Evangeline
Disclaimer: I don't own Ben 10 and/or Ben 10: Alien Force and/or Ben 10: Ultimate Alien and/or any and/or all concepts and/or characters. They are copyrighted to Man of Action and Cartoon Network Studios. I am a mere Fanfiction author. With far too much time on her hands and no social life.
Rated: M
Part One:
He saw it in her half-lidded eyes, she was close. She was about to get her first taste of paradise and it would be from him. He smirked, picking up his pace and beginning to grope her rougher. She responded eagerly, meeting him thrust for thrust and letting her fingers roam his body. Her breath was coming and going in pants and desperate pleas for him to move faster, enter harder, and then he saw it, her face lit up and her mouth opened to—
He woke up. He was half expecting her to be at his side but she was not. He groaned; another dream and more laundry to do. Getting up from bed he headed to the shower to rinse off everything at waist level. Then, remembering that although Gwen found his usual mixture of oil, cologne, and just a hint of actual sweat very appealing she was also usually distracted by it and had requested him to, he grabbed the soap and began to wash down. Slipping into his jeans for the day he returned to the bedroom and gathered up the soiled sheets, throwing them in the washer and setting it for 'agitate'. If he just threw them into the hamper the stains would set and Gwen was a neat-freak about his place oddly enough so if she found any sort of stain she'd freak and bring in some heavy duty cleaning chemicals and he wouldn't be allowed back in until everything was sparkling.
Then the alarm went off; time to pick her up for school.
It was his daily torture; he adored her, worshipped the very ground she walked on. She was his savior, his best friend, his girlfriend and most probably his soul-mate.
She was not his lover. She would never be. It was already bad enough that he loved her and she thought she loved him. She couldn't, shouldn't. Despite what all those teen movies from the eighties espoused the delinquent and the princess would never work out in the long run.
Their archetypes were just too different. By name his kind was always dark and gritty; he would always be much more at home in the slums of New York, peddling illegal goods, than an almost all white upper-middle class suburb full of identical white picket fenced houses and working in an office setting.
She was the other side of that coin, being his exact opposite on almost every facet of life experiences.
Where he, growing up, had struggled to survive, often unsure of where his next meal would come from let alone where he'd sleep any given night she had three hots and a cot all of her life. Where the police knew him by name and numbers and were very friendly with him she had no record at all. He only completed fourth grade, she was doing double time by taking some college classes while still a sophomore in high school.
They would never work out, he knew that. So he tried to live in the moment, enjoying her favor while he had it. Except his mind was driving him insane. Every time he saw her doing something innocent his mind's eye showed him just how to pervert it.
An innocent afternoon in his garage derailed into a day-dream of taking her on the hood of his car. He was sure the vibrating heat of the running motor, only separated from her back by a thin sheet of painted metal, would intensify the pleasure she would experience.
If he took her against a brick wall he'd make sure her back imprinted the style of the wall. This fantasy was prompted by seeing her merely lean against one such wall. How about in the kitchen? On the counter? Or perhaps the table?
Yes, he adored her but she was driving him mad and yet she didn't even know it!