DISCLAIMER: This is purely fictional and I do not own anyone in this story.
WARNING: This does contain mature scenes.
Italics - Past
Normal - Present
Thank you very much for opening this and wanting to read. I appreciate it very much. Now on with the story.
CHAPTER ONE – "We might kiss when we are alone…"
The soft knock on the door is almost inaudible as it breaks the silence of my house. I'm slightly startled by the noise, but in all honesty, I've been waiting for it. I know who it is and inwardly I can feel myself smile. My heart uncontrollably begins to race and I stop everything I'm doing. It's always the same, always around this time that I hear the faint knock, or I get that all too familiar phone call. I should send him away, and I should tell him to just turn around and go home, but I don't. I get up, walk over and just let him in. And that is what I am going to do right now.
He knocks again; softly against the wood of the door and I can hear him sigh loudly. This is my last chance to just ignore it, to walk away and set it straight once and for all. But I'm weak; I curse myself silently as I can't stop my hand from reaching forward and turning the handle, opening it to see the same figure standing in front of me, his eyes meeting mine and a soft smile curling the corners of his lips.
"Hi," he exhales.
"Hi Dougie," I smile at him, widening the entrance to the door and then stepping aside, letting him in.
He shuffles in, clad in only flannel pants and a white t-shirt, but he still looks devastatingly hot. Inappropriate thoughts start running through my head almost immediately as I let my eyes roam over his form.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"Couldn't sleep," he looks at me meaningfully, the moment fleeting as he finishes it off with a smug wink, stepping in towards the kitchen leaving me in the corridor.
I follow him, taking in his frame; the width of his shoulders, the curve of his back, the bare feet padding quickly across the cold tile.
"You do realize it's almost 2 o'clock in the morning," I state, leaning against the doorframe into the kitchen, watching him look around my bare kitchen and snoop around my stuff.
"Yeah," he says non-chalantly, continuing to look around and make his way about my place, as if he belongs here, as if he isn't intruding at an ungodly hour.
"Yeah? What if I was sleeping? You would have been waking me up, and all you have to say to that is yeah?" I exclaim, with a slight annoyance twisting my voice, but also an air of playfulness. I just can't help it around him; I always want to be witty, funny, on my game per say. My voice doesn't portray the same annoyance or anger that is building inside my head.
"But you weren't," he replies, finally turning to me and giving me a cheeky smile.
That smile, the sheer cheekiness, can make my knees buckle under my weight and cloud my judgement, as it does every time this happens. I can feel my eyes soften from my attempt at a scowl as I stare at the curvature of flesh. I just collapse and give in, and let it happen over and over again. But I can't say I don't enjoy it when it happens, it's just getting a little more complicated now, and I feel myself walking on egg shells at the frailty of our situation. But to me, he seems to be at ease, completely relishing in what this is.
"And how do you know I wasn't?" I ask him. "All my lights are off, it's 2 am, I very well could have been sleeping," I continue, crossing my arms a little tighter across my chest and giving him my best stern face for emphasis. I'm not pleased, well not entirely, and I want him to think that I'm not. I like to tell myself that I'm not that easy. Liar.
"I could see the light from your laptop, through my window," he looks at me, continuously stepping closer, his eyes never leaving mine, "you always work late into the night," he finishes.
"Oh so now you're peaking into my house at late hours of the night, you perve," I say shocked, giving him a hard push on the shoulder, his body now considerably closer to mine.
He grabs my hand, holding it tightly in his grasp, the heat radiating from his skin through mine, my face suddenly feeling a hundred degrees hotter. I start to laugh nervously; even now he still manages to make me all anxious around him. And when he touches me, well I lose any trace of calm and collectiveness that I might have had, which wreaks havoc on my nerves, and melts my very bones. I'm not supposed to be like this.
"So I'm a little pervy, that's what curtains are made for," he says cockily, his arm dropping down and wrapping around my waist, pulling me abruptly towards him.
"Dougie…" I start, my voice low, as our eyes continue to remain locked in the same position; mine staring into his, his returning the same gaze.
"You like me for all my perviness," he says, trying to lighten the mood.
He can tell that I'm trying to say something serious, and he doesn't want to crack this fragile thing between us. It's hanging on by thin threads, buckling under the weight of the inevitability of what is going to happen, of how things naturally progress. We can only fool ourselves for so long. We can only hide this and tuck it away from prying eyes for so long.
"Who says I like you at all?" I ask, giving into the playfulness, figuring the unavoidable words can be spoken later, maybe in the lightness of the day. But in the sunlight, all of this is different, almost non-existent.
