A little bit of light smut in this oneshot, so reader discretion is slightly advised.
Inside the house, it was quiet. The ceiling fan overhead was perfectly still, and the analog clock that hung above the end table didn't tick, as it was deadened due to lifeless batteries. It was the kind of quiet that only happened in movies. The moment before the dramatic music started and whatever conflict was resolved, it was the moment before everything changed. In fact, the entire scene seemed to have been snapped and stolen straight from a movie that was supposed to play on the silver screen.
It was quaint and so quiet that the only audible noise throughout the entire house came from the sputtering of the motor that kept the refrigerator cold in the kitchen. The silence was deafening; a complete contradiction to the laughs, playful banter and eventual ecstatic moans that ravaged the house just the night before.
The world outside beyond the four walls of the house went on as usual for a typical Saturday morning. A large green garbage truck roared when it drove down the street, screeched when the driver stepped on the brakes. Birds flew in casual circles and chirped to signal that it was well past sunrise, while the crisp morning air spilled through the screen covering the open window. All the sounds of the busy world that laid beyond the front door were just mere background noise inside the house, though.
Both empty and half-drunken bottles of Corona beer littered the coffee table, and an empty box of what used to be a large pizza laid on the floor next to a shiny purple foil packet that was torn open straight down the middle. On top of the rug laid a pair of pink socks, a worn pair of size three blue jeans and a pair of flimsy, black lace underwear. Draped over the arm of the couch was a lace bra to match the underwear on the floor and a pair of white and red checkered boxer shorts; all clear, indisputable evidence of what had gone on the night before.
On the couch, his body was motionless and flat against the cushions. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed and he truly looked as though it was the most peaceful he had been in a while. The slight breeze that flowed through the open window just above the couch made the small amount of downy soft, loose hairs on his chest dance back and forth while his arm was wrapped leisurely across the lower half of her body.
She, with her leg draped across his waist and her head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck, breathed easily. To her, it was the most restful slumber she ever had. Subconsciously, she felt safe, which was something she was a stranger to feeling. With his hand clung to her waist and his strong, muscular arms locked, there was no place in the world she would rather be. Her silky brunette hair rested in tousled waves around her bare and exposed back, her nose whistled just slightly each time she inhaled and her lips were parted just slightly.
To an outsider, they looked like they belonged. Alex's fluffy brown hair standing up on all ends, unruly and chaotic solely from being ruffled and gripped by her hands just hours before they fell asleep. Jo's eyeliner, murky and staining her cheeks from the sticky hot sweat that radiated from their bodies. They looked messy, but they looked like they belonged. Interlocked and intertwined, tangled up in each other, a blanket spread over their bodies as the sunlight kissed their skin. It was aesthetically beautiful and incidentally perfect that nothing could ruin the moment.
Nothing, besides a pager, that is.
Startled awake by the high-pitched ringing emanating from the pocket of the pair of blue jeans strewn across the back of the couch, Alex jolted and picked his head up, leaving his eyes minimal time to adjust to the sudden light. They stung a bit and hung low and a yawn rose up in the back of his throat, but he instinctively and unconsciously lifted his arm so he could silence his pager.
His arm was weighed down though, which was the first sign that something was wrong. Usually, he was able to silence his pager with one swift movement and that was the end of it. This time however, his arm was being kept back and held down and he had to lift his head to check out the reason.
As soon as he lifted his head though, he was met with a pounding, pulsating headache that began behind his temple and radiated down into the bridge of his nose. He closed them again, exhaled sharply and reopened them, blinking a few times to bring everything into focus. His head was hurting and his arms were sore, but he chalked that up to the fact that he was sleeping pretty hard.
Last night must've been a mess.
For starters, he never slept on the couch unless he was too intoxicated to conquer the steps. He almost always made it to his bed, yet here he was, squished and cramped up on the couch with nothing but a sheet covering him. He still wasn't fully to his senses, but he could already tell that something wasn't completely concise.
