Disclaimer: Hello all, I thought I'd try my hand at writing some Degrassi fanfiction. While I normally dabble in Marco stories, I really love Holly J and Declan as a couple, and think that the writers could really take the couple far if they wanted to. I love comments and suggestions!
2:53 am, and the thought of Fiona buried under several layers of satin sheets, a drying trail of vomit crusted around her lips, comforts Declan in an almost sickening way. The lights are dimmed low within the loft, and with the absence of the Holly J and the ghost of the previous party's music ringing within his ears, he is able to take this stolen moment and loosen his tie. Suddenly it's become overwhelming tight around his neck. Suddenly this whole situation has become quite overwhelming in general.
The way she had looked at Sav had sickened him. He had wore his best suit, fresh off Armani Exchange's fall line, took two showers and sprayed on his favorite cologne, one of the most expensive he could attain at short notice, Michel Germain's Deauville Pour Homme, freshly imported straight from the testing labs in France. As soon as he had stepped into the archway of the loft he knew that he looked and smelled like a million bucks, and rightfully he should, not only because his attire was painfully expensive, but because he was a Coyne, and that's what is to be expected.
So it puzzled him greatly that Holly J showered Sav with such unadulterated adoration. No, not puzzled. Scared was a better word. It scared him because for the past four months he had spent his time back in Manhattan at Vanderbilt trying to erase her from his mind in any way possible—drugs, drinks, whatever he could get his hands on. The girls were a blur, blondes with nice tits, brunettes with thick waists, but the gingers…he could never handle the gingers. He'd get one sight of their hair color, and his stomach would flop uncontrollably. And he could never have sex with them. He would get as far as unbuckling his pants before he would feel a wave of disgust wash over him. All the while, he thinks bitterly now, Holly J was picking daisies and collaborating with Bhandari in Degrassi affairs, pure and impure.
His lip twitches. How dare she. How dare she break his heart. Fiona had told him to stay away from her, but he didn't listen. He couldn't. He was insanely attracted to her in a way he hadn't felt since two years ago, when he had told Rebecca he loved her, and found pictures in Bobby's cell phone of her going down on Travis two days later. Love and him could not coincide. Part of him wanted to agree, the other half wanted to fight it. He could have any girl he wanted. Any woman he wanted, for that matter. Yet he couldn't get over Holly J.
The sound of her heels on the concrete floor stops his heart. He looks up casually, but his hands are shaking. To cover, he slouches into the couch and eases his left hand into his pocket. Suddenly the unloosened tie feels like a noose around his neck. Her fragrance floats around him as she sits down, her strapless dress exposing her creamy shoulders and curved hips. He knows that she's talking, but the words are jumbled, and in his mind he knows she's not saying anything conductive to their relationship (or lack thereof) but he feels his mouth moving in reply, making idle talk. He knows that Fiona needs him. Perhaps he should move in, not even to get closer to Holly J, but to supervise.
Bobby had set Fiona back at least a year in her therapy, and while there was nothing he could have done at the time to help her, he could at least try and step in now. Right the wrongs of the past.
It is only when she mentions a cab that Declan's mind snaps back to attention. He moves over closer to her, his heart racing as he reaches out to brush the hair away from her shoulders. "No, about us…" he trails off, his voice fading off into a whisper. He knows that it's wrong. He knows that this is not how he operated—he was casual, smooth, suave. He could pay her for sex. He could have slipped drugs into her drink. There were a thousand ways he could have seduced her. But no, his heart took over, his stupid fucking blood blooded foolish heart.
He begins to kiss her shoulder lightly, dragging his lips across the soft skin. Her scent is wild strawberry shampoo. He remembers once that he had caught a draft of Anya wearing it during Valentines day, no doubt Sav had carelessly recycled his present and given it to her. He can feel her inching away from him slowly, so he wraps his arm around her waist to hold her within his place. He's more tempted than ever to slide his hand down to her ass, but he refrains; he already knows he's pushing boundaries as it is.
"I…thought we agreed this wasn't going to happen." Her voice is soft, faded, but still strong. But he hears the hitch in her voice as he swirls his tongue across one of the beauty marks on her back. He wants to grab her by the face and press his lips fervently against her, moan out between kisses "no, this is what you agreed" but he can't bring himself to do so. Instead he kisses lower, slightly using tongue, apprehensively. "No…we shouldn't be doing this," she continues.
Suddenly anger fills him, he pulls away, his eyes dilated with desire. "Come on," he breathes heavily, resisting the urge to add "love" at the end of the sentence. He pulls back her hair, ginger strands sliding between his fingers, and urges "this is right. You know it is. Please…" his lips tremble, so he forces a faux smile, but it dissolves as fast as it appeared. He can feel her tensing up, yet her breath is becoming slower as well, more aware. He knows that he's starting to affect her, that she's going to give in. He decides, desperately, to go in for the kill, his nose against her neck, his breath hot and moist against her skin. "I love you."
