WARNINGS: sex
Chapter Seven
It's all Chase can manage to walk into the chapel for the Christmas Eve service without getting up and running away. If he's honest with himself, he's come here tonight as a sort of test, to see whether any part of him might still belong to or welcome this world of faith, of familiar carols and the earthy-sweet scent of incense burning.
But as he stands with the wall to his back, the day's tension still cramping his shoulders, he finds himself unable to divorce this service from the memories of so many others. He feels haunted, out of place in time, as though at any moment his mother might be reaching out from beside him to catch his hand or pat his shoulder - small tokens of affection granted almost solely in the context of worship.
As the duration of the service stretches out before him, Chase is no longer entirely aware of what's being said, simply counting the seconds ticking by on the shiny silver face of his wristwatch, measuring the time left until he can bolt out into the chill of this silent night and be about the business of forgetting. He carries his coat folded in his arms as he strides quickly toward his car, the frigid air stinging his cheeks and bringing him back into the moment. He is unaccustomed to the bitterness of the winter weather; it seems incongruous with the familiarity of the holidays. Between the memories stirred by this case and the barren, snow-covered landscape, he feels wistful for a home which no longer exists, a longing for a family shattered years ago. He has not been homesick in the time since he's moved to Princeton, at least not until tonight.
For a moment he contemplates getting drunk, but dismisses the thought almost as quickly as it's come to him. He makes it a strict rule for himself never to drink alone, though it seems thus far that he's managed to escape his mother's genetic misfortune. Still, the thought of going home now to his empty apartment seems unbearable. And so he finds himself on Cameron's doorstep, knuckles cracked raw by the dry breath of winter, waiting to see if she is home.
Nearly a month has passed since she first appeared at his apartment bearing the terms of their current arrangement. Since then she has continued to initiate the occasional descent into distraction, once or twice every week. She has made no sign of wanting to stop, and yet Chase finds himself continually surprised when her summons come. But until now he's been content to sit back and let her take the lead, sensing that she needs to be in control of whatever it is she's offering him. Now, as he waits, he feels a strange sense of anxiety, fear of being rejected though he isn't even sure what exactly it is he's looking for.
Cameron is wearing red flannel pajama pants when she answers the door, and a gray threadbare sweatshirt. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun and she's in glasses, looking worlds different from her usual crisp appearance at work. Chase catches his breath, feeling a strange sense of intimacy in this moment.
"What are you doing here?" asks Cameron, crossing her arms over her chest and shivering in the draft from outside.
It has started snowing again, and Chase brushes a light dusting of fine flakes from his hair, feeling as though their dampness has saturated his very being. "I'm looking for a distraction," he says, repeating the phrase now forever etched in his memory.
For a moment, Cameron looks as though she can't decide what to make of this situation. Her gaze feels as though it cuts straight through his façade of confidence, to the lonesome melancholy which lies beneath. Chase tenses, listening to his heart beating in his temples, feeling it fluttering in his chest as though it might be trying to break free. He does not want Cameron to know that he is looking for anything more than pure uncomplicated sex this night, scarcely wants to admit that possibility to himself. And yet she is alone tonight too, he realizes. That simple fact seems somehow monumental.
"You woke me up," says Cameron after a long silence, though her tone sounds strange, as though she still can't quite decide whether she wants to be accusatory. "And it's Christmas Eve."
"Then I guess it's good I woke you up," Chase answers cautiously, feeling apprehensive because he can't read her. "You ought to be celebrating." He has always had excellent intuition when it comes to other people; it's how he's learned to gain control of any conversation, to move effortlessly from one brief fling to the next, never allowed himself to become too entrapped. But with Cameron everything feels different, off-kilter; she operates by a logic foreign and intriguing to him.
"By having sex with you?" Cameron looks skeptical, but she steps back at last, allowing him entry into the warmth of her apartment.
The television is on, Chase notices. That means she must either be lying or have fallen asleep on the couch. Both possibilities seem to have some crucial meaning, though he still can't seem to discern exactly what that might be.
"Well—yeah," Chase stammers, confidence faltering as he looks around her apartment, catching sight of the small Christmas tree, well-decorated and surrounded by a small assortment of brightly-colored gifts. He has neither decorations nor presents in his apartment, a fact which seems an important distinction. Cameron might be at home alone tonight, but she still has both holiday cheer and a family with which to share it, however far away they may be at the moment. "That was the idea. I mean, we don't—have to. If you don't want to. I could just—go."
But Cameron is already pushing his coat off his shoulders, fingers quickly loosening his tie. Her reluctance has been simply a test, it seems, whether to gauge his intentions or break down his bravado he is unsure.