"Oh, so you open your door for just anyone now do you?" he whispers, bringing his face closer to mine, continuing to scan my features, his soft eyes gliding effortlessly across my skin.
"Well, when my next-door neighbour comes knocking at my door, I just find it polite to answer," I say matter-of-factly, stepping back.
I pull out of his arms and take a stride back, taking in a shallow breath to try and ease my trembling nerves. I'm giving him playful banter, it's what he wants and I need to keep it up. It used to come easily, naturally between us. But it started to become more and more difficult as soon as every fibre of my being wanted to say something a little more meaningful.
I continue to back up on the open floor of the kitchen, walking towards the counter and leaning against it, my eyes never leaving his. And so the dance begins; why do we even play this anymore? We should just get to it; let it happen because we know how it ends every time.
"Do you want something to drink? Something to eat?" I offer, making my way over to the fridge, peering in to see what I can possibly give him.
"Yeah sure," he answers, walking across the room and taking a seat at the table, across from my laptop.
"So what were you working on?" he asks me, looking at my screen to try and figure out what keeps me awake at these late hours of the evening.
My work is only a part of why I can't sleep lately, the other being the fetching gentleman sitting here in my kitchen at 2 am in the morning, clad in only his pyjamas. This is becoming way too complicated and I'm never one for making things difficult, or really knowing how to deal with them. Damn it.
"I was just finishing up some work on my project, it's due soon," I told him, handing him the glass of grape juice as I take a seat beside him, brushing my thigh seductively against his.
The involuntary action is damned in my eyes. I'm asking for this, I'm being stupid. Internally, I curse myself for being unable to stop this flirtation, but just being around him causes every cell in my body to want to play this game. A war between what my brain is screaming and what my body is ignoring rages on, and I am done for.
"Oh well I don't want to disturb you then, I'll leave you to it," he says, he voice suddenly low and almost apologetic. It's part of the damn game!
He's continuing this, pushing ever so slightly but not provoking. He wants me to say something; he wants me to want him. What he doesn't know, or won't let me say, is that he doesn't have to try; I undoubtedly want this or I wouldn't be letting it happen.
I grab his wrist, pulling him back down, his body slamming down into the seat of the chair with a slight thud. He looks at me, that same grin on his face, and my own face motionless. This is what I mean; I can't control myself. I have a treacherous body. I'm falling and getting caught on my way down in the delicate web that we have sewn.
"Ow," he says, rubbing his hip with his free hand, the one that I'm not clutching to.
"Sorry," I mumble, "you don't have to go," I whisper, my eyes now permanently fixed on my lap, and stealing glances of my wrapped fingers around his thin wrist. I'm weak, I'm too bloody weak around him!
I let go, suddenly aware of how awkward it is. No words are spoken between us as I feel his hand reach up to my face and cup it gently. It's sweet how he just tenderly touches me, almost lovingly one would say. But no other actions of his mirror this in the slightest bit. For me though, I can only seem to focus on these fleeting moments, the tender touches that cease to exist in the sunlight.
He pulls my face to his roughly and connects his lips to mine, setting off a spark inside me, my skin setting a blaze from his touch. I can feel his lips move on mine, I'm incapable of resisting, my own actions giving into his and my mind becoming blurry. He leans into me, across the seat and I find myself falling backwards, my back hitting the hard wood of the chair back. He presses harder into me, my lips slightly bruising from his pressure, but the numbness completely overwhelming and suffocating at the same time; a great feeling.
But my mind kicks in, my rationale beckoning me back out of the kiss, and my legs straighten, pushing his weight off of me, lips whipping out of contact. Getting up I back away quickly from the chair, breathing hard I stare helplessly at him.
My hand rushes to my lips, feeling the same fleeting tingle that erupts as soon as his lips touch mine. It's a wonderful sensation, but it's overwhelming and it undoubtedly clouds my judgement. My eyes are wide, and I can see the puzzled expression on his face.
He gets up and walks closer to me; his steps are slow and heavy as they close the distance between us. He gives me a weak smile, almost unsure of what to do next; I don't usually react this way to his advances. I usually crumble, just becoming a plaything for him. I continue to move back, my back hitting the counter behind me. Feeling trapped, my mind races to find an escape route, as he continues to move towards me with his hesitant steps.
