One Night Stand

It was strange really, completely unlike me to even be doing this. But, here I was sitting patiently in that booth listening to him mutter sweet promises in my ear, placing sloppy kisses all over my neck. His hands were much more eager than the rest of him, flittering everywhere, up my shirt to stroke my chest, through my short blonde hair, across my thighs, even down my pants, his surprisingly lithe fingers brushing my growing arousal. For such a wild looking man, he was being only gentle to me, slowly pushing his need onto to me.

He had told me he was lonely, needing to feel the warmth, and flesh, of another human being. He didn't hide the fact that he wanted me, desired me like no one had done before. Honestly, who would want, I mean truly want, someone as scrawny me? Sure, I had been told countless times that I was good-looking, with my blonde spikes and piercing blue eyes. But had that ever got me anyone? No. Almost every girl my age, and even a little younger, was my height, or taller. Who would want a shrimp? Certainly this man, who, after buying me three drinks, told me his predicament, almost pleading with me to let him feel human again. He promised it would be good, and for some reason that escapes me, I would have agreed even before the offer of payment. Two hundred for him pleasuring me, another three hundred more if after he was done in this booth I came up to his apartment and finished the rest.

My breath hitched in my throat, as his teeth grazed over a sensitive spot on my neck. He had not been wrong; it was very good. How did he know every place that affected me the most, in the best possible ways? But this was not the main question that boggled my mind. Why was he going so painfully slow? At the moment, I wanted to rip off both our pants and have him take me right here and now. I know that he felt the same, his hands giving him away. They would be too eager, quick, getting ahead of the rest of him, before stopping abruptly then returning going slowly, matching his intended pace before excitement got the better of them, quickening their pace, repeating the cycle. But why wouldn't he kiss me; I wanted that the most.

"Hey," I mumble softly, though it gets his attention. Pausing, he lifts his head to be level with me. His clouded eyes bore into me, the colour escaping me, hidden behind the smoke that wafted all around us, covering the entire bar. Knowing that I had his full attention, I spoke. "Kiss me." His head barely moved, though I knew that was a nod. Closing my eyes, I felt his lips on mine, gentle and slow.

When we parted, he knew that I wasn't satisfied. It was all over his face. It was weird; he was pleasuring me, yet I was in complete control. Staring straight into his eyes, I tell him what I want. "No more slow and gentle. I want hard and -" He didn't even let me finish what I was saying, the words I had managed to say the trigger to bring forth the desperate, wild animal that lurked in him, known only as lust. Tongues fighting against each other, alcohol drowned our senses, but there was also this mint flavour, hiding the faint taste of cigarettes. I loved his taste. Gripping his shoulders tightly, I moaned in his mouth, as he flushed us together. His hands moved to grip my hips, while one of my own hands treaded through his hair, his own spikes giving no resistance. He wouldn't stop kissing me now, grinding our hips together over and over again.

I was lost in him, sinking deeper and deeper…

---

Though those drinks had given me confidence and more easiness, three drinks was not my limit. Waking up, a little groggy, but otherwise fine, I looked around the bedroom that was not my own. Once the kiddie gloves had fallen off, I was his, unable to deny continuing what we had started at his apartment. I sat up, leaning against the headboard, thinking of what I had done last night. There was a dull ache at the base of my spine that would remind me of last night's events for a few days at least. He had only been gentle then, when he had penetrated me, and I was grateful. Turning my head, to look at the naked man beside me, I marvelled at him while he slept. Without the murky darkness of the bar, or the sorrows and demons that plagued him during the day, his actual age was revealed on his peaceful sleeping face. He looked only a few years older than I did, being an adult for such a short amount of time.

Something compelled me, and not being able to control the urge, I brush a strand of red off his face, now noticing his dark, diamond-shaped, like tear drops, tattoos, one underneath each eye. Now noticing them, they will always give him the impression that he was crying. My action caused him to wake, his eyes opening slowly, unveiling radiantly green eyes. I was lost in them, just as I had been lost in his ministrations last night. Seeing me, he let out a small laugh. "Hey, you didn't leave." He looked so relieved that I had the urge to hug him. I held that urge down.

"Well, I was the one who fell asleep first," I replied. He gave out a loud snort, before a chuckle rumbled in his throat. He had caught my sarcasm, and understood my humour. I can't say that many have understood, yet he does. Rolling onto his back, he put his arms behind his head. "True, true," he said flippantly. He turned his head to stare in my eyes, I could drown in those, giving me a serious, solemn look, ageing him a few years. "You could have left as soon as you woke up."

