The Good Choice.
…
"No, Boyd. No!" she snaps, her already raging fury with him only compounded by the expression of amusement and intense interest on his face.
It does a lot for him to see her so riled up, she knows. An awful lot. So much so that he has been known, on occasion, to wind her up for just that reason. But right now she doesn't give a damn. In fact, she doesn't even care if he –
"But Grace," he begins, and there's a carefully calculated amount of charm in his tone that is neither too much, nor too little. He is, after all, very well aware of how to win her over, she knows, but she's also just a little bit too angry this time to give in. Not without a fight.
He's just so damn presumptuous sometimes, so sure of himself as he charges recklessly from one thing to another without remembering to at least think about consulting her. It's… exasperating in the extreme. And it's high time he was reminded of that. Particularly given how he rages when the current situation is reversed.
"No," she interrupts. "Not this time. You've really outdone yourself with this, and if you think for one moment I'm going to change my mind then you really don't know me as well as you think you do, Peter."
It seems to have the desired effect, her stream of furious words, because he hesitates and rocks back on his heels as he considers her, genuine puzzlement washing over his face. Maybe she's being too hard on him, but then again, maybe she isn't. There are two people in their relationship, and sometimes he still seems to forget that.
"But I really thought," he tries, before he trails off as she glares at him.
"Oh, you thought, did you?" It's incredibly sarcastic, but she really can't help it. Not right now. Not when he's done… what he's done.
"Oh, for God's sake, Grace. Okay, yes, maybe it was a stupid idea, but what do you want me to do about it? I'm just a man…" Boyd's eyes flicker to the collection of papers on the elegant coffee table to his left, the bold words printed there readable even from a distance.
"Stop it," she orders. "I don't want to hear it."
"But you can't be that angry, surely?" he asks, seemingly rather bewildered.
Incredulous, and rightly so, she gapes at him for a moment. He's right, but there's no sense in telling him that. Not yet. Not when she still has a point to make. Besides, she's still a long way from calming down.
"Oh, come on, Grace…" It's delivered with a perfectly executed dose of appallingly dejected puppy dog eyes, and that only irritates her further. Damn him and his ability to know exactly how to push her buttons in order to get what he wants. Her resolve is beginning to waver, despite her best intentions. Until he opens his mouth and utters the fateful words: "You know you want to go really…"
"You think so, do you? Well, right now I don't know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge," she declares, still thoroughly nettled.
She means it, too. She mostly means it.
She doesn't mean it at all.
Grace has no doubt he meant well. That he had his and her – their – best interests at heart, but even so…
Boyd grins at her. Knows he's gaining ground. Seems to take his chances as he steps straight into her personal space, looking down at her with an intensity she wishes she could ignore. "Can I choose?"
"No!" she barks back, though there is considerably less vigour in her tone than she intended. Damn him. Damn him and his ridiculously handsome face and his incredibly irritating ability to pique her interest without her even wanting him to.
He chooses for her. Just as, deep down, she knew he would the second the words left her lips. He's gentle about it, too, his lips brushing hers with all the soft, sweet sensuality Grace could ever want as he leans down into her, his arms sneaking slowly behind her back and looping securely but softly around her waist, holding her close and steady against him.
Part of the problem, she thinks as the kiss reaches its end and they draw unhurriedly apart, is that they are just far, far too good together. She can see in his eyes, the leaping sparks, the smouldering embers, and she can feel the answering flicker of flames calling out to him from somewhere deep inside her. There is a tiny frozen moment as they stand there, a crazy, charged moment, in which they stare at each other, into each other, the atmosphere around them still crackling with the strain of their argument, the heated tension between them stretching and morphing in an entirely predictable way, and then it simply snaps. Shatters entirely as it inevitably always does these days, burned clean away by the fiery heat that exists between them.
Should it be like this? she wonders, as they collide in a kiss that is deep, immoderate and incredibly desperate. Lips, teeth and tongues that battle for supremacy; hands that seek and grab and squeeze. Words that beg and encourage; make declarations for their ears only. There is no subtlety, no gentle approach.
Not here, not now.
This is raw lust, raw need. This is them, caught in a moment of charged erotic weakness, surrendering to the inevitable rather than fighting a pointless battle.
This is them pulling enjoyment and pleasure from what once used to tear them apart.
This is acceptance and love in place of arguments and friction and an inability to accept the inevitable. And lost in the maelstrom of it all, she abandons her questions, her annoyance. Everything that isn't part of the here and now, of him and her and them.
Because nothing else matters.
Absolutely nothing.
Due to FFNs no MA fic rules this is an abbreviated version of the story. The full version can be found on AO3.
Thanks to Joodiff for the prompt and the beta. :) xx