No Love Allowed
~ Hello! Well, this is my first mixed couple story. I've never once published a mixed couple story before (yet I seem to love all of the mixed couple pairings) so I decided that I should just do it. So, with that said, thank you for dropping by to read and I hope that you enjoy it! ~
Disclaimer - I do not own the Powerpuff girls or the characters used in this story. I also don't own the lyrics down there.
Summary - For some reason, it seemed impossible to tell anyone that my favourite place was in his arms. (Butch/Bubbles. Forbidden romance. Two-shot.)
You, you're everything I want,
And I, I'm everything you need.
This night is cutting into me.
You tie me down, you watch me bleed.
And we risk everything tonight.
I, I am the misery you crave,
And you, you are my faithful enemy.
This hunger seems to feed on me.
A sacred sin, a dying breed,
And we risk everything.
- Scarlet, In This Moment
XoXoXoXoXoXoXo
("Find what you love and let it kill you." - Charles Bukowski)
His ceiling was cracked beyond repair, ugly and broken, and it caused me to wonder why I spent so much time looking at it. There wasn't much else to look at in his bedroom, I suppose. The posters strapped to his walls were all far too controversial and his television never seemed to be on unless he was playing one of those silly racing games (he spent far too much time on that game machine, even now, even at eighteen years old, video games controlled his day). The ceiling seemed to calm me. It was plain and wobbly with bumps and the only part of his bedroom that was white and pure.
As my eyes - soft and hiding under heavy eyelids because I was so tired but sleep was eluding me - stared up at the ceiling above us, my subconscious went into over-drive with worry. There was a good chance that my sisters wouldn't find out that I wasn't in my own bed, where I should have been, as I had cleverly rigged up some pillows to fashion a body and a head, but that notion didn't stop me from worrying, didn't stop the anxiety and the trepidation from spreading through my veins and swirling around coldly in my bloodstream and keeping me awake. If I was lucky, they would simply poke their heads through my bedroom door to check that I was asleep and tucked away in dream-land before going off to bed themselves. If I was unlucky, however, they would uncover my trickery and try to find me. And they would find me. They were superheros after all; they never gave up, never gave up on me.
I spent a lot of time worrying about what might happen if my sisters ever found out where I was spending most of my nights, but he always told me not to think about it. And I tried, I tried so hard and so valiantly, I'd just soak in the warmth of his embrace and his presence and I'd forget about my sisters and I'd dream of an illusory world in which our relationship wouldn't be considered wrong. That dream was what kept bringing me back, because, one day, I hoped that it would come true, it would all be real.
The window was open, ever so slightly, as it caused hard shivers to rack my body from the coldness and the icy wind that was spiraling around us. I pulled the green bed sheets tighter around my gracile frame and I scooted closer to him, hoping that the warmth from his body heat might pass over to me and keep me snug and safe in our bed - it wasn't just his bed anymore, we needed to face it. I spent more time in his bed than in my own. As our bare skin touched, side by side, I felt his arm lift and it was wrapping around me, and I welcomed the embrace, sinking in, melting against his touch, laying my head between the crook of his shoulder and the curve of his neck. He was so warm that I couldn't pause the sigh of contentment seeping from my lips, exhaling softly against his chest.
It had been like this for months. We would sneak around behind everyone's backs, we would meet up late in the moonlight when no one could see, we would keep our relationship to only ourselves because it had to be that way. We could only forever be a secret. And while I was dealing with that, while I accepted it, it still upset me to the point where I just..wanted to scream..cry, wail, hit things, because I wanted the future that we knew we could never have. I wanted to be his future, but alas, there was no hope for a relationship that was as doomed as ours. Still, I couldn't give it up either, couldn't let it go. He made me feel things that I never thought possible, things that I had never felt with anyone else before, not once in my eighteen years of existence.
I needed him to stay with me; to be mine; to love me until there was nothing left to love.
But we were still doomed.
After all, no one would understand why I felt so deeply for a Rowdyruff boy. No one could ever understand that I fell in love with him.
As I snuggled deeper into his arm, nuzzled into his shoulder, I lay a small, chaste kiss against his neck, whispered into his hot skin. "I wish that I could stay here forever."
He didn't speak, didn't respond, but I knew that he was awake; I could feel his fingertips grazing my collar-bone, leaving with them a lingering want in their trail. I waited for an alarmingly long moment, hoping to hear his voice - so deep and flawless - tell me of all the things that I wanted to hear, but I was left waiting for a disconcertingly long time, and he was still silent even after I felt his heartbeat thump twelve times.
Elevating my head, I searched for his scintillating green eyes, and when they connected with mine, the corner of his lip twitched into an almost smile. Almost.
"Don't you wish that we could stay here forever?" I asked him while placing my hand lower against his chest, gripping at his dark moss T-shirt, feeling the pattern of his muscles under the fabric against my splayed fingers.
"Of course I do." His reply was enthusiastic; as enthusiastic as he could possibly get; but there was a theatricality behind it that I could not ignore. While his voice sounded somewhat genuine, the expression didn't quite reach his eyes, and it made my stomach ache because I needed him to say it back or I'd be running up the walls with insanity. I couldn't comprehend why he acted like this. He was once so sweet, so sincere and attentive, and then he wasn't. It was getting hard to tell which side controlled him more; the Rowdyruff or my boyfriend.
