Title: Untitled
How AU is this?: It's the 70's or something
Summary: n/a
Rating: M-for slurs/language and sexual situations
Leshawna strolls into her apartment at five a.m. She mindlessly picks at her afro, using her round hips to close the door behind her. Her buzz from a night of partying under disco lights is pretty much gone now. She yawns and flops down on her yellow couch, peeling off her go-go boots and spandex top. With another yawn, Leshawna lies back on the couch and closes her eyes...
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
"Hmm." Leshawna sluggishly lifts herself up, head turning from side to side in bewilderment. "What the—"
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
She glares at her front door, the insistent knocking making her head pound. She glances over at the wooden clock hanging on the wall. Seven a.m. … Seven in the fucking morning! She groans, anger suddenly pumping through her veins.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
It couldn't be anyone but the landlord. Only his racist, money grubbing ass would come banging at her crib so early in the morning! She rolls her dark brown eyes, and storms over to the door. She swings it open, and unthinkingly yells. "WHAT?"
"Um…"
"Oh, it's you," Leshawna says, slightly taken aback. Instead of her landlord, it's Harold McGrady standing at her doorway. Her guess isn't too far off, though. He is the landlord's son, after all, but her anger has all but dissipated.
The lanky spaz stares at her awkwardly, but he's unable to keep the smile from curling on his lips. She glances at his homemade Star Wars shirt, thinking how dorky this man is to wear it out in public. He mumbles happily, a word that sounds a lot like boobies… And it's only then she remembers that she isn't wearing a top.
"Jesus," she hisses under her breath, pulling the boy inside her apartment. "Why didn't ya say anything?"
He shrugs, his cheeks red. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…uh…Gosh…But if it helps, you're a total fox," he mumbles, in an attempt to ease her embarrassment, though she didn't really seem to be all that bothered with him seeing her shirtless.
"Everything's copacetic, sweetie," she says, slipping on her once discarded shirt. She ignores his compliment, but smiles at him nonetheless. She's fully aware that he's sweet on her, and she thinks it's cute if nothing else. But she knows it's best not to acknowledge it. "So why're ya here?" she asks, though she already knows the answer.
"Oh, uh…My dad, he sent me to pick up your rent. He says you're a month late."
Leshawna rolls her eyes. That old bastard is always giving her grief. And she wasn't a month late! She was only five dollars short for last month's rent. She yawns, unable to find the energy to verbally bad mouth Harold's father.
Instead, she walks over to the kitchen. He stiffly stands in the middle of the common area, waiting as she reaches up on her tiptoes to take down the ceramic cookie jar from off the top of the fridge.
"Shit," she swears as she counts the cash hidden inside the jar. She's a hundred short. No way would old man McGrady will accept that. The bastard threatens to kick her out when she was only a mere five dollars short.
"So, Star Wars, eh?" she offers conversationally upon her return to the living room. He's wiping the lens of his thick frame glasses on his shirt, and she's a little surprised to find that there's a tiny hint of muscle definition on the small portion of revealed skin. She vaguely recalls him mentioning that he works out, but he's so scrawny that she had thought he was just jiving. He places the glasses back on, and gives her a smile. "Okay, so I'm a little short," she says as she hands the bundle of cash to him.
His smile disappears. Harold quickly thumbs through wad, counting at lighting speed. He sighs, and awkwardly looks away from her.
"I don't think my dad will be okay with this," Harold says dejectedly, eyes still avoiding her as he slides the money into his back pocket.
"Can't ya just -I dunno- tell him something?"
"You want me to lie?" Harold questions. She shrugs. He runs his fingers through his auburn hair, uncertain. He sighs again. "I may have enough saved up to cover the rest," he says. His reward is her bright smile, and a quick hug that leaves his butterflies in his gut.
"Thanks, sweetie."
Later that night, Leshawna's apartment is full of after party activity.
Hatchet lets out a cackling laugh as he tosses down his cards, making the others at the foldout table groan. "Told you young bloods that you couldn't take me," he laughs, collecting his winnings. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke in the air.
"Who invited your old ass anyway?" Leshawna huffs, her buzz making it hard to sound too upset. The almost middle aged man didn't pay her insult any mind, too caught up in singing the theme of Shaft as it begins to play on Leshawna's mix tape.
She takes another swig from her beer bottle before handing it back over to DJ. The mild mannered Jamaican takes a swig from it too, watching as Leshawna shuffles the deck and pass back out the cards for a new round.
"Yo, Shawna!"
Leshawna looks up from her hand of cards to her cousin. The slightly older and heavier woman dances her way into the room and slides her arms around Hatchet, giving him a caste kiss. The man grins, showing off the gold teeth that encases the gap. Leshawna makes a face, purely disgusted by the affectionate display.
"What is it, Leshaniqua?"
"Someone's knocking at your door."
"Why didn't you answer it?"
"This ain't my house."
Leshawna sighs, rolling her eyes at her cousin.
"This game is on pause, ya dig?" Leshawna proclaims, placing her cards on the table. She maneuvers through the crowd of people drinking and dancing until she reaches her front door.
