She could feel the night settling outside of her bedroom window as 11 PM ran into 12 AM and 12 into 1. She'd been no stranger to sleeplessness, especially since she started getting regular visits from nightmares that crawled into her bed and shook her awake each time she found her way to some amount of sleep. They used to be about the downfall of one ex boyfriend, then another. Then herself, as she found she might be the one in danger.
But this time it was different. This wasn't earth-shaking, gut-wrenching, wake-up-screaming nightmares that kept her up. It wasn't even anxiety. She was just…pissed. Pissed and sad.
1 turned into 2. She hardly felt the hours passing as she curled into the side of her bed, yearning gnawing at her insides. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to be different—he had been the only one that was different for so long…what did she do wrong?
Nothing, she thought to herself. This was all on him. I did nothing to make him do this. this is his fault. But as much as she knew that was the logical answer, she couldn't bring herself to fully believe it—at least not enough to shake the blame she felt for herself. Since the day she met him, Zig Novak had been one of the closest people in her life. Of course they had their issues—what teenagers didn't? But as they grew up, they grew together, and he had become a sort of security blanket for her…at least, that's what she grew to believe.
2 turned into 3 and she was flipping through the photo album on her phone, the backs of her eyes burning and the corners of her lips constantly switching between little upturned reminders of what they had and trembling frowns of what they lost. She knew it was in her best interest to delete the pictures—the smiles, the cheek kisses, the mouth kisses, the silly poses, the candids—but she couldn't bring herself to do it.
He was supposed to be different. She'd been through so much already and he told her time and time again just how much she mattered to him. Hell, he'd been chasing her since they were fourteen years old. Did the magic wear off once he got her? Once upon a time, he was willing to wait years without her showing interest just for the chance of her even considering him. Now he couldn't even wait a few days before hopping into bed with another girl—well, no, he did her in a forest, actually.
He was supposed to be safe. This was the same boy who held her hand, who hugged her tightly, who watched her emotions turn against her time and time again and was there, anyway, letting her know that she couldn't blame herself for what was happening in her head. He was the one who developed sleeplessness of his own so that he could come into her room when she woke up screaming in the middle of the night. He was the one who hardly even looked at other girls when she was off in denial of her feelings for him, just because he was holding out for her. He'd made it so clear that she was the only one he wanted. What changed?
He wasn't supposed to hurt me. Her high school career had been rough so far but he'd become a safety net. Her light underneath all the darkness, illuminating the shadows in the corners and scaring the monsters out from beneath her bed . She didn't want to depend on him—that was a big part of her fear in the first place, wasn't it? She was terrified to let anyone in after she lost her first boyfriend. She hated the tearing she felt in her chest whenever she remembered that the face of the boy whose lips first touched hers would never see the light of day again. It eroded her from the inside-out, and she knew that letting anyone else that close again could just leave her open to more pain.
But she trusted him.
She fucking trusted him.
3 turned to 4 and she sighs, turning away from the window into her pillows. She was giving up on sleep. She'd tried music, warm milk, counting sheep. More than once she even tried to wear herself out but even the venture of her hands between her thighs had lost its spark lately. She hated feeling as though he'd spoiled her in that department, but the thought of sex made her miss sex with him. It was special. He devalued it. He took something that meant so much to the both of them and made it mean nothing at all.
So you know what? She found herself thinking as she scrolled through her phone, hesitating with her finger over his contact. I can, too.
Everything in her head was screaming in protest as she loaded up an empty text message, bottom-feeding pages and pages of unanswered texts he'd sent her. "I'm sorry." "I messed up." "I miss you." "I'll make it up to you." "I love you." It was bullshit, it was all bullshit. Even if he meant every last pixel of every last letter of every last word of every last bubble of every last message, it was still bullshit. If he loved her so much he wouldn't have done it.
Her body was dehydrated and hot, though, and the night had her intoxicated, and although she could hear a faint murmur in the back of her head asking if she really wanted to be that girl who texts her ex in the middle of the night, she couldn't care enough to stop herself.
He was awake, too, though where she felt anger, he felt remorse, the look on her face when he'd come clean to her ingrained in his mind's eye and refusing him the peace of sleep. He couldn't explain why he did it; maybe his friends were right and he just couldn't let himself hold onto a good thing because he felt he didn't deserve it. He'd spent so long chasing after her that by the time he caught her, it just…felt too good to be true.