I knew what he meant, but didn't respond. We stared at each other, time becoming non-existent, while the sombre silence grew between us. It hung over us like vines, tangling around us, strangling our voices to keep within our throats. It was overbearing, yet I couldn't break the silence. Time, though an unknown concept to us now, drifted on stubbornly. Then suddenly, spontaneously, he face brightens into a large grin, burning away those enslaving vines of silence. "You stayed though." He said this with such passion and glee, I didn't know what to say. There was, however, a deeper meaning behind those words, but it escaped me.

I wanted to ask him what he meant, but some knowledge lit up his face, as if he forgot something, before he leaned over his side of the bed, the blankets shifting with him, uncovering both of us in odd places. With most of his body still on the bed, he moves around the floor with just he arms, searching for something important. Curious to see what he is trying to find, I remain silent, watching as he grabs the leg of his jeans, discarded on a nearby chair, pulling the pants to him. After a moment he discards the jeans once more, turning around to face me. In his hands is his wallet, already reaching for the money he had promised me. I had completely forgotten.

"No," I say firmly, placing my hand on the one rummaging through his wallet. He stops, looking up at me, a confused look on his face, his brows furrowed. "I don't want your money." I was being honest, feeling too ashamed, some pity towards him and myself, and something… else that I couldn't describe, to accept his payment. Besides, it wasn't like I needed it, and taking the money was completely against who I am.

He was still gazing at me, confused. He finds his voice again. "You don't want it?" I nod, keeping eye contact with him the whole time, placing my other hand over top his wallet, now covering both hands completely. With both my hands, I push his own hands to his stomach, as I lean in, my face inches from his. "I don't want it." Each word I punctuate, and I notice he swallows a few times. I was turning him on, so I lean back, letting go of his hands, not intentionally meaning to. I smile sarcastically mockingly, shrugging my shoulders almost cheerfully, yet it felt sad as well. "I think you should keep it, considering." His eyebrows lift in surprise, and I realize that he had forgotten that he had told me his situation. Had I really helped him forget, or had he been that drunk?

His eyebrows returning to their resting position, he gives me such a smile. It is so warm, thankful, and, dare I say, loving. "Thanks." I feel myself smile, a true smile, in return, almost matching his. It's rare for me to really smile, known mostly for my sarcastic smiles and smirks. The unknown feeling returns, and without knowing why, when he leans in for a kiss, I meet him halfway. His true kiss devours me like every time before, and I lose my grasp on time. But however long the kiss was I don't care, only that I hate it every time we part. So, when we part, I want to scowl, or grab him, to have him kiss me again, but I do nothing.

Panting, he gives me an awkwardly strange, lopsided smile. I realize I'm panting as well, my chest hitting his every time my lungs heave for air. He was lying on top of me; when had I lain back down? "You hungry for some breakfast?" Surprised by the suddenness, and the randomness, of the question, I nod dumbly. He gives me a cocky smile, before getting off me, standing up; he was not even going to put some clothes on, the cockiness of his smile becoming his demeanour. I now realize that, before the incident, he must have been one cocky son of a bitch, his familiarity with this demeanour giving him away.

He had just been your average, albeit slightly cocky, young adult. He probably hadn't had a care in the world, before what had happened. It could happen to anyone, really. Thinking about it, I guess I probably would have acted the same way. He just needed something to forget his troubles, and he had found me. It is strange, a sexually needing whim bringing us together. And this hasn't once felt like a one-night stand, so what is this between us? I don't want to even try to explain what happened between us, it's just makes me so mixed up.

Standing up myself, giving up on trying to find the rational logic in all of this, I follow him into the kitchen. If he's going to strut around naked, then I can at least eat breakfast naked as well. It's not like he hasn't seen me already. Sitting down on one of the stools, I watch him open the fridge. "Is eggs okay?" he asks, pulling out the egg carton. "Yeah," I mumble, but he hears me, giving me a grin, as he turns his back to me. I can't help staring at him, watching each movement with lewd fascination. Just as he was about to crack the second egg against the bowl, he pauses. Confused, I see him fling the egg into the sink, before he rushes me.