He has to kiss every inch of her. He begins to kiss harder on her neck, and he doesn't care that her necklace is in the way anymore, he slides he tongue between the black pearls. She tastes like vanilla and brown sugar. He kisses upwards on her neck, and slides his hand across her face to pull her towards him. As he hooks his thumb onto the rim of her lips, he feels her neck craning towards him. His heart starts racing faster.
She's hooked. Line and sinker.
The look on her face is plastered in his memory's walls. Her eyes are full of fear. He disregards that and presses his nose against hers, a last-willed Eskimo kiss. It's that faint, noble sign of intimacy that garners her parting her lips to meet his. He removes his thumb and slides it to the back of her neck, holding her in place as they begin to kiss.
Once, when him and Fiona were five, their mother took them to Italy to see fireworks. The display lasted for three days, and every night was a different theme. He had watched in awe as the colors bloomed around him in explosions of green, red and yellow, followed by purples and baby blues. The night sky was illuminated with a shower of light.
When he pressed his thumb into Holly J's cheek, and could literally feel the motion of her tongue slipping out to meet his; with his eyes closed, he witnessed those explosions once more.
As he opened his eyes, hers were still closed, but he didn't mind. She was back in his arms again. Fiona was knocked out for the night. There would be no interruptions. Nothing was going to go wrong.
He kissed her as if he was making up for the past four months, and in many ways he was. His hands traveled from her cheek to her neck before finally resting within her hair. His fingers threaded themselves into the ginger locks, and closed, holding her tightly within place. His other hand landed on her thigh, and slowly inched up her dress. As they kissed her breaths became heavier, and he felt her put a hand against his chest. "Wait," she said, finally, and the silence after her breaths began to echo in his eyes again. "If we're going to do this, let's do this properly."
He sat there for a moment, not quite sure of what was going on. They have had sex on couches at her house and at the pent house plenty of times. Most memorably that one time when she was wearing her work outfit. The thought of her bouncing up and down on him while wearing those cute little ribbons tied within her ponytails drove him wild…but that was besides the point.
As if reading his mind, and perhaps seeing the confusion on his face, she elaborates. "Just, give me a couple of minutes, okay? I'll meet you in the guest room." She doesn't look at him as she says this, instead busying herself with flattening out the wrinkles created on her dress.
Understanding, and not saying a word, Declan nods and gets up. Before he leaves, he bends down and tucks a strand of stray her behind her ear. As he begins to walk away he can hear her release a sigh—he's not sure, however, if it's one of lust, or one of relief.
The bay windows inside of the loft overlook the rooftops of Toronto. The walls in the guest room are painted royal purple, and large white drapes are pulled together in the corner. The moonlight streams between the bars and casts a faint pathway towards the bed.
Keep calm, this is nothing new, Declan breathes out to himself. No, this is everything. A voice in his head reminds him. Everything is on the line. This isn't their first time, no. And technically, it can't be considered make-up sex, because make-up sex actually means that you're making up to become something once more.
Anxiously, he kicks off his socks and begins to take off his vest. He can hear Holly J shuffling around inside of the bathroom, and he's wondering what's taking her so long. It's been almost fifteen minutes. Next his pants go, and soon he's sitting in his boxers, and his shirt is half unbuttoned. Just as he was about to get up to go and bring her into the room, she peeks her head through the door.
His eyes light up and he smiles, but he tries to play it cool. Easy, he reminds himself. "Hey…" his voice trails off as she steps forwards, wearing a strapless red bra and thong. As his eyes travel downwards she puts her hands on her hips and frowns at him. "A thong?" He muses, smirking.
"Party attire requires…party panties." She finishes lamely. She starts to walk back out the room, but Declan springs up and strides across the room. She stands there, pouting slightly, and he takes one hand and grabs her wrist while the other one slides under her chin and tilts it upwards.
"I like them. They hold a certain allure to them."
"Right." Holly J mumbles, deadpan, and he leans forwards and silences her with a kiss. He pulls her backwards towards the bed and climbs onto it, holding out his hand for her, as if ushering a princess into a carriage.
She looks at his hand for a second. "Declan…" She starts, but he shakes his head. Quietly, she takes his hand and climbs onto the bed.
As he pushes the duvet off to the floor he feels her hands on his shoulder blades. From behind she scuttles forwards on her knees and wraps her arms around his neck to unbutton his shirt. Feeling her fingers dance occasionally across his skin as she works on the buttons sends little sparks of electricity throughout his body. Once completely undone, she pauses, simply resting her hands on his chest.
His heartbeat seemingly vibrates between her fingers.
Her nails are painted crimson. Declan notices this as he takes her hand and presses his lips to it. As he turns around to look at her, he sees a lone tear escape from her eye. Learning forwards, he captures it with his tongue, and kisses her cheek. He presses her downwards into the sheets, fingers trembling, and begins kissing up and down her body. As he kisses downwards towards her navel Holly J squirms beneath him and threads her fingers into his hair.