Which didn't make it okay to betray her the way that he did. He knew that he had no excuses for the way that he'd been acting—the jealousy, the insecurity, the infidelity…nothing she'd been doing warranted it. Yeah, she said a few things that rubbed him the wrong way. Sure, she was really busy and had her own life outside of him. Of course he felt like he was falling behind her; if the universe treated her any better than he did, she was well on her way to success, with all of the makings of a talented musician and a face to sell it, too.
But none of that meant she deserved to be cheated on.
With a sigh, he kept flipping through his phone, replaying the audio file he'd had her send him when she came back from New York. Her voice sounded slightly automated from the digital recording, but he could still hear her heart behind it, pulsing through her melodic tone to sweeten the words she'd written for him. Because while he was home, drowning himself in another girl to numb his own unfounded uncertainty about Maya Matlin's feelings for him, Maya Matlin was penning those exact feelings he doubted down on paper and bringing them to life with her song.
He didn't deserve it.
3 turned into 4 and he jumps a bit as the music lowers to make room for the text tone that vibrates the phone in his hand. Who would text him at this hour?
His eyes widen when he sees her name.
- You up?
Without missing a beat, he responds faster than his heart is racing.
+ Hey! Yeah, I'm wide awake. Too awake for 4 AM haha. I guess you are too?
He stares at the three dots that appeared when she started typing back. She only took seconds but it felt like centuries.
- Yeah.
- What are you doing?
+ Nothing, why, what's up?
- This may or may not be my way of asking you to come over.
His heart lurches into his throat and he doesn't even bother trying to sound cool.
+ Wait really?
- Look, I'll be frank: it's the middle of the night and I'm texting my ex. This isn't me trying to get back with you so I think you know what this is.
His mouth goes dry.
+ You're booty calling me?
- Ew, don't call it that.
+ Sorry
- But yeah. You in?
This time, he hesitates. Obviously this wasn't the ideal way he'd imagined his next interaction with Maya to go, but…it also wasn't looking like any other semblance of a reunion was on the horizon for them. Plus it wasn't like he didn't miss her in that way, too. They'd developed a great sex life, short-lived as it was. And he didn't mind the idea of getting that close to her again, especially if it was the only way she'd let him near her at all.
She must have calculated the time lapse after he read the message because after a few minutes, she wrote again,
- Forget it then.
He scrambles to reply,
+ No I'm in if you're sure. I just thought you hated me.
- I do hate you.
- But I have needs.
- Figured you might, too.
+ Can't argue with you there.
+ I've missed you.
- Let's get one thing straight, this is not me trying to get back with you.
- I don't want you back. This is just an itch that I'm asking if you'd like to scratch.
- I am in no way obligated to resume talking to you in any way after this if I choose not to. These are my conditions.
+ Roger that.
- I'm still mad. I still hate that you did what you did. And I'm still hurt by it.
- I in no way forgive you or want you back. Got it?
+ Got it.
- So don't go into this thinking that it's me giving you a second chance. If you're going to use this as an excuse to win me back, just don't.
+ Wouldn't dream of it.
- No strings attached.
+ Zero.
- That being said, if you still want to, I'll leave the door unlocked. You'll have to be out of here by 6, that's when my dad wakes up for work.
+ I'll be quick.
When her read receipt pops up, he wastes no time before pocketing the phone and pulling himself out of bed. He tries to stay quiet as he rummages through the closet, but he hears Tiny stir as he pulls out his jacket.
"What time is it?"
"Four-sixteen. Go back to sleep."
But the other boy rustles and turns to see what Zig's doing. "Why are you up?"
"Maya wants me to come over."
This really wakes him up. "What?"
"Mhmm." He mentally curses himself for not showering that day because he knows he doesn't have time to now.
"Wait, she's talking to you?"
"Sort of."
"At this hour?"
"Mmmm."
"…Trying to ride?"
"She could be trying to kill me at this point, I'd let her."
He lets out a small, sleepy breath of a laugh. "Man, don't die on me now. It'd get real boring around here just me and Jose."
"You guys'd make due. I'll be back later, okay?"
"What do I tell him if he gets up before you're back."