Preparing to heave a hard, miserable, hangover-induced sigh, he inhaled through his nostrils and stared up at the tiles that made the ceiling pattern in a near desperate attempt to let the fact that he was indeed hungover resonate in the back of his mind. What on Earth had possessed him to drink eight bottles of beer, knowing that he was on call? Sure he was lucky that he had made it through the night without managing to be paged, but now he was actually needed and he had a screaming headache.
He parted his lips upon swallowing to lubricate his very dry throat and took another deep breath through his nose. He wrinkled his brows and his eyes instantly narrowed. The smell he took in was familiar but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The scent was soft and very faint, but the deeper he inhaled the stronger it was. Peppermint, he thought to himself. Coconut, maybe. Yes, he recognized the scent. It was his most favorite smell ever, how could he forget? He smelled it every time he was within two feet of her, every time she leaned in to whisper an inside joke in his ear, every time she tilted her head back and made the air move, every time he pulled her into an awkward side-hug. It was hers. It was the scent of Jo.
Why was he smelling it so clearly now? Sometimes it would linger on the pillowcases. Sometimes slept over and stole a pillow from his bed and when she'd return it, it smelled like her conditioner. It wasn't a fact that he'd admit, but he never washed them. He knew it was pathetic, to secretly indulge in a childlike fantasy with his crush by overtly sniffing the pillowcase she laid on, but he couldn't help it. It was the part of her that he got to keep with him when he missed her, the part of her that would never be "too busy" and the part of her that was eternally his. So it was a pillowcase. Inanimate, but still speaking volumes.
Yes, sometimes the scent of Jo's shampoo clung to the fabric and left behind a pleasant surprise for him to divulge in, but it still didn't offer any explanation as to why it was so deftly in his nostrils now. He couldn't remember the last time Jo had spent the night at his house now that she had other places to stay and even so, it wasn't like the pillow she slept on had any place on the couch.
Unless…
Slowly and nervously, he turned his head to his left. His heart pounded in his chest like the beat of a snare drum and beads of sweat collected at his temple. He didn't know why the apprehension coursed through his body the way it did, but something in his conscience wouldn't allow his mind to even wander to the possibility. He knew it was better to doubt than to get his hopes up for something he had long since deemed impossible.
Sure enough, when his eyes focused in on the scene to his left, all his doubts were proven true. The very object weighing his arm down from earlier and preventing him from previously silencing his pager was a head. A head with long, thick, silky strands of chocolate brown hair sprouting from it. And of course, attached to that head was a body. Not just any body, though. The most beautiful body he had ever laid eyes on and ultimately, the body he had so often fantasized about.
A part of his brain willed him to close his eyes and go back to sleep. To close his arms around her, pull her closer and fall back asleep just to further enjoy the moments of bliss that he was granted, at least for a little while. But the bigger part of his mind told him to stay awake. To look. If only for a moment.
Her lengthy eyelashes rested on the upper parts of her cheeks while her eyes were calmly relaxed and closed. Her soft, pink lips came together ever so lightly and the corners of her mouth were easy. He grazed his thumb across the tiny brown freckle on her cheek and grinned to himself at how she had dozens of others sprinkled along her shoulders and back to match the one on her face. Her chest pumped up and down in a rhythm and she was peaceful.
How hungover was he?
How much of last night did he remember?
Because he didn't want to forget. Her shoulders were bare and from the corner of his eye, he could see clothes scattered about. That, coupled with the fact that he had finally come around enough to feel the blanket draped over him hitting his own bare skin told him that something happened last night. Something that was definitely worth remembering.
How much did he remember?
He took his thumb away from the smooth, velvety skin of her face and stared up at the ceiling again. He closed his eyes. He tried to lose himself in the thoughts of last night.
