A/N: I'm not sure how long this story will be. It was supposed to be a long oneshot, but I realized half-way through that this type of story needs a little more exposition and development. This probably would've came out better if I wasn't so creatively blocked, but hey, I tried. At least this doesn't take place in another winter setting like my other snk fics lol.
The door to room nine fastened shut behind two staggering strangers. While never breaking their sultry eye contact, they zigzagged across the motel room together, groping and touching one another every step of the way. Within seconds they stripped off each other's clothing and tumbled into bed.
Mikasa didn't know a great deal about this man on top of her, who ravished her neck as she tangled her arms around his brawn back, but something about him felt strangely consoling and, of course, overwhelmingly exciting. In the short amount of time Mikasa spent with him, she gathered this much: he's a charming man with a satirical nature who had eyes like chips of ice; his glares were like a frigid winter breeze in the midst of summer.
The night belonged to them, and just for a while, they belonged to each other. Just for tonight, they shared this bed, this intimate temptation radiating between them, racing hearts, saliva with every raring kiss—and equal pleasure when he slid between her legs at last.
Slick with arousal, Mikasa enclosed her legs around him. With a lovely sound drawling from his mouth, he jerked his hips, his intensity never faltering once; he just kept hitting that tender bull's-eye every time. Only a minute in and Mikasa had already reached the conclusion that this was the best fuck of her life.
Earlier, both of them neglected to trade proper introductions—and as a result, Mikasa had no name to shout, but she'd cry it until morning if she did.
The motel room, furnished only with the bare essentials, fragranced with his cologne and a mixture of their intoxicating breaths. With every thrust came a new creak from the mattress, an airy moan and a deep lustful sigh. The wan glow of the bedside lamp captured every vulgar touch—a trail of goose bumps festered where his fingers grazed along her perspiring skin.
His body felt humid like a smoldering summer day, his skin sodden with his and her own sweat. Squirming and twitching, she crushed him between her thighs each time he grasped her hips and shoved in deeper with added pressure.
Slitting open a moist eye, Mikasa gazed upon the stranger hovering over her, glaring back with equal desire. Gritting his teeth, he pounded into her like a drum until she curved her neck back, and he used that opportunity to lick the length of her neck. Lolling in the electrifying endowments this stranger bestowed her, Mikasa squeezed her eyes shut once again.
Even with Mikasa's mind fuzzy and numb from the numerous rounds of Rum-and-Coke she dirtied her brain with, she could still ponder how fantastic it felt to touch someone new—to feel the strands of his black hair between her clasping fingers and the brittle feel of his shaven undercut, to feel his damp and tensing abs press against hers, to feel every last bit of him throbbing between her shuddering thighs like a bass as she sang along with screaming vocals.
Her partner this evening wasn't what she'd call expressive; even during sex he seemed stolid. Likewise, he proved himself to be a man of few words, but the language his body spoke was like a sweet foreign tongue rolling against her ear; it couldn't be directly translated, but God did she feel it.
This one night affair all started back at Trost Tavern: a dirty local watering hole where old folks met up and filled themselves up until their buckets kicked over. The bar, which looked more like the set of an old western film, wasn't Mikasa's scene at all—she didn't even consider herself a drinker. But when her friend's moved away to pursue bigger and better things in an ambitious city, she believed a pathetic party for one was in order.
They say moving changes a person's life, but she didn't even need to move a muscle for her life to completely flip upside down. By her friend's moving away to college, a domino effect of disappointment ensued. She wanted nothing more than to join them and finally move out of her parents' home, but those dreams, that were stomped on long before having the chance to bloom, disappeared faster than the shots she ordered.
Not joining her friend's on their college adventure shouldn't come as a total shock to her (and their success shouldn't sadden her either, but she couldn't help but to be bitter about it). Mikasa knew the time would come when she'd be left behind in this rural town. That dreadful truth always stayed in the back of her mind, like a sickness she didn't want to acknowledge and have ruin her fun. Recently, the years of mindlessly overlooking the obvious had caught up to speed with her, and now that sickness had spread out and consumed her. The fun was over, and she was sick with loneliness and nostalgia and no remedy of anything would ever cure that.