"Whatever you need. I'll be back." He slips out of the bedroom, pit stops in the bathroom to quickly wash up at the sink, and makes his way out into the night.
4:32 AM and she scrolls through her phone, fending off internalized declarations of self-loathing as she waits for her cheating ex-boyfriend to sneak into her house and make her feel a little less abandoned for an hour. Her pajamas are already in a heap at the foot of her bed as she sits up with only her blanket wrapped around her torso. She didn't want to waste time undressing; she wanted it to be over already.
She hears the doorknob crank and she freezes. The door creaks open and her face gets hot.
He sees her features illuminated in the white-blue glow of her phone light, stoic but beautiful nonetheless. He can feel his own face light up just at the sight of her, contrasting the redness and slight film of sweat he'd acquired from practically jogging here.
"Hey," He knows his smile is present in his voice.
Her eyes churn up to meet him. "Hey." There's no light for him in her tone at all.
His visage crumbles, but he knows he deserves it.
"Close the door and be quiet," She murmurs. "My mom might kill you if she catches you here."
He cocks an eyebrow and lets out a dry laugh, carefully shutting the door behind him. "She hates me, huh?"
"Can you blame her?"
"Not at all," He shakes his head. "I broke her daughter's heart."
Her eyes narrow and she faces him a bit more. "You're not strong enough to break my heart."
He nods. "You're right. I'm weak."
"You could say that again."
"I'm also sorry."
"I don't want to talk, Zig. You're on a time crunch."
He clears his throat and approaches the bed, stepping out of his shoes and sitting at the edge of it. "Suppose I should make the most of it, then, huh?"
"Mmm." She nods, turning off her phone and setting it on the nightstand.
He studies her for a bit, then nods again. Leaning in, he presses his lips to hers. Instantly, she reciprocates, probably even faster than she'd like to. She's starved, he can feel it. She wants him to believe that it's just physically, but it's more than that. She's craving stability, emotion. Affection. Trust. Everything he'd promised her and then robbed her of. He's taken aback by the amount of need he can feel behind her kiss, but he combats the swelling in his throat by deciding to fabricate some makeshift replica of what she's asking for, reaching up and letting his fingers run into the back of her blonde curls. It's not like he has to fake still being in love with her.
Her need for control over the situation subsides as she feels him cradle her, his hands running down the curves of her sides and pushing down the blanket along the way. He sighs at the familiarity of her skin, his brows furrowing as he feels every inch of her that he's been missing. He's mad at himself for how easily her body forgives him even though he knows the rest of her doesn't, but the least he can do is repay that trust by giving her what she needs tonight.
She starts pulling at his clothes and he complies, choreographing shedding layers with kisses to her lips, neck, and chest, losing power the more naked he becomes. All he can feel as more of his skin molds to hers is how stupid he was for doubting her. Even now, as she hates him with every ounce of willpower that she has left from years of fighting off demons and other people in her life that have decided to toss her around at whim, he can sense her nerve endings trying to meet with his, trying connect the two of them in a way he once found enlightening and now felt undeserving of.
Each part of her that he touches is soft and he grows disgusted with himself knowing there are parts beyond his fingertips that are soft, too, bruised now because of him. Each signal she gives off he delivers on, each wish he grants. He often finds himself feeling he's leading her on, that he hasn't even earned getting to touch her again, to give her any sense of security. But then he silences this by telling himself that this is what she wanted, what she needs right now, and she knows it won't last. She's not looking to be convinced forever; she's looking for a moment. And he owes her that much.
Her hands and her lips fight for something to hold onto since her heart refuses to take anchor anywhere. She knows that she can't trust him, but she wants to. Each ounce of contact holds the tune of a distant song she misses playing, and he makes it a duet. She's mad at him, and she hates him, and she hates herself for still wanting to be held by him knowing that the same body she's thriving off of now betrayed her so many weeks ago. But God, has she missed this.
She keeps finding herself caught between feelings of "make him earn it", "make him do all the work", and "enjoy it while it lasts". Eached mixed signal, he follows, changing his tune to fit her lead. Eventually she convinces herself to ease into the contact enough to let the guilt and self-hatred subside because she's the one who inspired this to happen in the first place and it would just be the biggest waste if she didn't make the most of it, right?
