Note: So here's my little multi-chapter fic about Tate and Violet. It's going to follow their encounters in the Harmon house bathroom, etc, etc, etc. It's going to get mature as the chapters go on (I didn't want to start out tooooo bad).
I don't own American Horror Story, but I'd love it if someone would clone me a Tate.
Anyway, hope you enjoy. Peaceout, review, suggest. It's all good.
It was the steam that had tempted him so severely – the alluring mist had crept down the hallway, dewing the wooden floors that his feet pressed against. She had left the door open, despite his constant warnings, almost as if she set out to deliberately tease him; there was no doubt that she knew he was watching … lurking.
She made no effort to cover it up.
As he grew closer, the sound of the shower sent a shudder down his spine, the lump in his throat seeming to expand with every quiet step he took. Oh, it was always there – the butterflies, the chills. It was an exuberant feeling, he decided – it made him feel … alive.
The dripping of the water seemed to roar as he finally reached the door, opening it without a squeak. Sprawled across the floor were her clothes, dress and hat, socks and boots … but it was her bra that gave him a heart attack as it peaked out from underneath the panty hose, its lacy edges touching the border of the tub where he knew her naked body stood.
The shower curtain jolted slightly, followed by what sounded to him like an empty bottle hitting the ceramic he imagined her feet planted upon, just below where her legs rested against the tile that lined the sides –
"Tate?" he heard her whisper, barely auditable about the sound of the hissing water.
He stopped himself – his fantasy – before debating whether to answer.
"You need to leave," she stated firmly, seconds before he could utter his response.
He smirked at her assertiveness … her attitude. "But I just got here."
"Not in time for the show, obviously."
"You have to come out eventually." And he walked into the room more, his body inches from the bathtub. He gazed at her shadow through the fabric, the silhouette revealing her arms crossed securely across her chest.
"I can't see you," he stated in response to her stance. "Don't be such a pussy."
"That's a strong word to describe something you won't be getting tonight."
And a grin formed across his face.
"Has anyone ever seen you naked?"
"No," she said as he sees the shadow of her arms drop to her side, "unless this is what you do every Friday night."
"Shame," he paused, poking the shower curtain in an attempt to scare her – make her nervous, "the door was locked last time."
He wants to make her sweat … make her heart pound.
"That's because I wasn't expecting a visitor, asshole." And she laughed this time too.
"But you were this time?"
"My parents aren't home."
"I am."
"I know …" she trailed off.
"Ah," he smiles. "Therefore, I was invited."
"For company, not so you can look at my tits."
"The bra on the floor states otherwise."
"Otherwise my ass."
"If you insist," he laughed, tugging at the curtain once again.
"Stop!" she yelled, but he could hear the smile she held upon her lips through her voice, the skipping of her heart expressed through her tone. "You shithead!"
"Now that's not a nice word."
"I have to finish washing my hair."
"So?"
"Get out."
"Alright, alright."
She paused as his footsteps begin. "Tate?"
"Yes?"
"Same time tomorrow."
"Oh?"
"And don't expect to see a bra."