Too poor to attend the college of her dreams, Mikasa had no choice but to stay behind. The effects of loneliness were beginning to creep in like a wave over an empty shore. It must be nice to have a doctor as a father that could dish out enough cash to bribe even the most elite university that someone with a low GPA like Eren had the potential to academically succeed, or the robotic brain Armin possessed that helped snag him a scholarship.
As a farmer's daughter without any outstanding academic qualities, Mikasa had no way of paying or outsmarting her way into a university of her dreams. Mikasa never slacked off in school, she passed all her classes, but it was all for naught—unless you're rich or the next Einstein, you didn't have a place at that school.
That last bit of hope she had for a bright future was completely eclipsed when that rejection letter arrived in her mailbox. She felt stupid for even applying, as if her grades would be good enough, but it was a shot in the dark. But now, she had two options; attend a community college, (which would've been a fine alternative if she didn't live in a town so educationally backwards that the local university could scarcely be called advanced education) or, she could take over her family's farm. What thrilling options, whatever will she choose?
At any rate, she's cursed and bound to be trapped in this gritty town forever. Attending a good college and moving out of this town was her ticket out of here, but seeing how that was never going to happen, she better suck it up and get used to it. Drinking until her liver failed just so happen to be her way of dealing with this harsh reality.
Wiping a rivet of booze from her chin bitterly, she thrashed her head with a grimace, intolerant to the thought of being stuck in this wasteland another second. She truly had nothing at this point. No friends, no future, no education. Not even hope—she couldn't even entertain the idea of saving up money and leaving this town. Employment was impossible to find when every business in town was family-owned (and there weren't many public locations in the middle of the desert to begin with).
And to top it all off, she didn't even have her boyfriend anymore. Nothing could've prepared her for that last finishing blow. Eren didn't think a long distance relationship would work, and he didn't want to be tethered by a thousand mile leash during the best years of his life. She couldn't blame him. Eren's the type that could only focus on one goal at a time, and if he had to juggle a long distance relationship—which takes much more effort to manage than a normal one—he probably would've stressed himself out and have his studies suffer as a result. It might seem cruel and selfish on his end, but he made the right call for both of them. The separation would've likely led them to actually separate anyway. At least, by ending it this way, they left their relationship on good terms and still agreed to be friends.
Still, she loved the kid and she hated how she was not only split from her friend's and hopes, but someone she loved, too. Another sour mouthful went down the hatch just at the thought. Why was she the only one suffering in this situation?
Moving her eyes became a strained effort, her vision blooming and warped. Her hearing dulled a bit, softening the edge of all the old people chatting about their fabricated glory days over the sound of classic oldies. Seriously, if she had to listen to "Let's Go Sunning" one more time, she was going to crush her glass over someone's head. There should be a limit to how many times a single song could be played. The upbeat melody made a shitty soundtrack for someone suffering from depression.
All of this only dampened her mood more. Movies advertise bars as the to-be place when you're down on your luck. What bullshit. In movies like that, there's always someone playing the role of the convenient hero, there to whisk the depressed heroine from heartache—but no one was threatening to take away Mikasa's loneliness tonight. Knowing this disappointing truth made her even lonelier than before. Another way that cinematic lies built up societies expectations.
As soon as she felt brave enough to test her numbed legs, Mikasa intended to withdraw from this deplorable atmosphere. One more drink and one more round of Sunning and she's out of here.
When the upbeat song faded to a close, she gathered her purse and plucked out her wallet. Counting turned out to be more confusing than it ought to be. This was the only problem she could confidently solve right now: Math + Drinking = Frustration. While she struggled to tally up her bill and a tip, the beat of a song she actually recognized sailed into her ears. Returning her wallet to her purse, she picked her head up.
Sex and Candy by Marcy Playground. This song used to play on repeat during Mikasa's teenage years, but it wasn't composed in her era; it belonged to the generation before hers—just like the guy at the jutebox who played it. He had to be a good decade older than her, thirty-something, but he was still remarkably young compared to the flock of old geezers cooped up in here. Seeing someone in her age bracket turned out to be a reviving sight, just what she needed to drag herself out her reverie of despair.