He corners me though, sooner than I can come up with something to say, something to let me express what is racing through my mind at that very moment. His arms brace around my body, resting on the counter top, boxing me in his frame. I inhale deeply, trying to stop the shaking that has taken over my body. As I inhale, I can smell him, the soft but clean smell of his clothing, or the faint scent of his soap. The smell gets me, intoxicates me and I find myself just wanting to bury myself in it.
His gaze strikes mine, not breaking once, but searching for something. I don't know if he can see the pure fear that is pooling there, or the fact that I am dying to scream what is playing on repeat in my head. He approaches my face slowly, allowing me time to pull away or shift my head, but I don't; I remain completely frozen to my spot and just let his lips connect with the skin of my jaw.
He plants a soft kiss, pulling away just enough to look me in the eyes again, a loud breath that I'm holding escaping my lips. He smiles in satisfaction and moves in for more contact, his lips now lowering to my neck, finding that spot that is like a switch for eruptions to go off; waves of tingles crashing along my skin.
"Oh God Doug," I exhale as his lips continue to move slowly and meticulously across my neck.
He takes this as a go ahead, and attaches his mouth to mine once more, his hands wrapping around my face and pulling me closer into him. Our lips move frantically over each other, my arms now draped on his shoulders heavily. My fingers intertwine into his hair, grabbing it and pushing him into me further. His hands wrap around my waist and his palms press into my lower back, pushing my body firmly into his. He slips his fingers slowly beneath the waistband of the shorts I'm wearing, my whole body exploding with the all too familiar goose bumps.
"Aren't these mine?" he asks, ripping his lips from mine and leaving me gasping for much needed air.
I just stare at him blankly, unable to form a comprehendible thought as I'm still spinning from the earth shattering kiss. His eyes drop to my shorts, boxer shorts to be more specific, as he plays with the band of the waist. They're his, but I've been wearing them to sleep lately. Probably shouldn't be doing that.
"Oh," I finally speak, my voice fragile, "yeah."
"What is it with you and boys clothing?" he asks, brushing a stray hair from my eyes gently, giving me a lop-sided cheeky grin as he starts to kid. Thank God he's holding me up, because there go my knees.
"I like them, they're comfortable," I reply, finally finding my voice again, managing to fake some confidence.
If only that was the true reason. If only he knew that I wear them as a sentimental object; for once being the typical girl and holding onto a boy's article of clothing.
"I thought girls wore some fancy negligee thing to bed," he says, leaning forward and planting a soft kiss on my cheek, "it would be very sexy," he murmurs in my ear as he pulls away from me.
"And since when have I been girly?" I ask, smiling at him and grabbing the material of his shirt loosely in my hand.
Four moving trucks in a row; all abstracting the nice view that is my quaint side street. I like the side street; it's almost like an oasis from the busy bustle of the forever alive city that I call home. I continue to walk along the sidewalk, stealing glances up the drive ways to see who my new neighbours will be; well not really next door neighbours per say, but neighbours nonetheless.
I don't see many people, maybe the occasional mid forties guy walking out of the house and into the truck, clad in greasy blue overalls. They must be the movers. So no sign of the new occupants of the four houses. It's weird to have four people move in at the same time, side by side. I hope it's not some weird family that decides to move every where together. Oh God, please not that.
I finally pass the trucks, getting to my drive way at the end of the street. Well, it seems that the last truck is actually my next door neighbour, the one that I share a driveway with. This should be interesting, now I am more curious than ever as to who exactly is moving in.
I walk slowly up the driveway, my eyes darting around to see some form of an occupant apart from the greasy middle aged men that are sweating buckets as they make their way from the house to the truck and repeat. No one, I can't find the person that is moving in. I make my way to the stairs and stop, leaning across the railing to see into the wide open front door of the next door house, trying to steal a glance of the new occupant. So I'm nosey.
"Hey, can you not just stand there and maybe help me with this dude?" I hear a voice say behind me.
Did he just call me dude? I look in the direction of the voice and I see a pair of legs, arms and an absolutely insanely huge box barely being held up; I can't see the face or the top half of the body. I don't say anything, I just kind of stand there, not really knowing what to say. He expects ME to help him carry THAT?
"Hello? Can you help me man?" he repeats.
What is it with this 'man' business? I am definitely NOT a guy. I look down and see my shoes, my jeans and it finally hits me; it must be the shoes. I don't' say anything, I just grab the end of the box facing me and I start to move backwards, up the stairs and towards the house.
"Lift a little dude, I can't hold this," he yells to me, his voice muffled behind the box as we struggle up the stairs.