Before I knew what was going on, I was on the cold, hard, linoleum floor, my body, especially my head, aching from the impact of hitting the floor. And I couldn't care less. Honestly, who would, when someone was rubbing against you in such a way that the friction alone, on either side, caused you to groan, and was also kissing you so hard that when our tongues met, our teeth even clinked together. This time I was taken hard and fast, and I loved it.

He rolled off of me after we were done, both of us completely satisfied. Lying beside me, panting, we were covered in sweat, head to toe, and I don't think either one of us noticed. Catching our breath, he gave out a mirthful laugh, causing the whole floor to vibrate. "You just had to look at me like that, didn't you?" It wasn't really a question.

"Like what?" I asked, confused. What was he talking about? Sure I had been staring, but come on, he had been naked! And with that tall, gracefully thin body, like that of a cat, of his, who wouldn't stare? Rolling onto his side, so he was facing my side, his head on his bent arm, he gave another laugh.

"You were boring into my back with so much sexual tension, I'm surprised my back didn't catch on fire." He was grinning at me so grandly when I glanced at him. I couldn't help but blush; he caught it. "How old are you?" Another out there question. I don't know why I didn't lie.

"Seventeen."

He's laughing again, am I that easy to be made fun of? His free hand has found my face, lightly stroking my chin, sending shivers down my spine. My eyes flutter shut happily, leaning into his touch. Soon, we're almost pressed against each other. "Figures. Though you're good for being so young." He's making fun of me again, and I open my eyes to stare into his. I'm drowning again, but I don't care, it's too nice to care.

"How old are you?" I retorted, a little snidely. I really wanted to know. His age keeps changing depending on his mood. Right now, he barely looks twenty, making fun of me bringing the best out of him, it seems. He smirks, his free hand sliding up the back of my neck, his fingers getting tangled in my roots. He's bringing us closer again, and I almost half expect him to take me again.

"I'll be twenty-one next month," he replies, his smirk changing into a prideful smile. So young… though I'm younger. But still, what he's been through…

I return to reality just as he leans in for another kiss. I've grown accustomed to his kisses, but I still love them so. I can tell he's smiling through each kiss. There's only lips in these kisses, and they're more pleasing than the more heated ones. I know I'm smiling with each kiss as well. We're probably going to have sex again…

---

I'm standing at his door, just about to leave, fully clothed and showered. It took me a while to get here. It took six more full fuckings, too many kissing sessions to count, a few 'jobs', and finally one shower for me to finally be about to leave. And he's there to see me off, his hair still wet like mine, only dressed in a bathrobe. I don't know how to say goodbye, and now there's this awkward silence growing between us. I've been staring at the floor for who knows how long, and I finally find some kind of nerve to glance up at him.

I'm a little taken aback, since he's staring at me so intently, so intensely, I can't stop myself from blushing. My head droops all on its own accord, but it doesn't get far. He grasps my chin, just forceful enough that my head is stopped and then raised to meet him halfway in a searing kiss. My arms wrap around his neck, as one of his arms circles my waist. This was nothing like any of our other kisses, burning our lips so wonderfully that it spreads throughout our entire bodies. It was long, and slow, and hot, and passionate, and everything we ever had wanted in our entire lives all smushed into this glorious kiss. It makes us forget all of our problems, only thinking of this one kiss. When we part, it's only because that if we hadn't, we both would have suffocated. We're only a breath away from the other, our faces being hit with the gushes of air heaving out of our mouths. I'm hot and flustered, completely out of breath, and I know he's the exact same. Wow. That was… wow.

"Call me," he says, and I feel the arm around my waist slip something in the back pocket of my jeans. He's still panting like I am, but there's a smile on his face that beats every smile he has ever made in his life. And to my own astonishment, I'm smiling the exact same way.

"Bye Axel," I whisper. I don't want to leave. We've been dragging it on as long as we could drag it out.

"Bye Roxas, and thanks," he whispers back. The next kiss we share is short and sweet, and then I manage to detach myself from him. I walk slowly away from him, his hand sliding down my arm. I stop only when his hand has reached mine, and we stare at each other once more. I'm drowning all over again, and would've been pleased if I knew that he was too. Our hands part, and I leave him, not daring to look back, afraid I wouldn't be able to leave him if I did. Reaching into my front pocket of my jacket, I take out my cellphone. Flipping it open, I see all the thirty missed calls and messages. I'll be in deep shit when I get home. I glance back only once, when I'm outside the building, and know there's a possibility that we may never see each other again. I smile.

I highly doubt that.

End.

Angel of the Fallen Stars