The music helped elevate her mood too; the nostalgic notes instantly soothed her, offering a better high than the buzz spiraling through her. She found herself swaying to the beat and tapping her foot.
The man with the exceptional music taste took a seat on the other side of the counter, an empty row of seats between them. He seemed rather reserved at first, but once he got a drink in him he sent her heated stares and a free drink, and she toasted up her glass to show her thanks. With every sip her bashfulness subsided more until she was looking back at him with similar smoldering eyes, subtly flirting with him with enticing gestures.
The next half-hour consisted of drinking together from afar and eye-fucking across the room, but that ended as soon as Mikasa worked up the nerve to ask the bartender to relay a message.
"Tell that guy over there I wanna buy him a drink, but he's gotta come over here to get it."
Once the bartender relayed the message, the man slid his eyes over to her with a hitched up brow, then quickly picked himself up and made his way over.
If she were sober, Mikasa never would've summon up enough bravery to ever make such a bold request, but as he made his way over in an assertive gait, she secretly thanked Bacardi for granting her with this sudden confidence.
A black blazer hung off the edges of his small-framed shoulders like a cape; the upper buttons of the white top beneath were unfastened to flaunt the gap where his collarbones met. Two slim eyes contrasted against the monochrome wardrobe; they were as blue and fierce as the sea, and Mikasa found herself drowning in them.
Where the hell was this guy hiding all this time in this tiny burg? Was he new in town? Scratch that. No one would willingly move here.
Whatever his story may be, it just now crossed paths with hers, and—perhaps this was her intoxication talking—but this encounter didn't feel like an accident. She felt they were deliberately written into the same story together for a reason; whether their plot lasted a chapter or a trilogy, she didn't know, but she felt she was meant to meet him.
"I thought this place was a retirement home before you strolled in," Mikasa broke the ice with that line as the man settled himself on the stool alongside her. A cigarette hung from his mouth, framed by a perfect pair of plump lips. She tried to conceal the fact she was excessively eager to welcome the reign of a youthful individual into this kingdom of old people.
"We're still severely outnumbered," he said truly, flicking a drooping ash into the tray. "You waiting for friend's?"
"Oh, no," her voice was thin. "I'm by myself. What about you?"
A ring of smoke blew from his mouth. "If I had friend's in this town I wouldn't be here—no offence."
She scoffed. "For your information, I have friends. They're just not...physically present."
He rested a palm against his skeptic face, and Mikasa grinned, yet her mouth hung after a moment, weighed down by the heavy gaze he had rested on her. The strip of smoke from his cigarette made waving trails and she found herself following it to the ceiling to avoid his eyes.
"Hmm."
The curious sound lured her eyes back to him. "What?"
With a light shrug, he picked up the fruity cockttail she bought him and brought it to his lips. She could admire a man who could appreciate a sweet drink without fearing his masculinity was at risk. "I could understand why your imaginary friend's couldn't make it here this evening," he started with a sneer and Mikasa bumped her elbow into him before he continued, "but I'm having trouble understanding why a pretty girl such as yourself would hang out in a shithole like this."
Her eyes went rolling. "I'm sure you say that to all the ladies that come in here."
"You got me. I used that same line on this braud a weekend ago—and she said I reminded her of her great-grandson."
Mikasa restrained the grin that threatened to conquer her lips. Why was this stranger even making her happy? A minute back, she was perfectly content with being miserable and futureless and persuaded she'd never smile again. How did he detract that gloomy aura from her, and so quickly? Maybe not all tropes in fiction were false—was he playing the role of her hero that arrived in the nick of time, bound by personal oath to rescue her from her woes?
Well—he certainly wasn't an impeccable hero offering her a happy ever after, but he did wind up becoming her knight for a night.
The two of them entered their own little world. Everyone and everything dissolved outside their attentive bubble, and Mikasa loved how nothing, not even obnoxious background clamoring and a reprise of Let's go Sunning could pop the personal space they created.