Lips. Her lips smashed against his, soft and open, mouth to mouth, exchanging saliva and the taste of cold, hard beer. Her tongue is massaging against his. Her head is tilted to the side, allowing the kiss to deepen and eventually, she gives in to submission. He takes control of the kiss now, takes her bottom lip between his two and sucks for a moment. He drives her wild.
Legs. His own are positioned normally underneath him as he sits on the couch, his feet planted firmly on the floor. Hers are on either side of his. She straddles him and locks her legs around his waist. Every so often, her legs will part more and more until eventually, they are opened only as much as her skin-tight blue jeans will allow them to be.
Arms. Her elbows are comfortably nestled in his shoulder blades and her forearms are by his ears. His are at her hips, locked tightly around them, guiding her. Keeping her steady, keeping her pressed firmly against his growing erection and not allowing her to move otherwise.
Hands. His are on her lower back. He keeps his hands at a decent position, careful not to violate her even though he so desperately wants them to wander just a little below her waistline. Hers are knotted through his hair, pulling him and keeping his mouth to hers. She doesn't want to break the kiss. Her every emotion is spilling out into his mouth. Anticipation, hunger. Passion, drive. Everything she feels is coming out in the kiss and she doesn't intend to let him go without making him feel how badly she wants him.
His eyes flashed to the floor. Her blue jeans were on the rug, along with her undergarments. It was fuzzy, but he remembered how they came off.
When his fingers force the button through the narrow slit, the two pieces of fabric fly apart and expose the black, lace trim. She elevates her hips and grabs the waistband of her jeans and begins yanking them off, while he pulls his t-shirt over his head. He looks down at the way her hips stick out, the way her thighs come together and licks his lips. She throws her jeans onto the floor as if they're a mere inconvenience and sits up, pulling him into another steamy kiss.
His hands wander to her waist and his fingertips dance around the rim of her panties. He wants them off. He wants them on the floor with her socks and her jeans, but he wants to be respectful. Instead, he slides them up to the middle of her back and fumbles with the hook of her bra through her shirt. She doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she reaches back to help him. Her bra hangs loose once she unbuckles it, but she puts her hands back in his hair.
For a quick breath, he pulls his lips away from hers and listens as her breathing is shallow from such heavy make out. He drags his lips from hers down to the skin on her neck and leaves them there as she catches her breath. She keeps one hand on the back of his head while the other roams to the waistline of his boxer shorts.
Beneath the palms of his hands, her breasts are smooth and incredibly soft. He kneads them softly for a few moments, letting his thumbs ease across her nipples a few times. He closes his mouth around her neck and gives her a tender kiss. Mimicking his "one-step-further" mentality, she slips her hand inside his boxers.
A dreamy sigh escaped from Alex's chest at the memory. It all happened so fast. One moment they were laughing, the next moment they had enough liquid courage to flirt. One moment they were friends, just regular drinking buddies, the next they were so much more. One moment they were kissing, the next they were going at it. One moment he was touching underneath her shirt and the next he was putting a condom on.
It all happened in a blur; so quickly that he probably wouldn't have remembered it even if he hadn't been drinking. But the more he thought about it, the more it came back to him.
He takes the foil package between his teeth and tears it open, quickly spitting the remnants onto the floor and tossing the wrapper on the floor before taking the slippery condom into his hand. She lays flat against the couch and bends her knees in preparation, bursting with drunken anticipation at what's to come. She wants this just as badly as he does...maybe more. She's ready, in all aspects.
He lowers himself over her body and gives her a chaste kiss on her lips before positioning himself and aligning their pelvises. She looks up in his eyes with nothing but complete and utter trust in hers and he reciprocates the look. If he didn't know any better, he would say that she's looking at him like she loves him. He knows better though. She doesn't love him. He loves her, but it's unrequited. He's making love, but to her it's just sex.
"You sure?" he whispers, pausing before allowing the head of his erection to penetrate her.
"Mmm-hmm," she smiles and wholeheartedly nods her head. She wants this. The prospect of refusing him hadn't even crossed her mind. In fact, the thought seemed kind of ridiculous. How could she say no to something that felt so right?