I strain, trying to do my best to lift the box and not let it go, crushing him beneath the weight of whatever behemoth he has in here. What the hell could weigh so much? I am not made for heavy upper body lifting.
We finally make it into the house; my eyes wander as we continue to move backwards. Finally I can feel him dropping the box down, my body following his and setting the heavy object down.
"Hey thanks mate, I appreciate it…" he starts, breaking off mid sentence as his eyes finally meet mine.
I really wish I had a camera at this moment, he's completely shocked. His jaw literally hit the floor and I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his sockets. It was funny really; I guess he wasn't expecting a girl. I just smile at him and give him a look, you know 'a look', and tuck my hair behind my ear.
"No problem, anytime," I answer, feeling myself get a little self-conscious all of a sudden.
We stand there awkwardly for a bit, not really knowing what to say. Do I just leave, walk out and not say anything else? Do I stay and continue to make this more awkward than it already is? Do I introduce myself? He's cute, no wait, he's rather hot. That just makes this situation all that more awkward.
"Sorry about that, I thought you were a guy," he finally breaks the silence, his hand rubbing the back of his neck out of embarrassment. I swear I made out a little hue of red on his cheeks, but that could have been from the heavy lifting he just did.
"I figured when you called me dude and man," I laughed, him copying me in response. This situation really was comical.
"I'm Dougie," he finally steps forward, to the side of the box, extending his hand to me.
"Jac," I say, his eyes widening at my words.
"You're kidding right?" he laughs, breaking the contact from my hand and stepping back.
My hand suddenly feels very warm; it must be from that laborious lifting I just did. I quickly drop it to my side and wipe it across my jeans; why am I a little nervous? I look at him with a puzzled expression on my face. What was I joking about? My name? I guess it is fitting since he thought I was a guy.
"It's short for Jacqueline, but you can call me Jac," I explain, pulling the bag I'm carrying further up my shoulder.
Another awkward silence, and now I'm sure that I'm just being weird standing here. I should probably leave. I'm sure he doesn't want some creep just standing here in his new house and refusing to leave. I look up and am just about to talk when I'm interrupted.
"So do you live around here?" he asks.
He's making small talk. Ok so maybe he doesn't want to get rid of me that quickly.
"Yeah," I answer.
He doesn't say anything, just hoping for me to continue, his eyes waiting for me to keep going. I wait; make him sweat a little. Why am I being so coy?
"I actually live next door," I finally tell him, as an answering smile curls his lips.
"Well, I guess I'm your new neighbour then," he says, giving me another grin. Damn this boy is devilishly hot. I find myself repeating, 'stop staring and focus'
"So what's in the box?" I ask, looking down at the huge cardboard cube that is now standing between us.
He suddenly looks very scared and turns a vibrant shade of red. Aw, he's cute when he blushes like that. His eyes dart from side to side and I can see that he's frantically searching for an answer.
"Don't tell me, it's a collection of hair and nail clippings that you have brought with you from your old house?" I say, trying to break the tension that has suddenly coated the room.
His eyes dart up at me and he bursts into laughter, a loud and booming noise filling the cavernous space. His eyes turn to small slits and his cheeks crease from the laughter. I can't help but giggle as well, his laughter almost infectious.
"It is isn't it?" I say, wiping the stray tear that escapes my eye.
"Oh God no," he finally says, catching his breath from his hard laughter, his arm still clutching his stomach.
"Then what is it?" I ask. Like I said, I'm nosey and persistent.
He doesn't say anything; he just looks at me straight-faced, and then brings his finger up to his nose, tapping the side a few times, slowly, for an added effect.
"I see," I reply, not really knowing what he means, "so you're not going to tell me then?"
"Nope," he smiles at me. His eyes becoming small slits again as his grin spreads from ear to ear.
"So I help you lug that huge box up the stairs and into your house and I don't even get to know the contents?" I say, feigning shock.
"Nope," he says again, continuing to grin at me.
"Well then, if you're not going to tell me, I'll just be on my way, and you can carry the rest of the boxes in yourself," I say, starting to make my way towards the front door.
I can hear him laugh as I walk out into the sun, onto the front doorstep that we both share now. I make my way to my door and place the key into the lock.
"It's nice meeting you Jac," I hear him say.
I turn around and see him leaning against the door frame, arms crossed lazily across his chest. Wow, he looks good. This a rather good development, having a hot neighbour for once instead of some old woman with a hundred cats.
"Was it now?" I say, my hand still resting on the door handle.
"Yeah."
"Well it was nice meeting you too Dougie," I say, turning back to my door and stepping in.