A/N: The new season is hear and holy shit it looks promising. I'm putting Violate on the shelf for a little while and ready to accept Zoe and Kyle into my otp armada. So here's a little ficlet to get a feel for their characters.
She hasn't even thought to ask his major before the fraternity guy who brought her a drink, Kyle, is threading them both through the crowd with his hand hooked around her fingers. Waves of sound from the party crash and roll out into a chorus of "shots! shots! shots!" from the kitchen and fewer voices after that.
Kyle's jacket fits tight across his shoulders. Little blond bits of curl are wedged under the collar, hiding the back of his neck.
This is just plain stupid, letting a boy lead her somewhere quiet, somewhere they can "talk," but Madison's disappeared and it'd be nice to share the same air with someone outside her voodoo cult for awhile.
They find a room at the back of the frat. It's littered with furniture that doesn't match and it smells a little like week-old puke and although there are a few other kids in the room, nobody's having hands-down-the-pants fun as far as they can tell.
Kyle motions for Zoe to pick a seat and when she chooses the shoddy velvet couch pushed against one wall, he doesn't sit too close. They both take baby sips from their drinks, just looking without the pressure for more. His hands are nice. There's a freckle at the end of his nose; she wonders if it ever holds his attention in the mirror.
"Finishing school, huh? What's that like?"
Zoe slings the liquid in her cup - vodka and three different kinds of punch. She sees Queenie with a dinner knife in her hand and dribbles of blood against her chest.
Kyle fidgets with his hair and she remembers to answer. "It's a trip," she shrugs, pulling down another mouthful of orangey-pink.
A couple stumbles in and over to the broken foosball table. Their kisses are loud.
Kyle catches the movement and then her eyes, and shrugs; his smile is crooked.
What shape would it make against her mouth?
Shit.
Stop.
"I need to go," she chokes, and stands. But then Kyle's up too and his hands are on her arms, careful. "What is it?" he asks, startled by whatever passed through her eyes - the red strobe of ambulance lights and the view of her boyfriend's casket from the second row. She's young and she's pretty and her pussy is a venus fly trap. And her parents, they fucking knew. They knew there was a chance her cunt might kill and said nothing, waited until there was a body in her bed and then sent her away.
It's just all so fucked up.
There's ash in her mouth and she wants to taste something ripe.
Kyle makes a surprised sound when she kisses him, but then he sags into her, brings both hands down her arms to take hold of her waist. It's good, not sloppy from too much drinking and it clears the storm of what's inside her head.
"You're so fucking cute," Kyle huffs, lowering them both back down onto the couch. He cups her head and combs the fingers of one hand through her hair, pulls at the corner of her mouth with his thumb, drinks her in now that she'll let him.
A few minutes later and Zoe is in his lap, squirming down against Kyle when his hips push. She's gotten him out of his jacket and most of the way out of his shirt and can feel the bump of his cock against her most dangerous parts. But his hands haven't made much progress, still strictly in the safe zones. It isn't because he doesn't like her; the way his fingers clench up around her waist or thigh speak of want
It's cute, chivalrous even, but Zoe is in this to paste over what happened last time she had a boy on his back. "Touch me," she coos, lips loving wet spots under his ear as she takes his hand and leads him down, down, down until his fingers snag on one of the elastic bands around her legs.
There it is, that tight twitch of the hand on her hip, and then he's watching her face, looking for permission, slipping under the crotch of her panties when she nods and drops her head down so that her hair will hide the way he's going to make her feel from anyone else in the room. Fingers never got anybody hurt. It's not like her vagina has teeth. (Does it?)
He tugs with his free hand to be sure the skirt of her dress isn't rucked up too high and then pulls her in close with his palm flat against the dip of her spine, gets one, two fingers inside of her. The stress of this last week oozes out of Zoe at the rhythm Kyle starts. She feeds him noises and breath, pulls at his hair when his fingers curl.
It's so fucking good and only getting better when her phone chimes with a new text. Kyle pants for her to leave it and, jesus christ, his voice sounds good low like that, but nobody texts her anymore. Something must be up. His fingers are still moving when she swipe the screen awake.
Zoe, something is wrong. Help Madison!
It's from Nan.
Kyle must be reading too, because reluctantly his hand retreats from between her legs. Zoe turns back to him, but there isn't any disappointment on his face, at least not that she can see. "I'll help you find her," he says, and they find their balance together, hurry back into the common area and then upstairs to look through the bedrooms.
Some guy near the kitchen shouts for Kyle, but he doesn't give more than a non-committal wave before they turn the corner. A hand sneaks into hers halfway down the hall.
His fingers are still damp.
Maybe New Orleans isn't going to be all bad.
A/N: Here's hoping there are plenty more scenes between our lovely Taissa and Evan. Swoon!
And because I have you here, you should totally check out fuckyeahahscovenDOTtumblrDOTcom
LolaBleu, Gray Glube, jandjsalmon, lifeundecided, ScarlettWoman710, GinHermi, and myself have started up a blog where you can find fics we've written for the new season and MORE!
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