A/N - Hi. So, here's the deal. The following... thing is part of a story I have already written, known as The Gatekeeper. If you haven't read it, I guess it isn't exactly 100% required to follow this.
But I wouldn't mind if you did. Hits don't hurt me, my friends.
Anyway, to make you less lost, in the story Jade and Beck have broken up and Tori and Jade have kind of gotten together, but not really. Oh, and they're all pretty screwed up. That's pretty much all that happened.
Y'know, besides the whole suicide/murder mystery thing and all the other traumatic depressing stuff.
For those of you who have read it, the beginning of this looks like it's the exactly the same thing, but when you read on, you will soon realize that it's just the chapter extended. So, you know. Just go on a little review of what was going on in this chapter and then read what I censored in the T-rated version.
And then review in the other sense. :)
Chapter Twenty-seven
"I don't know if I can do this," I told her.
She looked up, acting like I was crazy. Which I probably am. But that's beside the point. "Jade, we've been working on this for weeks now. You can't back out now."
I shrugged busying myself with piano keys regardless of the fact that I don't know how to play. "I could pretend to be sick...," I muttered pathetically.
"Uh, no, you can't," she said sternly. "I won't let you."
I sighed, dropping my fingers down on random keys in frustration. "I don't wanna start bawling my eyes out in front of an audience, okay?" I snapped, exasperated.
She shrugged. "So just don't think too much about the lyrics," she said, as if it were that simple.
"I can't," I murmured.
She sighed dramatically, getting up and going through her bag which was under the piano bench.
"What are you doing?" I asked, caught off guard.
She ignored me, popping back up and shoving sunglasses on my face. "There. Now no one will be able to tell you're bawling your eyes out. Happy?" she asked sarcastically. Not waiting for a response, she pulled them off and dropped them in her bag.
"Now," she purred seductively, flinging her arms around my neck as she sat down once again. "How 'bout you come up to my room and I can help make you less uptight?"
I stared at her, mouth wide open for awhile. I closed it. "I'd like that," I said, my voice coming out a bit high. I cleared my throat.
She laughed at me, getting up and skipping up the stairs.
My childhood was littered with pointless, unproductive movies that all had the same plot which never exactly made sense. The first time I really started leaning toward performance was when I wanted to write scripts.
Making up stories, but ones that actually brought human beings into perspective. Just like being an actor. Only completely different. The same goal, anyway. Living in a life that doesn't even exist.
Why I decided to lean more toward acting was because I hate being in control. If I know what I'm doing, it's okay, but I don't like testing the waters. When you're an actress, you read off a script. When you write a script, you have to come up with your own words.
And sure, writing gives me more of a high than performing does, because it makes me feel that a thousand people who're watching the movie are hearing my words. But they don't know. They think it's the actor's words.
That makes it that much better.
In a movie, the main character, you know everything about them. More than you know about yourself. They do that purposely.
In a movie I'd make, it'd be different. You'd think you knew her. And then, she'd do something so out-of-character, so unexpected. And then, you'd realize you never knew a thing about her.
Maybe she'll kill herself. With a pocketknife.
See, this is why I can't make a movie. Because it's hard for me to keep my personal life out of the plot.
Know what I've always wanted to do? Make a movie where a bunch of kids come in for detention. And they don't know each other. And then, it shows how each one of their fucked up lives have played out.
And they'll have so many problems, all of them. Not one of which any of the others know. And maybe they'll talk, maybe they'll become friends. But nobody's ever going to share any of it with anybody else.
You think you know someone.
Who's the main character? The first one you see?
You can decide, I don't give a shit.
I used to do things just to take people off guard. Just to get a second glance. Just to be special.
I'm not special. I accept that about myself now.
But that doesn't mean I can't make somebody else look better in comparison. That's what I'm here for. Feel free to thank me.
You know what's pathetic, though? All that stuff up there, all the thoughts, all the issues, everything.
That was all gone the moment Tori Vega touched me.
"Lie down on your stomach," she demanded the moment upon my arrival.
I glanced at her, suspicious. "Why...?" I trailed off.
She smiled. "Just trust me, West."
Against my better judgment, I did as I was told, laying on her bed face-down.
She walked over, sitting beside me. "Comfortable?" she purred.
"Very," I replied sarcastically.
Then I felt her hands land lightly on my shoulder blades, making me instantly tense up. She giggled a bit, whispering, "Jade, for the last time, relax," as she flexed her fingers over the fabric of my shirt.