Suggestive remarks, more eye-fucking and occasional touching ensued. Mikasa's hand flirted with his face, her fingers tracing his defined jaw. And his, albeit more tentatively, caressed her inner thigh.
Those tantalizing touches put a stop to their social interactions, and from then on they communicated consecutively through their bodies, and another drink later Mikasa found herself being maneuvered to his lap by the guiding hands on her hips.
At first, she admittedly felt self-conscious and thought she was too heavy to be sitting on his lap, but he didn't even flinch under her weight. His arms binded around her waist, keeping her sturdy on the wobbly stool. Swiveling around to face him, she bent an arm around his shoulders, and he leaned over to whisper in her ear, she nodded, and a gentle kiss pressed against her smirking lips. A slip of tongue joined the kiss a few pecks in, and he tasted like a combination of menthol mint and sweet blackberry. Mikasa wondered what she tasted like to him. Probably Coke and salty tears. She kissed him back eagerly, with bottom lip bites and twirling tongues, not at all resembling how she used to kiss Eren. Pure and innocent high school sweethearts didn't share feverish dirty kisses like this.
When the bar began to clear out in droves, the bartender approached them. "It's last call, guys. Want another quick round before heading out?"
"I think we've drank our share," he answered, then combed back Mikasa's hair, his lips pressing against her ear as he whispered, "I wouldn't mind taking you to go, though."
Her knight's proposition made her heart flutter. His deep purr of a voice had simulated her in all the right places, and that billow of excitement coursing through her motivated her to leave with him.
Afterwards, her memories became fragmented here and there, but in the meantime, Mikasa knew she was in room nine with this irresistible stranger, on her knees as he now took her from the back. With one hand, he fondled a handful of her breast, and with the other, he strummed her clit with his fingers, all while he nibbled at her shoulder. This guy's a phenomenal multitasker, she couldn't help but think.
Humid moans roasted up the room as Mikasa arched her spine and pushed back to meet his friction. Panting, her fingernails dug into the fluff of the pillow as his enthralled huffs breezed against the nape of her neck.
Wrenching away from him suddenly, Mikasa flipped herself over and laid flat against the bed, her body writhing against the sheets, her chest fluctuating wildly. Once she caught her breath, he adjusted his position and brushed his tip down her slit, but she denied him entry by quickly seizing his shoulders and wrestling him to his back. She liked the look on his face as she straddled him; like a mesmerized little boy about to choke on his own spit.
As he enjoyed the view, her hands ran up his muscular body, and he responded by tracing the curves of her hips. Shifting over, Mikasa flicked her tongue along his lips as she adjusted him between her, stroking him a bit before straightening herself.
With a convulsing jolt, her toes curled and her eyes sealed shut as every pulsing inch road up her. A moan floated up to the ceiling, and a few grunts lingered below as her body bobbed up and down. Every so often, she'd roll her hips in circular motions, stirring him inside her, which caused him to vibrate and purr like a kitten.
Based on the growing intensity of his sounds, she could tell he was about to finish, she was too.
"Wait—" his voiced clipped between his clenched teeth. "You should probably..."
But Mikasa continued to spring in his lap, too close to the finish line to do anything stupid like waiting. Biting her bottom lip, Mikasa raked her nails down his chest, currently hanging off the edge that would send her plummeting to climax.
"Really," he strained to say once again, out of breath as he clawed at her hips. "I'm not wearing a—" but Mikasa never heard the rest, because his sentence merged into an inflection of deep moans as he tossed his head against the pillow. Mikasa entered a blissful world of hazy white, her damp body twitching as hot white streams oozed down her thighs.
Next, she collapsed on the empty space beside him and entered the best damn sleep of her life.
~x~
Hangover, was the first thing that came to mind the next morning. Mikasa's heavy lids flipped open and her hazy vision rendered an unfamiliar ceiling. With her brows bunching down in the center, her body peeled off the sheet sluggishly. Her mouth was dry and her body, coated in sweaty residue, felt dirty—she felt like she spent the night outside in the desert. Did she? Her memory wasn't fully configured yet.
