One-Shot

One-Shot. Cappie/Casey. A deeper look at Cappie and Casey's night together, from Casey's POV.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, only wish I did. (Hey, I'm a college student, story of my life.)

Music: I'm Alright (You Gotta Go There To Come Back) –The Stereophonics


Who Says Its Over?

It's not like a movie or a book where everything is perfect and scripted and falls into a perfectly pleasant haze from the first moment your lips meet. No, instead of drifting away, like you always do with Evan, telling yourself that its because its so intense, like a kind of defense mechanism, kissing Cappie grounds you harder to the present than ever before. Its like you've been living in a haze and suddenly its gone and the whole world is in Technicolor.

You don't ask any questions, don't—can't—second-guess yourself, not now. Instead you press yourself closer, wanting, needing to be closer, to feel alive as only he can make you feel.


You wake up slowly the next morning, rolling over, sighing softly, stretching; feeling more content than you have in forever. It's light out, well into morning, and you cannot believe that you have slept all night; usually, with Evan, you've awoken well before this, much to uncomfortable in his embrace to linger long after propriety necessitates. Yet somehow, everything feels right now, better than it has in forever… since the last time you woke up in Cappie's arms…Cappie. With that thought your eyes snap open, taking in your settings with dread as everything comes rushing back…


You're pressed against the wall in the hallway outside of his room, wanting—needing—each other to badly to make it all the way to the door. Your hands grope for his belt buckle, already having rid him of his shirt. A stray thought that you are unreasonably lucky that a party just happens to be going on downstairs, distracting the rest of Kappa Tau flickers briefly through your mind. You open your mouth to stop him, to suggest you at least move, but then he shifts in that certain way, that way that only he knows how to, while simultaneously biting softly at your neck and suddenly you can't remember just what it was that was so important.


Now, what seemed like a good idea, an ingenious solution on so many levels, really, under the forgiving glow of the moon has becomes a disastrous miscalculation in the bright and unforgiving light of day. You slink quickly from the bed, scanning the disaster area that serves as his room as you search for your clothes. You become even more alarmed as you realize you are viewing the mess fondly, letting it lull you back into memories best forgotten, rather that the disgust is should be summoning. You pull yourself together, firmly clamping down on these inexplicable feelings of tenderness and resolve to get out before anything else gives.


"This isn't just sex, you know," he says. He's poised above you and says it quietly, so softly you almost miss it. He's staring into your eyes, looking for all the world like a lost little boy and in that second you can feel your heart breaking. But then he runs his fingers lightly down your side, that wicked gleam returning to his eye and his mouth kicking up in the corners he leans down and whispers into your ear "what we have is better than sex," his breath coasting lightly across your skin. And then his mouth follows his breath and you forget that this is supposed to be about Evan, about revenge, and allow Cappie to remind you what exactly you have been missing.


In your haste to exit, you accidentally snag a lacy thong off the floor. The unexpected stab of emotion that finding another girl's underwear on his floor triggers in you takes you by surprise. You feel almost physically ill, wanting to strangle the silky voice murmuring "he's not yours anymore, you made your choice," in the back of your head. You can hear the disgust in your voice as you speak and wonder if he knows, as you do, that the disgust is not for him, but rather for who you have become. When he reminds you of the breakfast you used to share you can feel the nostalgia settle, like a physical ache, at the bottom of your stomach. "Last night was just a one time thing," you say, with more decisiveness than you are really feeling, trying hard to leave before you current resolve wavers and you climb back into bed, repeating every mistake from the night before, but without the alcohol to blame it on. Cappie grins wickedly, unhelpfully and murmurs, "That wasn't just one time last night…"


The images hit you quickly and relentlessly, leaving you spinning as they flash past:

Cappie, shirtless, peering up at you from under dark lashes, blue eyes gleaming wickedly, questioningly. The way he looks, naked underneath you as your name leaves his lips on a gasp. The feel of his fingers weaving through your hair as he kisses you like he's afraid that, at any moment, you could disappear.


You wince, shaking your head in a fruitless attempt to clear it of images, the last of your resolve in shreds as you back quickly for the door. You spill out a garbled response, part excuse part apology, "I'm saying it's done. Not to be repeated, in every sense of the word. Understand? Last night was, was just a fond trip down memory lane." You wince at your words, wondering how he can buy this act, if he does at all. Wondering how anyone could not see straight through you, to the wreck you are inside. Wonder how you have been this way for a year and you only just now noticed yourself. His last words, "Fond? Call me!" follow you out the door, ironic and mocking, and you feel something break inside.


When he enters you, eyes locked onto each other, breathing heavy and in synch you moan his name involuntarily, and it suddenly occurs to you that you have never moaned Evan's name; never even speak when you are with Evan. Instead, every time, you bite you lip and close your eyes, seeing only Cappie, hearing only his name in your mind. The though makes you gasp, but then Cappie does something else that makes you gasp again, and you forget about Evan entirely.


You press yourself against his door, closing your eyes and swallowing the tears that threaten. As you lean against the door, trying to forget how vulnerable he looks, how easy it would be to turn around and crawl back into his bed, his arms, you feel the ice steal its way around your heart. You allow yourself just one moment to wonder how he and only he has always been able to thaw that ice, what that means, before you square your shoulders and begin to move down the hall, reclaiming your identity, the one you have created with so much personal sacrifice, reminding yourself how the new you is so much better as you walk away from the largest part of your old self.

Yet somehow, even though you tell yourself that it was all a drunken mistake, a piece of the past, you can't help but feel that you are leaving a piece of yourself behind as you descent the stairs. And no matter what you tell yourself, you can still hear his voice, soft as a whisper, in the back of your head, "who says its over?"


Authors Note:

So…I've never written fanfic before, but this specific scene was just screaming at me to explore it. Actually, I've never written at all, besides the random school assignments and a LiveJournal. Tell me what you think; constructive criticism is appreciated. It hasn't been properly edited so I apologize.