I muttered a bit, some incoherent argument with no real basis which neither of us heard. Her thumbs started to press down a bit into my muscles, kneading in small circles. Then larger. Then smaller.
I'd never been one for massages. It always hurt more than it felt good. That's like, a metaphor for my life. Something that should feel good but ends up hurting.
But damn.
She kept at it for a minute or so, pausing to whisper in my ear, saying things like 'let it go' and 'deep breaths.'
And when I followed her advice – that's when it started feeling really good. Like, collapsing into the bed good. That's when I started whimpering out her name. Sure, it might be weak, and I might have been vulnerable. But I didn't give a shit at the time, so neither should you.
"Christ," I hissed in utter pleasure as she dug into a spot that really needed it. She giggled happily in response, apparently satisfied with my reaction.
But then she got frustrated with having to bend in that awkward position over me and decided it would be simpler to straddled me, only backwards. Which might have been awkward had anyone walked in, but again, I didn't give a shit.
Besides, her parents were taking their monthly vacation from Trina.
Her fingers started working a bit harder since I'd gotten used to it. Every once and a while a broken word or two would escape my throat, momentarily breaking the silence. Mostly various segments of her name.
Let's not mention that.
She leaned down, basically laying on my back. Her lips planted themselves on my neck after she brushed away my hair. Her hands traveled down to land on my hips. I moaned, but not the type of moan made out of only pleasure, like the ones you see in porn.
Not to say I ever watch porn.
Shut the fuck up.
Anyway, it wasn't just pleasure. I mean, yeah, it felt good. Duh. But it was more than that – it was trusting, it was content. Soft.
A better adjective would probably be love, but did you really expect me to describe it like that? Didn't think so.
Her lips traveled down my neck a bit, slowly. When she came in contact with the edge of my shirt she grunted, annoyed. "Off," she murmured quietly.
I scoffed teasingly. "Not unless you say please, Vega," I said.
She leaned up to my ear. "Please," she whispered, her voice lower than usual.
I immediately pulled my shirt over my head.
Don't judge. What Would Jesus Do?
Okay, so not the best thing to say. Don't be offended.
She smiled in my neck when she was reunited with it, trailing her fingertips around my bare back, slipping an arm around my waist to capture me in something similar to a hug.
With nothing in their way, her lips trailed down a bit, to the top of my shoulder blade. There she lingered for awhile.
Finally, tired of my face pressed in a pillow, I went to flip over. She sat back on my lap, letting me get settled. Then she looked down at me, seeming a bit nervous.
"You okay?" I asked softly, my hands finding their way to her hips subconsciously. She bit her lip, leaning down, pressing our lips together for the first time all night.
When she pulled away, she smiled. "It's nothing," she muttered. "You're just... perfect, is all," she continued, glancing down at my bare stomach.
I grinned, slipping my thumbs under the fabric of her shirt. "Far from it," I whispered, going back to that time in the hospital, where the line between normal and not were blurred, where I was looking outside with her arms around my waist, her lips on my neck.
Then I slowly removed her shirt from her body, taking in the sight of it. The smooth skin. The tan lines. I traced over them first, the ones on her shoulders. Then I went in, where the skin was lighter. When her bra straps interrupted my path I gently pulled them halfway down her arms, not completely baring her in case she wasn't ready.
I traced her collarbone, starting and glancing up into her eyes when I realized she was looking at mine. She was biting her lip nervously again, so I leaned up and kissed it free. My hand traced down to lightly touch her breast through the padding.
A high, soft sound came from deep in her throat. She pulled away from the kiss, her eyes squinted closed and her lips slightly parted when I touched her a bit harder, more confident. But still scared as hell.
Yeah, I'd had sex. With Beck. We were dating years, what did you expect? It didn't mean much. It was just what boyfriends and girlfriends do together. Why? I didn't know. I knew it was supposed to feel good, but it never really did to me much.
I guess it wasn't my least favorite activity. It wasn't my favorite, either. I didn't see the big deal about it. I guess I'd never loved enough to let myself go before I met Vega. There were times in my bedroom when I'd think of her and touch myself. Those were the only time I ever had an orgasm. Or anywhere close to one, anyway.
Does that mean I'm kind of a virgin? Eh, I wouldn't know. Most likely not.
But, obviously, she is. That or she just wasn't loved right.
I rolled us over, getting myself on top so she didn't have to work so hard to keep herself up. Her eyes opened, the action coming across as a struggle. She met my eyes again, blushing. I shifted, straddling one of her thighs.