"You came all the way here in the snow," Cameron says against his lips, undoing buttons faster than he can keep track of. "You were really going to just give up that easily?"
"Did you want me to?" asks Chase, rolling her sweatshirt over her head. There's a slight chill that even her heated apartment cannot dispel, and goosebumps erupt along the smooth skin of her chest as he bares it to the air.
"No," says Cameron breathlessly, pushing his pants down his hips and grazing her teeth lightly along the hollow where his neck meets his shoulder.
She has learned quickly exactly what he likes, and Chase tips his head back, groaning in response. "Then what was the point? Just to play with me?"
Cameron pauses, going still in the near-frantic motions which have become their familiar dance. She looks up at him in the dim light of the television, a strange intensity in her eyes he has not seen before. "I want to know what this means to you."
Chase freezes, unable to answer that question yet, not even for himself. He knows now without question that what he feels for Cameron runs deeper than anything resembling his experiences with his usual weekend conquests. Still he cannot say whether she is a friend, or something less, or perhaps something more. He knows only that he does not want this to end, cannot bear for the moment to be sullied by a misspoken confession or overstepped boundary. And so he does not answer, instead lifting her into his arms and carrying her toward the bedroom, a gesture bolder than any he has made with her before.
Cameron makes a little noise of surprise, but she does not protest, settling naked on her back against the pillows, almost as though deliberately laying herself out for the taking. Her eyes are filled with an unmistakable lust as she regards him; there's something aggressive even in her submission, like a masterful predator lying in wait to assess his next move.
Slowly Chase positions himself between her legs, curling his tongue around the familiar swell of her hipbone. The skin of her inner thigh is silky smooth, and he ghosts his fingers along it, delighting in the sound of her soft gasp. Cameron's breath is already coming raggedly by the time he begins stroking with his tongue, her hips rocking slightly to meet his touch, and Chase grinds his erection into the mattress, struggling to focus.
When he senses that she is nearing her limit he pulls back, taking satisfaction from her frustrated cry of protest. Slowly he crawls up her body, kissing her once, roughly, before positioning himself. Cameron takes hold of his hips, looking him straight in the eyes as she guides him down. Chase moans as he sinks into her, the chill and the solitude of the night finally forgotten. He closes his eyes as he starts to move, more slowly this time than ever before, allowing himself to truly savor the sensations.
Cameron laces her fingers into his hair, surprising him when she draws his head to her shoulder. For one instant Chase wonders whether she feels the loneliness too, whether she might secretly be as grateful for his companionship tonight as he is for hers. But that is a dangerous line of thinking, and he stops himself just as soon as he's begun, grounding himself again in the physical and allowing all reason to be lost. Cameron reaches her climax a few moments later, raking her nails over his back. Chase presses his nose into her neck, groaning against her skin as he comes.
For a long time there is silence in the room, punctuated only by the soft pattering of snow against the windows. The wind has picked up again outside, howling forlornly, and Chase feels an unexpected stab of sadness with the realization that he will be expected to leave soon. But Cameron is endlessly unpredictable, and she catches his arm when he moves to sit up at last.
"Wait," she says, her voice sounding especially hushed in the darkness of the room.
"What?" asks Chase, not daring make any assumptions for fear of changing her mind before she's even had the chance to disclose her thoughts.
"Stay here."
Chase swallows, feeling his heart jump precipitously. A fresh wave of adrenaline washes over him, unlike any he's felt in a very long time. He wants this, he realizes, this undefined sense of welcome into the most intimate spaces of her life. And though that insight sets off a chorus of alarm bells at the back of his mind, he is habitually bad at resisting temptation.
"You mean—here, here?" he asks at last, half expecting her to banish him to the couch.
"It's cold," Cameron answers simply. She pauses for a moment, then turns over onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to watch him in the dark. "You were alone tonight. No plans?"
Chase shrugs, tensing. He feels at once a longing to tell her truth, and a terrible trepidation at the very thought of her learning the reality of his life. "Can't exactly fly home to Australia for a long weekend," he says evasively.
"Oh." Cameron's brow furrows, as though she might actually have forgotten this very basic fact about him. "I guess not. But—no parties this year? Nothing?"
"We worked late," he answers, toying with the idea of telling her about the service he's attended, but deciding that would be unwise. "What about you? You're alone too. You didn't have any plans either?"
Cameron bites her lip, looking strangely vulnerable. "I was going to fly home. But—we worked late, like you said. And there's a blizzard in Chicago."
Chase nods, mentally filing away this bit of information about her. He feels a surprising deep sympathy for her, overpowering the familiar bitterness at other people's ease with these things he does not have. Silently, he slips an arm around her shoulders, holding his breath. This time, Cameron doesn't push him away.
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