The Morning After Part 2 – Him

Disclaimer: See part 1, nothings changed.

Rating M; Adult language and situations.

Pairing; Sandland.

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The first conscious thought to pop into his head was;

I havn't felt this good in so long.

That was until he realised he was wrapped around a female body, his hand wandering across her breasts, and his body it a full state of arousal, without being absolutely sure who it was and how he got here. He froze and tried to order his thoughts, his mouth was dry and he had the mother of all headaches doing it's best to distract him. He breathed in softly, catching the combination of herbal shampoo, and that particular perfume which he would know anywhere.

Sandra. He thought to himself, in no doubt who he was spooned up against. He started to remember the evening before, he had been to the Commissioner's New Year party, which had turned out to be a grand bash, and had spent a few hours mingling and getting quietly drunk.

Then he had seen that arsehole, Parkinson harassing several ladies and he had been about to step in and advise the slug that he should go home before he got injured, when Sandra had dropped him with a nutcracker that made him proud and scared all at the same time.

He had loved her for so long, he remembered following her outside, finding the bastard all over her and had got him by the throat, he couldn't control his rage at that point and it was only the fear in the slug's eyes which has stopped him from punching the shit's lights out. He remembered putting a very inebriated Sandra into a cab and taking her home. It was all still very fuzzy in his head, the moment he had gone out into the cool air, the alcohol had hit him and he had stopped using his brain to think. He carefully withdrew his hand, being careful not to wake the sleeping beauty in front of him, he gently extricated himself from the bed, sitting on the edge for a moment, letting the pneumatic drill in his head settle.

He couldn't believe what he had done. In one stupid moment he had ruined everything. He was worse than the slug, he had taken advantage of a very drunken Sandra. He could remember getting back to her flat, he had allowed her to talk him into coming in. Well, maybe not talk, it was hard to form words with another set of lips pushed against yours.

He remembered the promise of coffee, which had been as empty as a phone battery with the gps turned on. They had gone straight to her bedroom. This room. He glanced around at the room for the first, and probably the last time. The images were flying into his mind thick and fast now. The hasty removal of clothes, his drunken seduction of a woman who deserved so much better. An image of her on her on all fours as he fucked her like a teenager who hadn't learned any better, made him put his head in him hands.

I am such a bastard.

He knew what he had to do now. He would have to transfer away. He couldn't expect her to work under him now. That thought conjured new memories of her on her back underneath him, her legs entwined with his as he pushed her to climax. He'd be lucky if she didn't report him. He felt her move as she rolled over in her sleep. He had to go. He knew that if he was still here when she woke up, there would be hell to pay. He saw the tissues and decided he couldn't just go without leaving a note, he couldn't let her think she was just another shag. He looked around and spotted his jacket. He retrieved his pen and wrote the words which were echoing around his head before retrieving his clothes.

He looked down at her still sleeping form.

God! She is so beautiful. He couldn't resist laying a last soft kiss on her forehead. He crept out of the bedroom, closing the door softly. He went to her living room, where he started to dress himself. He had replaced his boxers and trousers when he was overcome with feelings of self loathing and hatred. What he had done was only one step away from rape in his mind. He had taken advantage of a woman who had lost the ability to say 'no', and he had no doubt that she would have said no had she been in full possession of her faculties. She couldn't stand the sight of him, she tolerated his existence because she had to. She usually gave her about as much regard as something nasty she had stepped in.

He sat down on the sofa heavily, the weight of his crime hitting him like a London taxi. It was over, he would have to leave everything he had ever worked for, and he would be despised by those he had worked so hard to gain the friendship of.

His eyes filled with tears. He had a decision to make.

/

Hopefully, part 3 will appear before new year.