Consoling Seth: An Ending
(Version One)
Author's Note: So I started writing this fic, and partway through, I decided that it could be interesting if it progressed in two alternate ways. This is the first version. (The second version is entitled Consoling Seth: A Beginning.) You don't need to read both pieces to get it. They ARE NOT sequels or prequels, they are basically two versions of the same story. They start off basically the same, but they end much differently. This is the more angsty version. It also contains semi-graphic slash, so if you don't like that, please don't continue.
And I'm fucking you again and you're groaning and writhing under me. Your eyes are closed. You're biting down hard on one side of your lip. You're loving this. My head starts to hang because I just want to get this over with. You feel my thrusts weaken. You squirm a little and moan for sympathy to get me to keep going. And, for me, it works. I lift my head up until I'm looking at the ceiling. I can't bear to look at you while I fuck you anymore.
Sad as it is to say, I only fuck you out of pity. Because you've struck out so many times with Summer. Because you screwed things up with Anna to the point of her moving. Because Alex chose a girl over you. Because of random girls like Lindsay and Taylor who, even though you didn't want them, negatively affected your confidence. So you turned to me, because you needed comforting and I was your last option. And because you were my friend and I couldn't be with Marissa, I started fucking you.
A few times, timidly, you asked if you could fuck me. I said no. Told you that you could suck me off. You didn't want to so we stuck to me fucking you. I felt bad for suggesting you do something like that, but I was sure you'd say no. And I never should have started this whole thing with you in the first place, but I have this helping-people-out complex that I can't escape from. Now, though, I don't feel bad for that. I wish you would move on. I wish you'd stop sneaking into the poolhouse at night begging me to fuck.
And you're still groaning, and your hands are on my hips, my ass, pulling me further into you. Our bodies move easily because of the sweat that's accumulated between us, lubricating us. Your groans segue into whines and you pull me into you harder. You want it. You need it, so I give it to you. I thrust into you hard, hard to the point that your head hits the headboard every time I plow into you. But you like it, choking back yells of excitement. I keep going at it, pounding harder and harder. You scream out my name, grab a pillow and bite into it to avoid screaming again.
You cum onto your stomach. Your hands fall away from the pillow as I stop. You open your eyes, lift your head, look at your stomach. You're panting, slightly, as you grin and use my sheet to clean up. That doesn't bother me. It really doesn't – these sheets have enough of my own stains on them that I really couldn't care less. I pull out of you and pull up my pants. I never take them all the way off, and I don't remove my shirt, either. I don't care enough to bother. And I've never worn a condom with you, either. I never have to worry about getting off.
You pull the sheet over your nakedness and smile shyly at me. "Did you?" you ask, just like every other time.
And "yeah," I lie, just like every other time.
You're so naive.
I pull my beater back down to cover my stomach. I leave without saying a word. I don't look back but I know you're staring after me. I think even you know that this was the last time I'd fuck you.
End.