Her fingers trace down the lines of his muscles—his arms, his shoulders, his back…each fiber comes to life under his skin with her touch, reignited by the familiarity of her fingertips and begging her for more. Her hands venture further—his spine, his ribs, his hips…the pads of her thumbs trace down the V-lines of his pelvic bones and she gets a shiver down her spine, bunching up the band of his boxers and tucking it into her palms. He lets out a small groan as she pulls him closer to her by the elastic, gently grinding herself up underneath him, inspiring a small gasp of her own as she feels him, hard already, through the weathered cotton blend of his underwear. "You must want me…"
There's a hollow laugh to his tone. "Never stopped…"
She studies him, wanting to retaliate but wanting him just a bit more. Her lips pinch together and her legs fall apart, granting him the space to settle between them, which he promptly does. As he rolls his body into hers, she can feel the friction on both sides of his one layer of fabric. Her head tosses back so that her blonde curls gather on her pillowcase, her hands pulling back the elastic band and letting it snap back against him.
"A-ah!" He draws a sharp breath, grinding himself down against her with a bit more force.
She whimpers, repeating the motion and earning a similar response. She starts to notice that the hotter she gets, the less rooms he has in her stomach for guilt. It just burns up from the fire in her belly. Shamelessly, her hands slip past the barrier of his boxers and round to his backside, her nails coasting down the curves of his ass and pushing the cloth down along the way. His body curves into her touch and he lets one hand leave her figure to reach for the side of his underwear, tugging the whole thing down far enough for him to kick off. Her breathing hitches when she can feel him press against her inner thigh. Internally, she knows she's missed him.
He's missed her missing him, and the way her body pleads for his without even having to speak. He senses her small frame nudging closer to him once they both register that they're both naked, anticipating the next step. There's a moment of shared eye contact where her blue eyes bathe him in the same flames he can feel boiling his veins. He thinks to extinguish it by pressing his lips to hers but they're both fire and all they can do is burn. She's so hot to the touch and yet when her hands frame his face, he still shivers.
"I left a condom on the lamp table," She parts the kiss to murmur.
"Mhmm…" He nods, but takes a few minutes to continue his work on her neck before he shifts to retrieve it.
The lack of contact drains her and she finds her fingers venturing to trace down the planes of his chest as she watches him tear the corner of the packet with his teeth.
He tries not to smirk so much when he can feel her continuing to crave his skin as he slips the rubber out and tosses the blue and purple foil to the side.
There's a spark in her stomach as she watches him roll it onto himself, her eyes widening as she drinks in the visual, knowing it's for her.
Now he's nervous. "You ready?" Suddenly he's a virgin all over again.
"Definitely." To her, this feels like the first time.
He nods, laying himself out overtop her, carefully distributing his weight so as not to crush her, and positions himself at her entrance. Swallowing thickly, he sinks his balance into his knees and pushes himself into her, letting out a soft groan. He's almost forgotten how good she feels.
She doesn't know how he can feel so familiar and yet so new at the same time. He's exactly what she's been craving but even her body knows that it's different now; good as he feels, it's not the same.
His eyes press shut as he draws out and pushes back in, starting to get into a slow rhythm. It's almost like he's forgotten how to do this and it really hasn't been that long. A sort of stage fright begins to shake him as his hips roll against hers at a staggering pace, feeling her practically still beneath him despite the way her breathing audibly shifts with each cadence their bodies create. He's trying to remember if she used to be more responsive or if he's just being paranoid, or maybe she's just quiet because her house is asleep. Or maybe he just sucks right now.
Inside her, he feels so incredible, and every blood cell in her body pumps through her twice as hard as she's racked with pulsing euphoria. Physically, it's a breath of relief, satiating a craving her body's refused to let go. Between their figures, an inferno blazes, but above her shoulders there's only smoke; she's racked with too much consequence to fully enjoy the moment, which takes her out of it even more and makes her enjoy it even less. Furrowing her brows, she tries to remind herself that dreading her way through it makes the whole effort wasted, her back arching and her legs wrapping around his.
