So this is the way to do it - write something open-ended so as to force my brain dream up endless scenarios/plots etc. Voila, chapter 2 just appears from nowhere!
So perhaps I was a little bit confusing in my first chapter/explanation/summary. This really isn't going to turn into some Cenaton story. I promise you this is mainly Candy with a bit of het thrown in on Cena/OC's part. It's all about observation, friendship and self-discovery. Hopefully this chapter will go a long way in explaining the events of chapter one. Please bear with me - it will all make sense (eventually!)
WARNING: Hints of slash, mentions of het.
DISCLAIMER: I own nada.
I really hope you guys stick with this one - promise it'll be worth it! x
The bed creaks, followed by a rustle of covers and then soft footsteps, passing my own bed and covered head, towards the bathroom.
I wonder how long it will take for them to part ways. If it's anything like last night, I'll be holed up under the covers for another hour or two. Would they even dare to do anything now that I'm here? They probably assume that I disappeared into the night and came back in the early hours, without so much as a glance in their direction. Or perhaps they think their secret is well-hidden, behind doors, under blankets and that no-one suspects a thing.
But in this business secrets don't stay that way for long. People see things. People whisper things. If it takes less than a week to discover who the new girl is fucking, than surely it's only a matter of time before this is dragged kicking and screaming into the spotlight.
And although the how is an interesting question, I'm more concerned with who. Am I the only one who knows? Am I the only one who's bound, against their will, to secrecy for ever and eternity? Because let's face it, this is going to go one of two ways. Either last night was just a one-off, a mistake, something they'll never talk about again or is this only the beginning.
Or is it the middle?
Or the end?
All these questions, and more, have been running through my mind ever since I turned away from the door, dropped back into the depths of the bathroom and tried desperately not to listen as they panted and moaned only metres away.
Not only questions about them. But about myself. And my...
Fuck, what was I even thinking?
My heart quickens. I feel my skin burning as I blush in the darkness, remembering. My hand around my cock, fisting it slow and hard. Watching transfixed as Randy sucked off another guy. Fuck. I mean, what the actual fuck?
I've been wanking off to porn since I discovered the concept. Magazines, videos, amateur shit on the Internet, you name it, I've seen it and most likely split my seed over it. And ever since I was a teenager, blowjobs have always been fascinating to me – whether I'm watching it on a screen or leaning against a wall with a chick on her knees in front of me.
But last night... That was different. Was it good or bad? I don't know. But after all the questions, I kept coming back to the single thought that crossed my mind before I looked away.
Why isn't it me?
Did I really want to be in his place? Leaning against the bedroom door, arms frozen above my head, sweat forming on my face and neck as he slithers down to the floor and takes my cock into this mouth?
I shiver. And then shift uncomfortably as my crotch begins to ache once more.
No.
I don't want that. That isn't me.
That's them. That's what they do, what they want.
It's definitely not what I want.
I scrunch up my face, silently cursing myself, them, the whole fucking world.
Footsteps pad past my bed once again. Whispers. The rustle of clothes being picked up from the floor. A zipper being frantically tugged up. The door opens. Closes.
Someone sighs.
I turn on my side, my back to whoever is left.
"She's gone."
Of course, it would be him. And what a choice of words.
I pull the covers from my head and fake bleary eyes as I gaze around the room. Randy lies on his back, covers pooled around his waist, one hand idly scratching his stomach, whilst the other thumbs his phone.
"Good night?" I narrow my eyes, but he doesn't notice.
"Mmm." Non-committal.
"It was a bit of a shock." I say slowly.
But he doesn't pick up on the hint. He just smirks, still not looking in my direction. "Never a shock to find them in my bed and not yours."
"Funny."
I wonder how far I can push it. How long before he gets a hint? So many one-liners to hit him with. But as words form on the tip of my tongue, his phone chimes. A genuine smile flashes across his face and he hurriedly taps out a reply.
Placing the phone on the nightstand, he stretches, pushes back the covers and heaves himself out of bed. I glance at the floor as he passes, the smell of sweat and sex wafting towards me. My faces wrinkles in disgust and he laughs.
"That, my friend, is the sweet smell of success."
I flip him off, but I'm too late and the bathroom door closes behind him before he notices my response.
I listen to the shower jolt into life and wonder if he's noticed the flecks of cum on his stomach.
His phone chimes again. I ignore it, choosing to reach for my own instead. I thumb through emails, Twitter, a few messages from friends and family, not letting my gaze drift anywhere else but my own screen.
But out of the corner of my eye I can see the screen flashing again, the case rumbling as it vibrates, desperate to be acknowledged.
The shower is still going strong as I reach over and flip it on it's side so I can read the message.
A split second later I wish I could press re-wind. But there's no going back. This is only moving forward.
The number isn't saved. But there's no doubting who the message is from.
Love you too. C.