Slouching forward, Mikasa tousled her unkempt hair, the hangover assaulting every corner of her skull. Head raising, she blinked the blur out of her eyes. Consciousness slowly drifted back to the surface as she scanned her eyes over the framed paintings and tasteless wallpaper adorning the walls. This certainly wasn't her room.
A quick look down revealed that she was naked. Face tensing, she quickly clamped the blanket and stuffed it under her chin—but in doing so, she caught a glimpse of something that made her heart sink. Letting her expanding eyes cautiously peer down, she stole a second glance at the fluctuating lump beside her.
"Shit." It took all of her power and restraint not to scream bloody murder. There was a man tucked beneath the blanket, deep asleep beside her.
Upon looking at his face, a montage of memories rushed in her mind, and she had to nurse her aching head as she reviewed them all. There were some missing gaps, and she didn't remember even getting here, but according to the recap, she had sex with this man last night.
Risking a sidelong glance, Mikasa examined him as he slept. He looked much different without her drunk goggles on, without the darkness of evening coating him and without lust enticing her. Unlike last night, he wasn't exciting anymore—he was just a slab of regret wrapped in floral print.
A strip of morning sun swept over his pallid face from a crack in the window's curtains, and she studied every detail of him. She might regret sleeping with him… but admittedly, her sober-self still found him attractive. At least she didn't sleep with one of the ninety year olds last night. No, stop it, she thought, don't try to justify this with worser case scenarios.
When his features twitched a little in his sleep, Mikasa jarred back like a jack in the box just popped in her face. Embarrassed with herself, she went red in the face and tugged at her hair.
What did I do—What did I do? Suddenly unable to bear being close to him, she slid her legs off the edge and tried to stand without disturbing this man—oh god, she didn't even know this man's name, did she? She fucked up, that's what she did.
Right now, she simplified her thoughts to one objective: getting dressed and getting the fuck out of here. A mournful sigh freed. Timed stealth games were never her strong point.
The task of collecting her scattered clothes around the room didn't make her feel any less dirty or ashamed, but she opt to do it as quickly and quietly as she could. It was like a sick game of scavenger hunt; her bra was draped over the lampshade, her shirt over the headboard, her skirt far across the other side of the room, and her panties were found wrapped around the bedpost. Either that was some precise placing or a very lucky swing.
Once she pulled her head out of her shirt collar and her skirt was above her hips, she scrambled for her shoes and tip-toed her way around the bed to collect her purse on the nightstand, which had capsized and caused many of her belongings to spill out. She allowed a moment to curse her sloppy drunk self.
Silently, she squatted down, reached between the crevices between the nightstand and the bed, and blindly fished up all the items she could feel and stuffed them back in her bag.
Taking one last look at the back of the stranger, she fled to the door and closed it soundlessly behind her.
When she stepped outside, she let herself fall back on the door so she could take a moment to breathe and gather herself. A beautiful blue sky greeted her squinting eyes, but all she could think about was the regretful things that took place under last night's black sky. She felt sick and fowl and it had nothing to do with her stomach rejecting last night's liquor.
Wearily, Mikasa dug out her keys and clicked the remote to unlock her car, only it did little good because her car wasn't there. At this realization, her arm lowered with a scowl.
That's right, she drove to the bar, but intended to use one of the taxi services the bar provided to get home. Seeing that it wasn't here, she assumed it must still be there—but where was the bar? Her eyes scanned the vast, unfamiliar landscape. She never been to this motel before. It was by the highway, but not by an exit she recognized.
Did they walk here last night? Did they take a taxi? Or did he risk driving his own car? She couldn't remember. Either way, she's completely lost. The sweltering desert heat drenched her brow with sweat as she tried to figure out where she was. She had lived in this town since birth but these vast desert plains all looked the same to her.
Mikasa dug around her purse some more, trying to find her cell phone, which turned out to be just as lost as her. A scream simmered in her throat.
An uneasy feeling bubbled inside her when she swung her attention back to the door she just escaped from. The phone might've fell out when the purse tipped over. Mikasa weighed her options: she could either wander the desert aimlessly and phoneless, or she can try to sneak back in to find it without waking him up, then use the GPS or a call her mother if it was too far of a walk.