Feeling her body readjust, he drops one hand to hold beneath her knee and hike her leg up to his hip, a guttural whine escaping his lips as he works the new angle and feels himself get deeper. She was tight—so tight, the weeks and weeks apart made her even tighter somehow than he even remembered and each rock of his hips was backed by some amount of force to keep himself pushing into her—and every time he felt himself get a bit further, he couldn't help but feel his features fall to the elation that was gnawing at him from the inside-out. He'd be lying to say he hadn't been thinking about how much he missed this, but actually feeling her again…it was better than he'd imagined it would be.
This was nothing like she'd imagined it would be. As much as she keeps scolding herself that this was exactly what she'd been asking for, it wasn't; he feels amazing, but he's not who she was hoping for. She'd wanted to revisit the body of the boy she loved, but he just wasn't the same now—or maybe he was but he just felt different now. Every inch of her skin pushed against every inch of his tried telling her 'he's real, he's here, it's him, we've missed him!' but she couldn't be fooled. He wasn't who she wanted then, and he's not who she wants now. He's an exact replica built with guiltier eyes. There's a lack of the trust that used to connect them and it's cheapened it for her. Sure, he's fucking her great, but she wasn't looking to get fucked tonight.
There's a moment where he feels like he's losing her, like as he gains fuel she peters out, and neither of them are close to their edge yet. He senses her starting to slip away and his chest tightens at the thought. I just got you back… he couldn't help but think, his hands automatically grabbing for her body out of sheer need. He pulls her in closer to himself, grinding his hips down into hers and biting his lip as he concentrates on trying to pander to what her body's telling him—when it breaks its silence, that is. Don't go anywhere just yet…
Her head is somewhere else entirely. Tangibly, the two are attached, but she's never felt so disconnected from him. Close as they are, all she feels is distance.
He feels the gap as it grows between them and picks up the pace, trying to close it.
She closes her eyes and lets out a small sigh, at least reveling in what pleasures she gets out of this.
She's starting to like it, right…? He swallows thickly as he keeps up the new tempo, trying not to scare himself into losing charge altogether.
I really have missed this… Her legs wrap around his waist, giving her the leverage to curve into his rhythm, trying to match it.
As she mimics his pace, he can feel her envelop him, tighten around him in every way, his mouth falling open as he mainlines the sensation. "Maya…"
A small moan catches in her throat as she hears her name on his breath, bringing her back to where they are now but before everything went sour. Her eyes roll back so that she can see him in this very same bedroom months ago, a projection of the boy she's missed playing in technicolor on the inside of her skull. She can recall his features, softly aglow from the minimal natural light in her room at the time, contorting in the alien pleasure that came from their first time sober, second time ever tryst in the sheets. They hardly knew what they were doing and yet they made it feel so wonderful and intertwining. And his voice was so cute and boyish and yet so full of tension. Maya…
She lets her breathing break enough to let out a little whine, her arms coasting his upper back so her hands could settle at his shoulders. "Zig, baby…"
His eyes widen as he hears her, some of the flames in his stomach trading in for butterflies, whose wings catch fire and spread it further anyway. The heat overtakes him and he groans, one hand escaping her curves to bury in the pillow beside her head, fingers knotting in her messy blonde tresses. Her eyes drift open and he's held hostage in the smoldering periwinkle hues, her lashes fluttering as she fights succumbing to her bliss. His goal is to make her lose that fight, dipping down to kiss her neck and feeling soft vibrations throughout her warm skin as she whimpers at the contact. Gradually, he can feel her drifting back to him, so he tightens the rope and pulls her in as best as he can with neck kisses and hip rolls and body heat and the desperate way his skin aligns with hers. His free hand slides behind her frame and splays over the small of her back, lifting her slightly and holding her taut against him. In response, her thighs hike higher up his waist, and he hooks his arm behind her calf to raise it up even further. Now he's the one whimpering, blinded in the white hot heat. Every inch of her lights him up and he's gaining power.
High on nostalgia, she's letting her regret slip through the cracks as he grabs her, touches her, pushes deeper into her, works her faster every so often. Her nails bear into his shoulders and her back arches to push herself closer to him, meld her form to his. Gradually, she's feeling close to him again, and though this isn't exactly what she's wanted, it's enough like it to send waves of rapture coursing through circulation and consider it close enough. He's between her legs, embracing her, physically inside of her and moving every second to pleasure her, but somehow she still needs more. Letting one hand release his bicep, she runs her nails up the shorthairs on the back of his head to tangle with the longer ones on top, tugging him away from her neck and giving him no time to question as she catches him in a desperate kiss. Their lips mesh together in the shared hunger, feeding each other and feeding off of each other, hot and forceful and exchanging needs. Her lips part his and his tongue slips past hers. They're not fighting for dominance so much as clinging to as much contact as possible. The more of him she feels, the easier it is for her to lose herself in him.