She knows it's wrong. Deep in her conscience, down in the depths of her being, she knows that lying down and allowing him to have her in this way is wrong. But she doesn't know how it could be. That part doesn't make much sense to her. If it's wrong, then why does it feel so right? Why does having him hovering over her body feel like it should be happening?
He tilts his head to one side to avoid bumping noses with her and guides his lips across hers.
A contented grin snaked across Alex's face at that. He didn't know exactly how they had gotten to that point. That part was a little hazy. He shifted his position just slightly so he could get another look at her in all her beauty as she slept. Another smile crept up on him when he noticed, from the corner of his eye, a red, circular mark on his shoulder blade. The teeth indentations had faded, but the shape of her mouth was still there.
She was a biter.
That much he remembered.
He burrows his face in the crook of her neck, occasionally kissing it here and there. The heat radiating between the two of them made the sweat collect on both their bodies and the sweat makes it that much more difficult for her hands to grip and claw at his back.
The palms of his hands rest at the base of her neck and his fingers curl through her hair as he bottom half of his body pumps in and out at a rhythmic pace. Underneath of his, her body isn't still. Her legs are wide and wrapped around his waist and she moves with him.
She's used to him now and he knows it. He let her become. Upon making his first thrust into her, he steadied. He steadied and remained still, allowing her petite frame to adjust to having his body filling her and on top of her. She was used to him now though, and to him, that was license to do more.
He places his hands on either side of her and holds himself up in a push-up position. He looks down at her, only to find that her eyes are closed. Her eyes are closed and her head is tilted back. Gaunt breaths and mellifluous moans spurt out in spastic patterns and at that, he grins. He draws his waist back so that only the tip of himself is inside of her and when he pushes it back in, he slams back into her, ensuring that she feels all of his length and a low, satisfied moan escapes her mouth.
She's fiercely hot, dripping wet and impossibly tight. He had wondered for a very long time what she'd be like. He wondered if she was shaved, if she was loud, if she was a talker or a moaner, if she got wet easily. For a while he had wondered these things. For a while, he had it in his mind. But now that he had her, all he wanted to do was take care of her. All he wanted to do was make sure she felt pleasure.
His heart beats faster and faster and he picks up his pace until it eventually matches the quickness that his heart is beating. Her walls constrict around him, which elicits two different responses. He smirks, proud that he was able to make her come close to orgasm. She throws her head back and reeling with anticipation, she wraps her arms around his neck and burrows her face in his shoulder.
She whimpers directly in his ear and digs her fingernails deep into the sweaty flesh of his back.
"Oh my god," she mumbles, her voice muffled from talking into his shoulder.
She can't take it anymore. She's too close and it feels much too good. She tries to take her legs from around his waist, but he puts his hands on her kneecaps and forces them to stay open. He wants her to take it. This is an opportunity he never thought he'd get, and now that the had it, he wasn't going to squander it.
"A-A-," she begins to moan his name, but she can't spit it out. Instead, she clamps her mouth down and bites his salty, slick shoulder.
He smiles to himself at how little he feels from being so caught up in the moment and smiles even wider upon hearing her finally get his name out.
Alex propped himself up on his shoulder and let his eyes rest on her, just admiring her beauty. He draped his arm loosely across her waist and let his thumb stroke back and forth, stroking her navel.
He knew it wasn't exactly what he wanted, but he still had fun pretending. He had fun pretending that she was his girlfriend. That they were laying in the bed that they shared every night, basking in the incredible afterglow of a night he wanted to relive over and over again. Eventually, Jo would wake up and he'd go into the kitchen to fix her something to eat. Then, they'd ride together to the hospital and kiss each other and tell each other that they hoped the other had a nice day at work. They were boyfriend and girlfriend.
Dispersing his quaint little dream cloud, his pager started to ring again. He sighed hard and reluctantly took his arm from around her waist to silence his pager.
