Oh I just want you to love me."
It's not as romantic as you thought it would be.
In your head, it's all fairy tales and rainbows and pure magic that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back in your head as you cry out your lover's name in the throws of passion, or something like that. In truth, what it is is the two of you crammed into the back of his car, all awkward shifting and sloppy kisses that taste like the burger he ordered and only ate a quarter of at the diner. It's sweat that slides down your body and makes your skin rub against each other with an uncomfortable friction that makes you squirm beneath him and that makes him try and bite back those noises you're both shoving back down in your throats so tight you're nearly gagging on them.
It's not what you imagined after he asked you if you wouldn't mind helping him practice, because I think she wants to...you know, after we're done at Homecoming. He doesn't whisper the sweet nothings of romance novels as he pushes his way inside of you. It hurts, a lot, and you almost start crying but come on, like you're going to do something like that when all you want is for him to notice you.
He doesn't stare in your eyes as he rocks slowly, back and forth, in and out of your body. No, his eyes are clenched shut tight and he's gripping the seats so hard his knuckles burn white in the inky blackness. He won't even touch you because even though he knows you are, you know he's not. You know that he knows that it means more to you than him but he just wants his practice and if that's the best you can get, you'll take it. Every time.
It feels good and bad, good in a bad way and bad in a good way. You reach up to touch his silver hair and he shirks away, making his hips rock just so and then...you break all the rules. You shoot up as you spill out across him, you, the seats - everywhere. His name is trying to burst out of your throat and he sees it, opens his eyes and jams his mouth onto yours because you can't talk during this practice. You agreed and now with the angry thrust of his hips you know that he's enjoying it too much, too. He's mad at you, at himself, at everything, and then he's still. He's so still it's frightening and you think for a moment he's dead or something, but then you feel it. It's in you, covering you, filling you up and it makes your eyes roll back.
He's still kissing you. Your pretend not to know it's because he's effected just as much as you. You try to lose yourself in it. It only kind of works.
He pulls away, like you knew he would. Climbs out of you, leaving you feeling emptier than before and a little bit disgusting. Pulls his pants on. Doesn't look at you as he mumbles, "J-just practice, right?"
And of course you say yeah, course, because it's not like you can say no, course not.Because it's just practice and if that's the best you can get, you'll take it.
Every time.