He kisses in between her thighs and across her kneecaps before coming upwards again. From between his legs he peeks at her, and she sits upwards slightly, propping up a pillow underneath her arms. "What are you doing?"
"Shhh…" He whispers, and with his index finger he peels her underwear to the side. Now, in all of his life, he has never attempted this before. A lot of girls had asked him to, but he had always laughed at them, with a look of utter amusement on his face. Declan Coyne did not go down on anyone. In fact, you were lucky if he even considered you going down on him.
However, this was a special circumstance.
While smoking inside of Bobby's penthouse after school (pre-Fiona bashing) Declan had mused while sitting cross-legged, smoking a cigarello. "Women love it when you eat them out. Apparently it's a form of respect."
"Have you ever tried it?" Declan asked, blowing out smoke through his nose.
Bobby had licked his lips and smiled devilishly at him, "of course."
"Well, how did she like it?" Declan furrowed his thick brows, waiting for a response.
Tapping out the filter, Bobby had shrugged noncommittally. "I don't know." He took a drag, "ask your sister."
Although, after giving Bobby a black eye, he had forgotten about the conversation, the position he was in right now conjured up the memory.
Slowly, he had stuck out his tongue, and began to lick the inner fold of her thigh. He heard her sigh in content, and it fueled him to continue. He began to lick her in all of her entirety. He held her thighs apart at either side of her legs, working his tongue in and out of her. Somewhere along the line she began to moan, thrashing around in the sheets, and he had to tighten his grip, his fingers pressing into her thighs. He could feel becoming wetter within his mouth. As her moans became louder he was startled when she shot up and grabbed his head upwards.
"What?" He asked, surprised, wiping at his chin.
"I don't want to come without you." She says breathlessly, and begins kicking her thong off of her. For a second he wonders if Sav has seen her in that pair before, but the thought leaves his mind when she pulls off his shirt and begins to tug at his boxers. He obliges, rolling on to his back to allow her to take them off fully.
From there something changes within their chemistry. Holly J began to kiss at him feverishly, biting on the inside of his neck. He pushed her downwards onto the bed and climbed on top of her, grabbing her breasts with his hand and playing with her nipples. As they wrestled physically, Holly J pulling him in closer and closer against her body, trying to have him mold into her, and Declan struggling between kisses to gather enough air, he feels her begin to spread her legs.
Her hand snakes down and grasps him, and he inhales, the feeling of her cool fingers there. He moans into her neck, and positions himself between her legs. "Holly J—" He thrusts accidentally, and she inhales sharply, but he's inside of her, and she's wrapped around him, and everything is fucking perfect.
It's not hard for them to fall back into their regular sync. He bites the inside of her neck as he thrusts, holding her hips tightly under his grip. She wraps her legs around his waist and holds onto the headboard as he pushes deeper inside of her, and she's so tight and wet and amazing and beautiful that Declan swears in that small, impossible, pocket moment of love, that they have never been broken up at all.
Her mouth is warm and inviting, and they tangle together, her hair blanketing the pillows. From above her body, he feels like he can see the world in a whole new light. The moon follows the contours of her body and the light dips in between her legs. This is the first time they have had sex without a condom. The feeling of him raw within her blows his mind—their sex was pure, there are no barriers, no secrets, no more lies. Just him. And her. And this moment. Forever.
He kisses everywhere his body allows. Her neck, her nose, her lips. "You're beautiful. So fucking beautiful. More beautiful than anything. Roses. Diamonds. Silver. Anything."
She smiles as he talks, her lips trembling in pleasure. Her crimson nails drag red tracks down his back. His thrusts become more erratic and frantic, and he knows that he's going to come soon. He pushes her legs upwards into the air and settles himself between her legs once more, rubbing her in time with thrusts. His other hand threads his fingers into hers, and she holds him upwards, meeting his thrusts.
"Tell me…when…" he breathes out, ragged, his eyelids heavy.
Holly J opens her mouth, her lipstick partially wiped away, about to answer when he feels her clench tightly around him. She throws her head back in ecstasy and lets out a long, deep moan that resonates within the concrete walls of the room. Feeling her snap tightly around him with several more thrusts he looks into her eyes, frantic, knowing he's at the edge.
"I'm on birth control," she says, still riding on her orgasm, her voice shuddery. He nods, and with one final thrust, he releases within her, grunting in pleasure.
Once done, he pulls out of her and kisses her stomach and her arms before pulling the duvet upwards and covering her body. He looks down at his boxers still on the bed and frowns at the stain on them. Those were Prada. It doesn't matter, he has thirteen more pairs. Prada was replaceable, Holly J was priceless.
As he laid down next to her, he noticed that her breathing had already evened out, and that she was falling asleep. He kissed her temple, brushing hair away from her forehead. "I love you, Holly J." He whispers. Tonight everything was infinite.
It was tomorrow that he was scared of.