"W-what is that?" her groggy voice cut through the silence and she took a moment to come to her senses.
Alex sighed. He knew that his bliss was about to be interrupted. Still, it was nice while it lasted. Jo yawned and picked her head up off the couch and for a few moments, she had to blink to bring herself to terms with where she was at. She wasn't where she was supposed to be. No, she was supposed to be in a bed. She was supposed to be in his apartment. Not here.
She wrinkled her brows upon realizing that she was naked and her jaw dropped. She clutched the blanket to her chest and looked around at the beer bottles, the pizza box, the clothes and the empty condom wrapper. It was starting to become clear now. She had done something horrible. Something very, very bad.
Her head slowly turned and when she met his face, he could see mortification written clear across hers. They felt very differently. He was satisfied. He got what he wanted. He got what he dreamed of. But it wasn't the case for her. She made a horrible mistake.
"...Did we…" her voice was soft and it held a sense of disbelief. Alex just nodded his head and looked away from her. Her face fell and she reached over the edge of the couch and grabbed her cell phone. Seventeen missed calls, all from him. "Oh god…. No," she whispered.
She put her head down and felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. She covered her hands over her eyes and took a few breaths. Alex pulled the blanket back and prepared to get up and get dressed.
"W-where are you going?" she picked her head up and faced him with tears streaming down her cheeks.
He pulled his boxers up on his waist and swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. "I got paged," he mumbled.
"Don't-Alex, don't-" she sat up too, holding the blanket to her naked body. "...Aren't we at least going to... talk about this?"
"And say what? You're gonna tell me how much you regret it and I'm gonna tell you I'm sorry. We already know how it's gonna end so it's not necessary."
He ran his fingers through his hair and put his hands on his hips. He didn't want to talk to her about it. If they didn't talk about it, she couldn't ruin it. She couldn't dissolve the vision he had in his head. The vision of her moaning his name, of him rubbing her hips as she rode him. He didn't want to think of it as a mistake, so he didn't want to talk about it.
"I've gotta go, Jo," he mumbled again and headed for the steps.
"Are you mad at me?" she stood up, wiping a streak of mascara off her cheek.
"Mad?" he raised his eyebrow. "Why would I be mad? Because I don't want to sit here and watch you cry over how big of a mistake we made?"
"Sorry if I'm not…happy enough for you? But I'm not going to pretend like I'm happy that I just cheated on my boyfriend. He's going to kill me…"
"So that's what you're worried about," he snickered. "Peckwell killing you." He shook his head and turned back around again. "Get out of my house, Jo."
"Alex, wait! What is your problem?!" Using one hand to hold the blanket over her body, she used the other to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Why are you being like this? We...we…"
"We had SEX, Jo. Just say it."
"...We had sex," she whispered it as if she couldn't believe it. "...Why are you mad about that?"
"You think I'm excited to hear you trash it? I know what we did. I know what we did last night and I remember it. I didn't regret it. So yeah...screw me if I don't want to hear you ruin it for me."
"I'm not trashing it," she shook her head. "I'm not proud of it, but I'm...not trashing it. I liked it," she admitted. "Did you not… like it?"
"Of course I liked it, Jo! I loved it!" he sucked his teeth. "...But you've got a boyfriend, and…"
"What does me having a boyfriend have to do with you loving it? What does it have to do with you being an absolute jerk to me? I cheated on my boyfriend Alex, not you… It has nothing to do with you."
"It does if I love you, Jo!" he yelled. "It does if I love you and it does if I made love to you last night and can't have you! I can't have you! He does!"
"...Is that what this is about? This is about you wanting me?"
Alex just sighed. How could she not know? How could she not know that he wanted her? Sure she screwed him over by going off and getting a boyfriend when he was clear about wanting to date her. But how could she be so clueless? Of course he wanted her. Of course he loved her. Did she really miss the sighs?
He shook his head, and as his pager went off yet again, he climbed up the steps to get dressed for the day.