One of his hands leaves her hair to cup her face, the other gaining purchase on her hipbone as he orients her body to thrust himself at a different angle. While he lets her direct the kiss, he reels his body into hers in search for a particular spot he knows he's found before, keeping his movements hard and fast and hooking them somewhat upward. It's around here somewhere, right…? His nails grate her side and he earns a soft moan but he's looking for something more substantial, using his his arm to spread her thighs further apart and sinking himself in the middle of them. His pace is getting somewhat erratic and he has to bite his lip to refrain from moaning loudly; she's just gotten so wet that there's practically nothing keeping him from really pounding into this faster rate and something about feeling how she's surrendered to him drives him mad. His hand abandons her face and her eyes open in time to watch him wet the tips of fingers with his tongue and drop them to start rubbing her center. Her eyes roll back and her head rolls back and her body rolls forward, begging for continuation, working towards release. He can't help but smirk as he works his fingers in small, quick circles, careful to keep them from away from the hasty collision of their hips. She whines his name and he moans instantly, watching as she starts to squirm. Come on… His free hand palms her inner thigh and pushes it upward, bucking his hips into hers quickly and intentionally and without restraint. She needs it…
She feels him hit that particular spot inside of her and she sees white, her body jolting up into his as she can't hold back a loud moan. "Oh my God!" She cries out, fireworks setting off in her abdomen.
He can't help but smirk when he feels her reactions, knowing that he found it, not even thinking to keep her quiet despite the late hour. His hands both fall to hang low on her hips, cupping the curves of her ass and lifting her up from the mattress to hold her at the angle he got her good in. "Fuck, Maya…" His eyes roll back and he groans, his weight shifting more onto his knees as he takes the rhythm faster. "You feel so good…"
She's entirely lost in the fire and her eyes are lurched back and her body is malleable so that he can form it however he wants, giving herself over to him and basking in the elation, letting it consume her. There's a knot in her stomach that tightens with his increasing momentum, and her breathing gets shorter and her skin gets hotter and she's sweating and her toes curl and her hands pull at his hair and she can't fucking shut up. "Oh my God…Zig…" She can hear her tone through someone else's ears and she knows she sounds desperate and maybe she is at this point. She's forgotten to be sorry and all she feels for him now is a need to be put her over the edge she can feel herself nearing, and she's trusting he'll do that for her. If that's the only trust she can feel for him at the moment, she'll take it.
Hearing his name again, he grunts, his nails digging into her backside as he drives himself harder, biting his lip as he, too, approaches his peak. "…So…good…" His eyes slip closed and his mouth falls open as he starts to lose consistency, his hips moving at whatever pace they can and getting irregular with the rhythm. His concerns waver—go faster, go harder, get deeper, hit the spot, touch her more, grab her, let her know how he's feeling, try to figure out what she's feeling—and it shows in his performance, but she continues to writhe and beg him for more so more is what he gives her. More of everything. "H-how are you doing?"
"I'm so close…"
"Me too…"
"Mmm…"
His nails rake up her back and she moans without much censorship, so he dips in to press his lips to hers and muffle her volume. She uses this as a mute and lets her vocalization loose, a series of groans and whines passing from her lips to his. Every so often she breaks apart to get a few words out.
"Holy shit…"
"You like that, babe…?"
"Yeah…"
"You gonna cum for me…?"
"Mhmm…"
"Good…" He uses the hold of his hands on her ass to guide her hips under his, propelling her against him. "Come on, Maya…"
"Oh my God…" She works to rebound his pace, her eyes squeezing shut as the knot in her stomach tightens.
"Come on, Maya…" He drums up enough willpower to go impossibly faster, slamming his hips against hers.
"Zig, I can't…"
"You can't what…?"
"I can't take it…!"
"Come on, babe, don't hold out on me…"
"I'm right there…I'm so fucking close…" For a second, it's like her body is angry again and refusing her release.