My own thigh pressed up into her and she made a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, grabbing a hold of the sheets as her hips pressed up into me. Her eyes looked very distracted. I don't blame her. I, myself, was turned on far more than I'd ever been in my life. And she'd barely touched me.
I reached under her arched back, unclasping her bra. She came back to her senses, looking at me, nervous again. "You okay?" I asked softly. "We can stop, you know. If you're not ready," I assured.
She shook her head immediately. "No," she replied. The blush on her face intensified when she realized how eager that sounded. "I mean... I'm fine. Don't stop."
It's funny. When she's in control, she's never nervous or insecure at all. Granted, we've never gone this far before, but still.
"Okay...," I murmured. "If you say so." I pulled the blanket up around my shoulders and settled on top of her again. This seemed to calm her a bit, knowing we were covered up. And it emphasized the intimacy, too, somehow. I don't know why. It just did, okay?
I traced her collarbone once again, but this time when I came in contact with her bra I pulled it away slowly, exposing skin I'd never seen before.
She looked more scared than ever when I brought myself to look away from her chest and at her face again. "Why are you so nervous?" I asked. "You're beautiful, Tori."
She shrugged, glancing away. "It's just... just that nobody's really seen me like this before...," she murmured, even further embarrassed.
I smiled. "Good," I replied, raising my thigh up into her again. She gasped. I touched her breasts a bit, getting a couple more sounds to escape her. But I was never much for that – I was far more interested in the rest of her curves and committing them to memory.
"Jade," she gasped as I gently trailed my nails down her stomach , dipping a finger beneath the waistband of her shorts.
"Is that alright?" I asked softly, pulling my hand back. She gave a quick nod, not opening her eyes. I slowly returned my hand to its previous position while leaning forward to kiss her forehead.
My fingers dipped lower. Then lower, coming in contact with a patch of soft hair. Her breathing got heavier the lower I went, her eyes squinted tighter.
When I finally came in contact, I was watching her face intently. At first, she looked to be a bit confused, but when I started to move a bit the confusion disappeared and was replaced by a partially opened mouth and soft gasps coming out of it.
I'd never touched a girl like that before, so it took me a few seconds to adjust and feel confident. Then I started to stroke against her. Her gasps got heavier then, fractions of her voice getting lost in them and altering them to the point where they can't even be described.
Her arms trembled as they made their way to slide around my waist, clasping together behind me, bringing us that much closer. She started to murmur, some things which I couldn't make out, some that I could but can't relay upon you. Her hips started to instinctively rock up to meet me.
Her eyes had closed a long time before, so I leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on her neck, feeling her soft-spoken words vibrate against my lips. Then I rested my forehead against her shoulder, closing my eyes and focusing everything I had to move my fingers as best as I could.
In a few seconds, she stopped whispering to me, her words having been drowned out by the other uncontrollable sounds she was making. She gasped my name out every once in a while between the whimpers, the moans, the soft whines crowding her vocal chords.
I moved my hand faster, getting tired of the fabric restraining it's movement and sitting up, using my other hand to pull her shorts down her legs, all the while continuing with my original movements.
Pretty soon, there were strangled pauses between the noises she was making. They were louder, more prominent. Her hips continued to jerk up into mine. Her head fell to the right, her hands unclasped and reached up to grip my shoulders.
This time, I whispered to her to let go, to take deep breaths. And she took my advice.
"J-Jade...," she whimpered, her voice coming out as though it was an effort just to say that. I pecked her lips, pulling back to look at her face.
"I love you, Tori," I whispered. "Really."
The first thing that let me know was that drawn out, high-pitched moan that faded to nothing.
Her face had contorted a little, her hips jerking around against my hand more frantically before she found that look of complete ecstasy. Her hips stayed up, her back arched, and I put my free hand behind her to lessen the effort. With the other I continued to touch her, faster than ever.
I whispered about nothing in her ear. I listened to her gasping, her uneven breathing being the only sound in the room besides my own voice and the steady ticking of the clock, both of which I didn't notice.
It's hard to pinpoint exactly when she came back. When she collapsed back into the pillow, my hand remaining on the small of her back. When her breathing slowed back to normal. When she turned to snuggle into my side, exhausted.
Doesn't matter.
We didn't talk for a while, what with her exhaustion and my amazement that I actually just did that.
When she mustered the strength, first thing she said was, "I love you, too." That was nice to hear.
But she didn't have to say it, because I knew.