she had already started leaning before he cautiously moved towards her, and once they were two inches apart, he refused to come any closer. She was left to seal the kiss – a bit more firmly than he had anticipated – and after a few seconds, she pulled away and remarked, "Well, do something!"
"Qué – what?"
Madeline sighed exasperatedly. "Move or open your mouth or put your arms around me; you're like kissing a wall. Kiss me like-" She gulped. "-like I was not your best friend."
His eyebrows shot up, and she immediately retracted, "No, no, that would probablement be impossible for you to do."
"Oh." He cast his gaze down to her shoes – ay, esos zapatos – dejectedly but took her hand. "Sí, you are…probablemente right."
She propped herself up a bit, sliding herself along his torso. She had already been completely pressed against him from when he protectively dragged her down to the couch, but now he envisioned that if he tilted his head the right way, he would be able to see straight down her dress.
"Pretend," she whispered before kissing him again.
So he did – but he pretended that he did not want to wrap his arms around her and did not want to gently enter her mouth and did not feel his pants grow tight when she almost whimpered.
He would do as she asked, he would play her game, but he did it so halfheartedly that they might as well have been rehearsing for a children's performance.
Then she actually giggled, and he bit down teasingly on her tongue and then whispered, "And just what is so amusing?"
"You." She placed a chaste peck on his lips. "Kissing you." Again. "Because Aggie actually thought we were dans l'amour." She looked quizzical. "Don't you think it's funny?"
Pepito was thankfully saved from responding when the other male on the couch informed him that, "Someone said it's the Spanish guy's and the redhead's turn for seven minutes in heaven. Figure that's you two."
He looked at her, and she shrugged, so they left the sanctuary of the somewhat-private couch and journeyed to a better lit area of the party where a throng of people were gathered around an open closet door. They stepped inside to the sound of obnoxious whooping and jeering, and then the door was slammed shut behind them.
Pepito slumped against a wall of the cramped, pitch-black space. "This is mucho más fácil. We can just stand here for seven minutes, and they will never know."
He heard a clattering, an exclamation of, "Idiot mop!" and then, "Is that really all you want to do?"
She sounded timid yet frighteningly angry (and he knew she could be frightening when she was angry).
"Did you fall again?"
"Don't avoid the question, Pepito," she said sharply.
"Quiero…" He wished he could see her and read her expression – why was she asking him this? "…whatever you want me to want."
"How do you know what I want you to want?" she persisted. "Why do you care what I want you to want?"
"Don't play stupid. I was bad, you made me good. You want me good, so I'll be good." She knew there was more for him to say, and he knew he had to say it. "I'm not going to risk losing you."
"You love me."
It was more of a definite statement than a question or even an acquisition, but he answered anyway, "Claro."
Then her voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, reverberating in the black closet as he realized he did not even know her location. "Be my bad boy."
Never mind if she wore high heels or not, she was still una niñita – his little girl.
"Where are you?" he growled, and she held out an arm saying, "Ici, find my hand."
He lunged forward blindly and grabbed her breast with brutal strength.
She uttered a strangled gasp, partially from pain, partially from shock, and said, "That's not my hand."
"No me importa."
Suddenly, she was pinned against the wall, his lips attacking hers furiously. His previously affronting hand pulled her hair to tip her head back, his other journeyed under the hem of her dress.
"Pepi-" she started, breaking the kiss, but she couldn't decide if she planned on rebuking or encouraging him, and it didn't matter anyway as two fingers rammed into her, and she found herself entirely incapable of thought.
Her mouth opened instinctively, almost desperately, wanting him back. He complied, licking the side of her neck broadly before returning to her eager lips.
He seemed to be everywhere at once, inside and outside, caressing her and bruising her; her scalp ached, what was he doing now?!, she was sore all over, and it was magnifique.
All at once, everything stopped, and for a moment she wondered where he had gone. Then his sturdy hands were on her shoulders, and she was shoved to her knees. There was the sound of a zipper, then something pushed past her teeth, and he commanded, "Suck it."
She shivered, alarmed and enticingly fascinated by this repressed side of him.
"Bad boy," she mumbled around his hardened shaft.
He groaned from the vibrations and pressed his hands to her head, moving her closer.
"I'm going to take you, little girl," he grunted, his breathing harsh. "I'm going to lift you up and put you against the wall, and you're going to put your legs around me, and I'm going to take you…me…voy…a…tomarte…"
The lights clicked on.
They jerked apart, stunned and blinking in the sudden flood of brightness.
"Time's up," a male voice called. The door opened, and he continued, "Hey, let me have a turn with that Thumbelina."
There was a general cry from the crowd as the boy crashed to the floor, blood spurting from his nose.
…Madeline just smiled.
And she turned out the light-
and closed the door-
and that's all there is-
there isn't any more.