But he won't let it win. He sits himself up some and pushes her up against him and grinds himself into her just where he hit her spot last time. "Then cum for me, Maya…I want to feel you cum for me…"
She lets out a loud whine when he hits her spot and her body squirms with frustration and elation. "I'm right there, I'm right there, I'm right there…!"
"Me, too, babe, let's do it together, okay…?"
"Okay…"
"Okay…okay…" He closes forces his eyes open to look at her, even though her own are pressed shut and her head is reared back into the pillow, blonde hair a mess among the linen. She's lost in the sensations but trying to find her way out, her chest heaving and her figure squirming. God, is she a sight. "You're so fucking beautiful…"
"Huh…?"
"Come on, baby…" He bites his lip and does his best to practically piledrive her at this point. "Come on…"
"God, Zig…!"
"Yeah…?"
"I'm gonna…"
"Yeah…?"
"I'm right there…!"
"Come on, Maya…"
"Oh!" She gasps sharply as she's hit with her climax, thrown over her edge and right into waves of rolling ecstasy, racking her whole body and bringing her to shaking. Her mouth falls open as she pushes herself up against him, her own tempo ceasing as she lets his body work hers for a moment.
He can feel her clench around him and he groans, feeling the small way she practically vibrates when she hits her peak, getting even wetter somehow. His eyes slip shut as he basks in the sensations of her climax, knowing he's finished her, drawing right up to his own. Feeling her push herself up against him, his senses go into overdrive and he's sent right over the edge. "—A-ah, Maya!" His voice raises in pitch, his hips crashing to hers, "I love you…"
Her eyes pop open at the words and she looks up at him, watching him ride out his own end of the climax, blissfully unaware of what he's just said. The feelings of afterglow subside and she tumbled right back down into the nauseating self-hatred she was feeling earlier, all signs of pleasure turning into sour, gut-wrenching remorse. She watches him on top of her, lost in his own stupid heat. I love you… Bullshit. Maybe he did but it was still bullshit.
He continues his rhythm as he tries to ride it out for the both of them, until he senses that she's gone limp but not in a way that implies she's just enjoying it now. Slowing down, he lets his eyes open and he looks down at her, brows stitching together.
I love you… Really? Then why did he cheat on her? Why did he lie about it for so long and then try covering it up even further? The fire in her belly switched gears and burned up inside of her until it reached the backs of her eyes. Her only line of defense to put out the flames was to tear up.
He studies her, her complete change in disposition. He didn't understand. She'd finished, right? He knew that he felt it—she sure made it sound like it. Did he hurt her in his own climax? Did he do something wrong? "Maya…?"
She swallows thickly and turns away from him.
He watches her, confused.
"I said no strings, Zig."
His eyes narrow in further confusion. "…What…?"
She still won't look at him.
He stares at her, an instant replay of the last few moments running through his head. His eyes widen when he realizes what he's said. "…Maya, I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"I think you should go."
His mouth falls open some and he stares at her, still beneath him, but a completely different girl than he was holding just a minute ago. He hesitates, his lips forming over words that he can't even form, his head shaking slightly.
"Go." She's choking up.
The flames engulfing his body suddenly turn to ice, prickling his skin all over. He can hear her fending off crying and he feels dirty knowing he's caused it. Withdrawing from her, he moves back and kneels up on the bed, eyeing her for a moment before slipping off of the mattress and searching for his clothes. His heart sinks into his stomach as he steals glances at the withered remains of the girl he loved, just laying there, her face contorting with the tears she's hiding that he's caused her. He loves her so much. And he hates himself.
She remains motionless, eyes locked on the door as she listens to him scour the floor and redress himself. There are moments that he goes silent, too, probably just watching her. But she doesn't humor them; she just lays there, forcing herself not to sob, waiting for him to leave. Finally, wordlessly, he does, taking a moment at the threshold to look back at her before turning and closing the door behind him. Once the dust settles and she feels his presence diminish, she pulls her blanket close to herself, curls into it—it smells like him—and lets herself cry.
So after the absolute madness that Zaya went through in The Next Class, I figured, you know, what's a better way to deal with it than an angsty ex sex ficlet, right? I hope you guys like it, it hurt my heart to write but I enjoyed it. There should be at least a couple of more chapters to come, so let me know what you think so I'll know how much more to write!
xo,
Kina