A/N: Thanks katiemarieperu from tumblr for this prompt. All of you following me have been giving me such great ideas that I had to post them here too =]
You Get Me, Inside Out
Maya hasn't a clue how to be desirable. In fact, in the past year, she's not only doubted how anyone could want her, but there have been clear cut signs that everyone else felt the same way. There was that time Owen Milligan dubbed her Chicken Cutlet, or the countless times she's been mistaken for a thirteen-year-old.
So, when Campbell Saunders is calling her beautiful in French (albiet in a choppy, wince-inducing way to a francophone like herself) and kissing her on top of a school desk with urgency and little care for passersby, she is willing to put her insecurities to bed.
Then he starts moving his hands upwards from her middle, and she, with latent sensitvity to anything concerning her chest, jumps from the contact of his eager hands.
"Sorry!" He immediately says, retrieving his hands back, folding them into his crossed arms as if to assure her further.
And they're now sitting up, disheveled, sitting upright on the teacher's desk. She just stares at the corner where Mme. Jean-Aux had spilled her coffee, bitting her lip. He tries to meet her eye level when she doesn't budge, dipping his head low.
"URGH," she groans. "God, I'm so stupid, sorry. Let's just—" She lunges towards him, pinning him on his back again, covering his mouth with hers.
"Muhya," he tries against her frenzied lips. "Muh—" He purses his lip, and moves his face away. He insists on sitting up again.
"Cam, I said I was sorry," she huffs.
"I know, but I should be the sorry one. I went too far…right?" He tests the waters.
"Uh," she starts, training her eyes on something else once more. "Yeah, that's what it is."
"Maya," he isn't convinced.
"They make fun of me in the locker room, don't they," she finally relents, bitterly.
"What?" He's even more confused now, wondering how either thoughts relate.
"I bet it's a joke they always say around you; Saunders and the Chestless-Wonder."
When she chances a glance his way, she sees his mouth agape. But, then she sees a thought cross his mind, his eyes softening.
"What…" She's worried, almost leaning away from him.
"You have this idea of yourself that no one else sees. I mean, there are the idiots who you shouldn't care about, and there's me, who still says you shouldn't care about the idiots. But, really, you're the only one who should have a say in how you see yourself." He has that look on his face, the one he gets when they are alone, his eyes shifting only once to half-blink because he's so fixed on her. "You know, you're even more beautiful this way…not knowing how much you get to me."
She feels it again, the way her insides react whenever he confesses even more insight to how he feels; it's a weightlessness in her stomach, and her heart thumps loudly in her ears.
"Cam," she can only muster a weak plea, because her eyes are now watching his mouth.
She looks up to see why he's gone quiet, and she sees him in a similar trance. It takes all of her to restrain herself from knocking him out, because she lunges for him again, and, this time, they stay pinned to the desk.
"Cam," she says, inches from his mouth. "Door. Open." She has to spare her oxygen, because she's practically breathless now.
He gets up with a start.
She has to stiffle the urge to throw a fit of giggles. She realizes how much he's changed from a stammering, blushing mess (though he still does stammer and blushes often, so…) by the thought of physical contact to, well, to a boy that's frantically trying to figure out how to lock the classroom door just to get back to her. And he's back in no time, pulling her down on him again, taking her in his arms as they continue to break the record for the longest span of time without air. Maya even wiggles out of her top, hesitating only once, and his own clothing are left forgotten on the floor.
She sees stars against the black of her closed lids.
It's when they hear rapping at the door do they realize that they've been practicing conjugations over the two hours they originally alloted themselves, and Cam comes up for air with a curse under his breath. "Practice!"
Maya bites her bottom lip, "My mom expected me home an hour ago."
"Rook?" He hears Dallas' muffled call, and he sounds angry. "I had to shake down some freshman to find out you were here. You're not missing another practice."
In a blur, they change, helping each other locate their stray clothes. They try to rehearse a quick excuse for the time they spent inside the classroom, but end up laughing because they're already holding the only hard copy evidence they need for studying Anthologie 9.
Dallas just rolls his eyes as the pair emerge from the classroom. Maya gives the fuming captain a curt nod, eyes Cam with a knowing smile, and leaves them in the opposite direction.
"We were just studying, you know I have a crazy huge dictée test on Monday. Lost track of time." Cam says, eyes downcast.
Dallas only hums in response, and it seems he's too angry for a lashing out this time. It's only when they reach the locker room that he finally decides to speak.
"Just so you know, Rookie, your shirt's inside out."