"Who is it?" she calls out, pressing her ear against the wooden door in a vain attempt to hear the person on the other side. The mystery visitor replies, but Leshawna's unable to make out the words over the loud music and talking. She tries again, but gets the same results. So she just opens the door, praying the old lady next door hadn't called the cops.
It's Harold.
"What are you doing here so late?" Leshawna asks, wide eyed, yanking him inside before any of her noisy neighbors sees him. It's one thing for him to drop by in the morning to collect rent. He has to do that with everyone. But it's a whole other situation for him to come by at night. The last thing she wants is trouble, and she's already pushing it as is…
He starts to speak, but is silenced when Leshawna takes his hand and bulldozes her way through the crowd. He quickly notes that he's the only white person there, and this fact awards him several odd looks from anyone that happens to glance their way.
"Who's the honkey?"
He ignores the uncomfortable feeling that's creeping up his neck, and focuses on how soft Leshawna's hands are, and how perfectly they fit into his own hand.
They finally reach Leshawna's room. It had taken less than a minute to get through the crowd inside her apartment, but it had felt like an eternity.
"So why are you at my pad so late?" she asks again, her voice full of accusations.
"I…I didn't have enough to cover your rent," he starts.
Leshawna blinks dumbly while her face gets hot. Maybe it had been the alcohol, but she had honestly thought he had come by for some kind of late night action. But that wasn't really Harold's style. The nerdy male has always been a gentleman, even if he is a little weird.
"My dad was really upset that I…" Harold's voice trails off. His father's exact words were 'let a nigger bitch con him', but those were words Harold didn't even fancy repeating. "He's upset that I didn't collect all the money from you, so he sent me back. You're current fee is fifty eight dollars and twenty two cents…Sorry, I failed you."
"It's okay, baby. No need to apologize," Leshawna replies, reaching inside her shirt to pull out a small wad of cash, her winnings from tonight's card game. "You did a very sweet thing for me, and I thank you."
She counts the bills until she reaches a hundred, leaving herself with a little over twenty dollars. She hands the full amount over to him, and he sluggishly takes it. His cheeks blush red at the fact that the paper in his hands had once touched her bare breast. The thought makes his fingers itch and tingle. The memory of her topless, black bra struggling to contain her hefty bosom, enters his brain for the millionth time that day. He bites his bottom lip, trying to keep his thoughts in order.
"What happened to your face?"
"What?" Harold asks, dumbfounded for why her soft hands are suddenly cradling his head. She tilts his head to the side, getting a better look at the bruising skin along his cheek and jaw line. He winces when her dainty finger gently caresses it. "Oh, that," Harold's mumbles, as if it were nothing. "My dad was really upset about the rent thing."
"So he hurt you?" Leshawna asks, completely shocked. She knew the old man was a bastard, but she didn't think he would go off on his own son.
"He was upset with me... Didn't your parents punish you when you were still living with them?"
"Yeah," Leshawna admits. The memory of her father spanking her younger self for stealing came immediately to mind, along with many other memories. However, she couldn't help but feel like Harold's case is different. "But my daddy never hit me so hard it bruised. And it's not like you did anything wrong. …And you're much too old for him to be laying whoopings on ya. You're a grown man."
"I'm only eighteen."
"So am I. And I'm a grown ass woman," she declares firmly. But then she's softly laughing at herself.
They look into each other's eyes, small smiles on their faces. He knows she's right. But even so, Harold knew not to challenge his father. The man hadn't been the same since Harold's mother left them. And though the bruising hits were said to be over missing money, it was more over a way for the man to vent his anger about his wife leaving him…And it also didn't help that he knew of Harold's desires.
The very same desires that tempts him into leaning down, and sweetly peck Leshawna on the lips.
And maybe it's because she feels a little guilty. Maybe it's because of the slight buzz she has. Maybe it's because of the muted sound of Marvin Gaye singing Let's Get It On leaking in from the living room. Or maybe, deep down, she just really and truly wanted to.
She kisses him back…
She traces his lips with her tongue, and he opens them. Her tongue teasingly flicks over his. He tastes like bubblegum. Leshawna moans in delight. He shudders, tilting his head for a better angle. Ardently kissing her back, he pulls her closer and locks her in a loving embrace. He's warm, and she feels safe encircled in him. And it is in that moment that she knew that she's forever meant to be in his arms. But the truth is, she doesn't have forever…
She claws at his shirt, breaking the kiss for only a moment to rip the fabric off him. She guides him onto her bed, climbing onto his lap as she kisses up and down his neck. His shaky hands steady themselves on her hips, as she continues her ministrations. His breathing is becoming sporadic, his heart pounding so hard against his chest that he's certain it's going to burst free. And when she rolls her hips, grinding against the hardening bulge in his pants, he feels like he could die.
She slides off him after a minute or two, shimmying out of her dress. His eyes widen like saucers, and his throat dries. She isn't wearing any underwear. And when she reclaims her spot on his lap, her bare chest brushing his, Harold can only lay back in wonder.