Each option was risky, but before she considered either, the knob of the door jiggled and twisted and in that millisecond, Mikasa catapulted herself out of visional range; she didn't even know her body was capable of reacting so fast. Apparently, hangovers grant superpowers.
Hushed and crouched down, Mikasa pressed her back against the ice machine as she listened closely for movement.
She waited for a moment in tormenting silence. A sweat bead fell down her cheek. Was he still there? She didn't hear him close the door. So he's standing there—still? Why would he just stand there? Maybe he walked off and shut the door more silently than she did. Should she hazard a quick peek?
Shifting her gaze over the barricading line, she caught a glimpse, stifled a gasp and thrust herself back against the ice dispenser; her heart racing. She remained ducked and silent. He was still there, shirtless and dressed in the pants he wore last night, looking forlorn out in to the parking lot.
Luckily, her one-night lover wasn't looking her way and hadn't spotted her. It'd only add to her embarrassment if he did. A few passing seconds later, she heard the door slam shut, hard enough to make her jolt and shake the exterior walls of the motel. Mikasa freed the breath she kept locked in her chest, and buried her face in her knees, feeling stupid and guilty for so many contradicting reasons. And as she sat there on the slab of hot concrete, a sudden shadow crept over her.
"Could I help ya'?"
Sucking in a gasp, Mikasa managed to strain every muscle in her neck when she jerked her attention up at the source of the voice, which turned out to be a middle-aged tall man with slick back hair and stubble framing his jaw. Realizing it wasn't the man she was trying to avoid like she initially feared, her heart rate decreased.
"Help me?" she kept her voice down, not wanting to attract the man she lusted after last night. She didn't understand why someone would suddenly approach her and ask such a thing.
"Ya' see, I'm one of the owners of this fine shithole , which means I'm unfortunately obligated to show curtsy and asks such things to guests," he ducked down a bit to confide with her in a hushed tone. "My sister would have another fit if she found out I ain't treating the guests with hospitality again."
"Oh," Mikasa stood back up, her dizziness amplifying from the sudden shift. Her focus returned to getting home. "Yes, you could help me, actually. Could you point me in the direction of the Trost Tavern? Also, could I get there by foot?"
"Yes and yes," said the man gruffly, using one of his hands as an awning to block out the sun flare from his eyes as he extended out the other to the road. "Just keep going that way until you reach the light, make another right at the corner by that old chapel, and you'll see it on the next corner. It should take you about thirty-forty minutes on foot," the man eyed her up and down, his pouchy eyes filling with apprehension. "I could get my nephew to drive you into town if you need a ride—when I find him, that is. No one should be walking around in this blistering heat."
"Thanks for your help, and the offer... but I'm okay." She needed to walk, to vent out all the pent up stress inside her. She speeded up her steps, heading far away from this place as quickly as she could, hoping the faster she walked, the faster the memories of this place would disperse.
A mile later, however, she kind of wished she did take the ride, but she couldn't exactly trust herself being alone with another man again. Do you have no shame or restraint, woman? she scolded herself. One night out and this is what you do. Could she, a twenty-one year old sane woman, ground herself for her despicable behavior? Would that even be enough punishment for such a colossal fuck up? Some kind of redemption was in order, but what would possibly fix this?
There was nothing particularly wrong with embracing sexuality; she had nothing against people who followed lustful lifestyles and shared their bodies with a new partner every night, but it just wasn't her. Mikasa wasn't promiscuous, she didn't know how to seduce or flirt—she could barely even talk to men, never mind charm them into her pants. After sleeping with that stranger, she almost felt like a stranger to herself. It was just so out of character for her. Since when did she become the sexually adventurous type? It took her two years just to get to second base with Eren, yet she hopped in bed with that stranger after a few stares and drinks?
Dust drifted over the vacant road as she wandered on, wondering all along if this awful experience would someday drift away and become as insignificant as a grain of sand. Fate had different plans in store, but for now Mikasa continued on, unaware of the new life sprouting inside her.