Running to Stand Still
By Alaric Nomad
Chapter Two: Bittersweet Surrender
Peyton awoke sometime in the middle of the night in the feeling of his arms around her, the radiating warmth of his body pressed against her back as they lay spooned together, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept soundly. She lay there for a long while, just listening to the sound of his breathing, idly skimming her fingers along the arm around her waist. Warm, weathered skin over cords of unyielding muscle, covered in a down of fine golden hair, richly browned by long hours under the sunlight.
She traced her hand upward, taking in the contours of his body, turning in the circles of his arms to better see him. She commits everything about him to sensory memory, the sharp lines and rigid muscle of his body, the strong set of his jaw and chin, the rugged attractiveness mixed with the sweet innocence of his face that made him so damn beautiful.
She lost herself in her ministrations, her eyes following every movement of her fingers as she caressed his skin, pressed her lips to the curve of his shoulder, the hollow of his throat…tasted the lingering salt of his perspiration, felt the thrumming rhythm of his pulse beneath her kiss.
Lost in this, she did not see him awaken, did not see him gaze down at her through hooded eyes, eyes darkened with a deep, sultry poignancy, a hand raising to cup her chin and turn her face to his. She did not see until his mouth fixed over hers, hungry, and a heat raged inside, overwhelming anything else in mind or body until she found herself pressing close once more, wanting him, needing him.
Lucas made not a sound, said not a word, fueling that want and need with every touch, every kiss, stoking the passion in her until the inferno threatened to burn her from the inside out, with hands, with mouth, silently demanding more and more, thriving on each breathless moan, each cry of his name. As he was inside her, and they moved in fervent rhythm, racing toward completion, it was his hands with a firm, but gentle, hold on her hips, guiding her to move with him, his eyes never leaving hers, still shadowed and hazy with the same heavy emotions.
She slept in his embrace once more, sated and exhausted, lulled into slumber by the cadence of his heartbeat. He held her close through the night, sheltering her with his strength, as if that if he ever let her go, she would drift away out of his reach.
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She was met by the same blue of his eyes upon waking, but it was no longer the same man staring back at her. The man reflected in their clear, summer-sky hues was no stranger, but also no longer the lover she had known the night before. No, this Lucas was much more achingly familiar…the golden boy, the rescuer, the heartbreaker…the one who didn't belong to her. Disappointment, longing, regret created flecks of grey in his gaze, immediately putting her ill at ease as she rolled out of his embrace, determined just to put some distance between them.
"Peyton…" his voice was tired, surrendering, yet vulnerable and questioning.
She clutched the sheets tighter around her torso, determined to hide herself from his view. Shame and embarrassment took precedence in her mind, her defenses rising more rapidly than she could ever anticipate. Her stomach felt queasy, her heart hurting. "Don't say it. Whatever you say, Lucas, just don't say you regret it. God, don't make me your mistake."
"You could never be a mistake."
"Hypocrite," she hissed out, slapping away his hands as he reached for her, "Hypocritical bastard. Isn't that what you said to reassure Brooke's insecurities? That I was your mistake?"
"…She told you about that…?"
She choked out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, rubbing it in my face that she had you and I didn't. As if I'd care."
"…did you…?"
"Did I what?"
"Care that she was with me, and not you."
"Lucas…"
"I'm serious, Peyton," he said vehemently, grabbing her hands to pull her toward him. He framed her face with his hands, bringing her eyes to gaze into his own. "Whatever it is you think you read in me, Peyt, it's not what you think. I'm not regretting what we did. I'm regretting that I did this to you. You're one of my closest friends, Peyton, I shouldn't have put you in a position like I did last night…that the fact you cared about me somehow made it some obligation that you give in to me…sleep with me because I wanted it. But Peyton, if you feel something more…something else for me, god, just say it now…please…"
As rapidly as her walls had risen, he had them shrinking back just as quickly, dispersing the barriers around her heart as if they had never existed. Only him, only ever him.
She looked at him, saw the vulnerability in his eyes, the fragile hope just barely veiled there. She reached for his hands, feeling his fingers wrap so trustfully around hers. God, she loved this man.
Therein lay the problem.
Peyton pressed a kiss to each palm, regarding him with a soft smile. "Lucas, you mean the world to me, but…" She sighed, touching her hand to his cheek, smoothing it upward to tangle her fingers in his sandy hair. "Don't be guilty, Luke. I think…I think I need you just as much as you needed me. And it's not wrong to need someone, blondie," she teased lightly, as her fingers sifted through his thick hair, "You taught me that, remember?"
"Yeah, I remember," he spoke quietly, his eyes on her, watching her curiously as she scooted closer, and she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, smoothing her cheek over his.
"You're a good guy, Lucas. Keith would be so proud of you," she whispered, combing back his hair against his brow as he rested her head against her. She leaned back in the bed, choosing not to comment as she felt the evident wet of his tears against her skin, and only held him close, silently stroking his hair as his body grew slack and relaxed, his breath evening out once more into the serenity of sleep.
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It was some time in early afternoon, the idea of attending school that day something completely inconceivable in both their minds- or would be, Peyton supposed, had he been awake to voice his opinion- that she fully arose back to the vivid awareness freed from the foggy trappings of drowsiness and sleep. The room was still fairly dimly lit, the golden light of the sun obscured by the drapes drawn over her windowpanes, creating a comforting, shadowy effect to the room.
Lucas had slept rather undisturbed for a majority of the day, the exhaustion generated by his emotional burden finally wearing him down to the point where some reprieve was imperative.
His body was curled around hers, the lean muscle of his torso a comfortable weight as he slumped against her, one arm around her waist, fingers brushing now and again against her hip, her bare thigh.