"Boobies," she barely hears him mumble in amazement, a silly grin on his face. She wants to laugh, and a few giggles do come out. For a second she remembers that this man beneath her is, without a doubt, a virgin. Perhaps he is only a child? Maybe she's more drunk than she thought she was, and this new found feeling (whatever it may be) she has for him is really just some alcohol induced craziness? She couldn't possibly be attracted to the landlord's nerdy son.
After a moment of nothing, Harold sits up. He takes hold her small hand, removing the mood ring on her pinkie and placing it on the night stand. His thumb caresses her knuckles for a few seconds. His eyes, full of love and passion, bore into her as he lifts her hand to his lips. "You're so beautiful," he whispers sincerely, his lips brushing against her skin before properly kissing it. Her stomach goes wild with butterflies.
Sweetly kissing up her arm, he pulls her back into his embrace until his mouth fervently melds with hers. The butterflies in her gut melt into liquid heat that pools down between her legs, as the kiss turns even more passionate. She moans into his mouth.
Apparently, anything's possible.
Her fingers curl into his hair, locking him in a searing kiss. His hands wander to her ample bottom, soft and firm, squeezing the brown globes the way he secretly wanted to since helping her move in two years ago. She lets out a small yelp, breaking their kiss, but he quickly captures her lips again.
She undoes his jeans, pulling them down along with his underwear as far as she can without breaking their kiss. He lifts his hips and kicks them the rest of the way off.
Harold separates from her lips to make a trail of kisses down her neck to her breast. He nuzzles in between them, sighing happily. Her dark brown, pebbled nipples makes him think of Hershey's kisses. He swiftly takes one into his mouth, wanting to taste them. He gingerly sucks on them, loving the soft moan that escapes her lips. Her back arches in pleasure as his tongue flicks and laves over her nipple, her fingers playing in his soft curls.
She pulls his head back up, lifting herself up a second later, hand pressed against his chest. Her free hand warps around his throbbing cock, her soft fingers making him shiver. He's bigger than she thought he would be…His shaft hot and thick in her palm.
Their eyes met. His gaze on her is so intense…And for a brief moment she felt so exposed to him, as if he's looking at her very soul.
She positions herself over him, letting the engorged head rub against her wet heat. He lets out a breathy moan that quickly transforms into a loud groan when she slams down, taking him in completely. Her wet walls clench around him, almost painfully.
"Shit," Leshawna hears herself hiss. She slowly rocks her hips, adjusting to him. His hands automatically latch themselves to her hips. Pumping herself up and down, hands flat on his chest, she starts to ride him hard and fast. Her voluptuous form jiggles enticingly as she bounces atop him. He wants to tell her how gorgeous she is right now, hair wild with sweat starting to form on her brow. But he's only capable of nonsensical grunts.
Occasionally Harold thrusts upwards into her, but he's ultimately unable to keep up with her rhythm for too long. Involuntary groans of pleasure escapes through his lips with each stroke made. His glasses begin to fog, but it doesn't matter. His eyes are shut tight, and he bites down on his bottom lip.
"Oh gawd," he huffs at his release, unable to catch his breath as his hot seed shoots into her. She moans and continues to ride him through his orgasm, feeling him instantly get fully hard again.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Leshawna jumps up at the sound of someone beating at her door. She rubs her eyes, glancing over at the clock on her nightstand.
Six a.m.
Another round of door banging. The arm around her waist slips away. Wait…What? She turns, seeing Harold sitting beside her, scared shitless. She's about to question how he got there, but the memory of their not so innocent activities quickly rushes to her brain.
"Oh, man. We had sex…A lot of it," she says dumbly, continuing to rub the sleep out of her eyes.
He doesn't move or respond in anyway. Mind still hazy from sleep, she thinks maybe the man next to her is really a statue. But when another round of door banging occurs, she sees him wince. He's totally freaking out. But why?
Because someone's at the door?
It then clicks in her head what's happening, and she immediately wakes up out of her stupor. Leshawna quickly slides out of bed before tossing on her faux silk, zebra print robe. She eases her way out the room, glad to see that no one from last night had decided to crash at her pad. No one thought to clean up either, not that Leshawna expected anyone to.
She cracks the door open, already knowing who's standing on the other side.
"Morning, Mistah," Leshawna greets her landlord with a crooked smile.
The older man tips his hat and grumbles a quick greeting, a cigarette gripped between his lips. "You've seen my boy?" McGrady asks. His voice rings with angry undertones, but his eyes hold a hint of concern. "I sent him this way last night, and haven't heard from him," he continues. "There are a lot of unsavory types around here nowadays."
He looks right at her when he said unsavory. She's certain he's making a jab at her, but she chooses to ignore it.
"He did come by, Mistah McGrady, to get the rest of the rent, but…"
Leshawna isn't really sure what she was about to say, but it doesn't matter. Because Harold sheepishly walks into the living room, feet noisily knocking against empty beer bottles.
McGrady bypasses Leshawna then, forcing his way into the room. Leshawna really doesn't know what to do as her landlord storms up to a shirtless Harold. She just stands there, speechless, as the old man yanks down on Harold's ear, pulling Harold's head to the side. He heatedly whispers into his son's ear, before pulling him out the apartment. The door slams shut behind them.
She stares at the door, confounded, for what feels like forever.
Now what?