I would have never imagined myself falling for someone as wrong and as faulted as him - never never never - but when he looked at me, when he smiled at me, I felt as though I couldn't bare to be apart from it all, from the security and the notion that someone like him could feel something pure for someone like me. It was always that way when he looked at me. He had such alluring, arresting eyes. The kind of eyes that you could just get lost in. And I guess I did.
"Do you really?" I asked in an undertone, nothing short of a whisper, terrified of what his answer might be. At my question, he raised an eyebrow, his pursed lips not moving an inch, and I forced myself to leave his eyes and stare down at his chest, watching my hand as it played with the material of his shirt. "If you had the choice," I swallowed down the hesitance in my throat, willing myself to continue while I still had the bravery to do so. "Would you really want to be with me forever?"
(Forever was an awfully long time)
I met his eyes once more, and his ever-so-handsome face was blank, devoid of all emotion. I wanted to reach out, to stroke the skin of his cheek and bring back that look of affection that he had once held for me. It was so much different, back in the beginning, back before our relationship became routine. He was romantic, devoted, wonderful; our relationship was so euphoric that it took me to another world. And as the months went on, he didn't look at me the same way anymore. I wanted to know why - what was wrong with me? - but I was always too afraid to ask.
"You know that I would," He said in a tone much warmer than before, holding more sentiment - so sweet and kind that I wasn't sure if he was lying or not and I didn't care. His face closed in on me, his forehead resting against mine, and he touched the corner of my lip with his cold fingertips. "You're my girlfriend."
Barely.
I was barely his girlfriend.
We could never go to the cinema together without fear of being caught by someone. We could never visit restaurants and go on normal dates with waiters and jugs of iced water. We could never be together forever without complications holding us back and tearing us apart. I would never really be his girlfriend (or anything more). All that we could ever do was be together in the privacy and security of his bedroom.
It wasn't fair.
I could never tell my sisters all about how elated I was. He could never tell his brothers that I was his.
I wanted so desperately to just come clean about everything, to tell my sisters that I was in love with our enemy, that I was happy. But for some reason, it seemed impossible to tell anyone that my favourite place was in his arms.
Shifting my body so that I could be even closer to him, I leaned down and I left trails of soft, featherlight kisses along his neck and up to his jaw-line. As I pecked the corner of his lips, he was pulling me into his arms, deeper in his embrace, and he pressed his lips against mine, anchoring them together with something that I remembered to be passion. His arms, big and strong and beautiful, held onto my back tightly, as though he were afraid that I might leave, and I melted, clung onto his shirt, inhaled his scent of leather and rain like it was my only air supply and I needed it to live.
When I tore our kiss, pulled away for a breath, I brought my hand to his face, stroked his cheek as though he was the most precious thing to me (and he was.)
"I love you," I whispered out on an exhale of breath as I ran my fingers through his tough, spiky hair, so dark in colour and so soft that I reveled in the feeling of the strands sinking through my splayed fingers.
He didn't say it back.
Instead, he brought his mouth back to mine and captured me in another kiss so psychedelic that made my heart pitter patter against the cage of my chest and left my toes curling from the excitement of it all. It had been so long since he had kissed me like that. Too long to remember. I pressed a smile against his lips, my skin tingling with his touch, and I felt free and wanted. No one could understand how good that felt. No one could understand that I needed it, like a drug, like a sedative, I needed it with every beat of my heart and I didn't want to lose it. Didn't want to lose him -not ever- and even though he wasn't perfect, even if he didn't tell me all the things that I wanted to hear, I still craved him every single day.
(He was mine and I was his.)
Wrapping my frail arms around his neck, I pecked the scruff of his chin and all the way down to his collar-bone. I felt his hand take rest on my shoulder and I instinctively dragged my own towards it, gripping his palm and interlacing my fingers through his and pressing my fingertips into the back of his hand and compressing (because he wasn't letting go, no, no, no)
With each kiss delivered, I mumbled sweet nothings into his skin.
I need you.
I want you.
I love you.
I really, really love you.
I never expected him to say it back. I was always left guessing, but deep down, I knew that even if he did love me, he would never dare say the words. And knowing that hurt so badly. I sometimes wished - no matter how horrible it was - that I could hurt him in the same way that he was hurting me, but I knew that even if I had the chance, if I was given the opportunity to make him feel what I felt, I wouldn't do it.
Because I still loved him.
I adored him.
As our lips parted for the second time, his eyes were on mine, so deep that I was swimming in his pools of green, and I clung to his neck, searching desperately for a sign of affection in his gaze. I couldn't find what I was looking for. Never could. He pressed his lips to my forehead, kissing me sweetly, twice, so softly and warmly that I melted against him, and then he was off, lowering me back into a lying position on my side of our bed, and his arms were gone and I was left frowning at the loss of contact (I would have risked life and limb to have them back around me).
His eyelids shut almost instantly and I watched as his breathing slowed and slowed until his exhales began to sound more conspicuous against the air. I lay at his left side, my palm finding its way back to his sinewy chest, and I played with the material of his shirt while he breathed. As he slowly drifted off to dream-land (a land of which had been eluding me all night) I just stared, stared at his beautiful face and lips and cheeks and everything.
For the next ten minutes, I lay there, unable to drift off myself, and I wondered if he would ever just tell me that he loved me back.
And the funny thing was, he never did.
~ There we have it, my first mixed couple story. Thank you for taking the time to read, and I hope you enjoyed it! ~
Review please?