His head was nestled between her breasts, their legs entangled as she peeked down at him through the lashes of her eyes, smiled softly as his face placid and serene in a rare peace. She was stroking his hair as she watched his sleep, absently humming under her breath when a low, strangled sound breaks through the silence, as much as shock as a sudden downpour of an icy rain. She looks up, and her eyes meet those of the one person she hoped to never see this aspect of her life, this aspect of who she was.
Her father.
Larry's face was drained of all color, etched with a great degree of shock that rendered him speechless, frozen in the doorway of his daughter's bedroom, unable to tear his eyes away, unable to bring himself to move as he found himself faced with a sight that tore away all thoughts of sense and reason that might linger in his mind.
Peyton swallowed hard, moving the sheet to shield what might be exposed of their bodies, adjusting Lucas' place against her so not to wake him, but also to move away from something so deeply intimate, an incredibly wrong sight to present to her father.
"Dad," she whispered plaintively, barely recognizing her own voice with the tentative vulnerability to be found there.
Larry said nothing, but only seemed to regain some semblance of composure, his eyes straying down to the face of his daughter's lover. The face of the young man was painfully recognizable, but even in the powerful anger and disapproval building up inside of him, he could not help but take note of the tight hold Lucas had on Peyton's hand, the lingering tear tracks still glistening against skin too pale to be healthy.
Larry could not be sure, but he thought the kid looked thinner than he remembered, his face more weathered, as if shouldering some incredible burden. The older man looked up to meet the pleading gaze of his daughter, and he stepped back, shaking his head as his duffel bag hit the floor with a dull thud and he hightailed it back down the hallway. The sound of the front door slamming shut reverberated through the walls of the house.
Peyton sighed, falling back against the bed. She felt Lucas shift beside her, his arms reaching out to her. She allowed herself to be encircled in his arms, watched his eyes flutter open to reveal warm, sleep blue eyes. "Peyton."
"Hey, sleephead." She brushed back the disheveled hair falling against his forehead, lightly kiss his forehead, "Sleep well."
"Yeah," he leaned up, slipping his arm around her waist to pull her even closer, nuzzling against her neck, "More than I have in a long time."
"Good to hear. I think you really needed it." She paused, sighed again as she brushed her lips against his temple, down to his cheek as she kissed him softly before breaking their embrace. She gathered the sheets around her, hiding her body from his view as he was met with her back.
His brow furrowed with confusion at her distance, frowning as he recognized the tell-tale signs of her shutting him out. He thought better of it this time, and made no attempt to reach for her. Instead, he only watched her sadly for a moment, rose from the bed and began to gather the clothes littered across the floor.
She leaned her head against a propped elbow, unabashedly watching him as he dressed, unable to help herself from admiring the sleek, muscled silhouette of his body. He felt her eyes and smiled slyly, his eyebrows rising pointedly. She only returned the smile, albeit a little coyly, watching as his back arched slightly as he stepped into his jeans, showing off his ass and strong legs.
He grinned at Peyton as he followed her stare, exaggeratedly striking a strongman pose, and she rolled her eyes, wondering at the ridiculous flirtation. He pounced, however, a moment later, moving into a blurred fury of motion to come crashing into her bed, the mattress squeaking with protest at the sudden intrusion of his weight.
He landed on his stomach, opening one eye to gaze up at her as he reached out, resting a hand at her hip to pull her quite willingly to press flush up against him. It was almost irresistible, really, the way he felt, the way he smelt, the way he touched her, and it was so damn hard to push him away as his lips fell over hers in a heady kiss, his hand slipping beneath the sheet.
She gasped, her breathless moan swallowed by the intensity of his kiss as his hand ghosted over her abdomen and over the apex between her legs, down her inner thighs and the silken skin of her legs. She shivered, nestling closer as he melted her with just a simple touch, a complexity of emotions rising in her heart that were impossible to refute for much longer.
His hand crept upward again, and knowledgeable of his intended destination, she stopped him, grabbing his hand with hers, their fingers entwining to rest above the sheets instead. He favored her with a smile. "No more?" he asked simply.
"No more," she agreed, bumping his chin with the top of her head as she rested it against his chest, closing her eyes as she just took a few moments to savor the feeling of his arms around her. After this day, it would be a very, very long time- possibly forever- before she ever felt his embrace once more.
They lay there in silence, Lucas resting his head against hers, breathing in the sweet, subtle scent of her skin, nuzzling his nose against the softness of her hair. He sighed, contentment a serene expression upon his countenance until he spotted the clock at Peyton's beside, and his face fell. "Shit," he cursed, disentangling himself from their embrace and reluctantly rose to his feet.
Her face was unreadable, as he hurried into his shirt and shoes, strangely attempting to do up his shirt buttons while fasten on his wristwatch. She glanced at the clock and understood, remembering him taking off directly after school every day for the past month for a shit at the grocer's, watching him fumble about humorously for a few moments before she motioned him over.
Peyton fixed the buttons to his shirt in their correct holes, tucking the loose tails of the garment into the waistband of his jeans, combed his disheveled hair back into some semblance of order, and eyed him wryly in inspection.
"I think you pass," she told him softly, and when he bent to kiss her one last time, she turned her face away, his lips landing chastely against her cheek. He pulled back, attempting his best to smother his pained expression, and he straightened, absently raking his hand through his hair in an awkward gesture. She shot him a look of exasperation, and he gave her a fond smile, glad to see a hint of that old spark instead of just the proverbial wall between her and the rest of the world.
"I'll be seeing you, Peyton."
She watched him go, fell back against the bed, and felt for the first time in a long time- not since Ellie's death- like truly crying.
"Yeah, be seeing you," she whispered to the empty room, and she was only met with silence.