Title: Peer Pressure
Summary: Fourth installment in the WHW series. A Trory, of course. And, you know a billion other pairings.
Rating: M--NOTE RATING CHANGE! There was a need to delve into the Trory-lovin'. Steamy, not raunchy, but if you can't handle, don't read…
"I told her you're eighteen," Jasper yelled into Ambrose's ear. "You're golden," he handed him his third beer and indicated the girl that had been staring at him since they got to the party.
He didn't need telling twice. The girl had been giving him the eye since he took his first drink of beer that evening, and she seemed to be friendly with the girl that Jasper had come with. He and Jake had shown up with Greyson, who seemed to know everyone in the place. Jasper moved to dance with the blonde girl that hadn't seemed to have lost him in the crowd yet, so Ambrose followed suit to move to the girl.
"She really believes he's eighteen?" Jake asked Grey.
Grey shrugged. "Does it matter?"
He shrugged. "It just seems fake."
"Fake is a relative state of mind," Grey smirked. "None of these girls are looking for anything past the next two drinks—the next four hours max."
"Then what's the point?" Jake half yelled over the crowd.
"To drink and be merry," Grey laughed, pushing him out to the crowd so he could mingle.
XXXX
Ella sat down, touching the hair just above the tie of the blindfold Pax had insisted on her wearing. She'd been in and out of cars, up and down stairs, and she had no idea where she was at this point. She just knew she didn't want the stupid blindfold to mess up her hair any further.
"How much longer?"
"You can take it off," he said finally, taking a seat across from her. She untied the cloth, letting it fall into her lap and looked around her. He was fastening a seat belt across his lap.
"We're on a plane."
"A jet, actually," he agreed.
"Why are we on a jet?"
"You know a faster way to get to Maine by dinner?" he asked.
"Teleporter?" she teased.
"It's in the shop," he conceded. He shook his head as she let out an exasperated giggle and moved to secure her own lap belt. She hadn't said much since they'd seen Jasper in the coffee shop. They'd disappeared into a darkened theater to see a showing of The Maltese Falcon at the arty place just off campus, and he'd followed her around a bookstore afterward—looking for more unrequired reading for her classes. At long last he'd dropped her off to get ready, reminding her not to be late to pick him up.
"So, Maine?"
He nodded. "Been there before?"
"By car," she nodded. "You have some sort of summer home there?"
"We do, actually," he nodded. "But that's not where we're going."
"I won't bother to ask. I know how you boys love to keep a secret," she smiled.
"We just like to keep girls as mystified as we are," he raised an eyebrow as the jet engines roared up and they began to roll backward.
"What about me mystifies you?"
"You really want to know?"
"I'm not guaranteeing an answer—I have my shroud to protect," she joked.
He nodded and looked down at his lap for a moment before cocking his head just upturned enough to see her face. "Are you upset about Jasper?"
She bit her lip, knowing that she had no good answer for his question and no coy way to divert his attention in the confines of the jet. "How can I be?"
"It's human nature," he shrugged.
"Well, I told him just like I told you, that I'm not looking for anything serious right now. And his seeing other people just ensures that this won't get serious, right?"
Pax nodded. "I guess that's one way to look at it."
"Exactly," she frowned. "I mean, I'm sure you're seeing other people too," she added.
"You want to talk about that?" he sounded a bit freaked out.
"No," she said hurriedly. "I was just saying."
"Good, because right now I'd like us to just forget about everything except you and me and lobster," he confessed.
"I can do that," she smiled as the plane leveled out, reaching its maximum altitude for the short flight.
XXXX
Anna had been watching every movement Will had made since they left the therapist's office. She didn't know if they were supposed to discuss what they thought of session or just do as the doctor had said. Before, when she went through her therapy, she would discuss it with Will—the parts she was comfortable with, the parts she thought were crazy—but now….
"Did you want some dessert?" he asked from his seat on the couch, covering her ankles with his palm.
She shook her head. "I'm fine. You?"
"I'm good," he arched his back a bit to stretch it out. "I have a little bit of homework to do, do you mind if I head into the den?"
"Why would I mind?" she asked.
He raised his eyebrows.
"Will, can I ask you something?"
"I thought that was what we were supposed to be doing," he looked slightly alarmed.
"It is, it's just, do you think this is necessary? I mean, I can't pretend that I don't know that you're allergic to walnuts and hate it when people eat their pizza backward, and that the little noise you make when I kiss you means that you're happy," she began.
"I know, but the doctor said," he began.
"She's a doctor, not a deity," she rolled her eyes.
"Isn't it worth trying? I mean, she's right, we can't know everything about each other."
"Oh, really?" she contested.
"Really," he rubbed her foot a little as she crossed her arms.
"Prove it."
"How?"
"I don't know—we could do one of those self-trivia tests, like on Friends," she suggested flippantly.
"And just who do you think would be making up that very scary test?" he prodded.
"I don't know, Dave?"
Will looked at her, seeing the glint of excitement and competition in her eyes. "You think that Dave doesn't know things about me that you don't know and vice versa?"
"I'm feeling pretty confident," she nodded. "I mean, you and I were just as close as you and Dave were!"
"Don't think I won't call him right now."
"I am perfectly aware of how much you like a challenge," she smirked.
Will smirked. "I'm not so easily goaded," he settled back against the couch cushions.
She ran her foot up and down his thigh. "You're a tough cookie to crack, huh?" she asked.
He raised an eyebrow at her again and shifted in his seat as she drew her legs up toward her and sat up on her knees. By the time she'd covered his torso with hers, slowly climbing over his lap, he was attempting to steady his breath as she looked down at him.
"You know what you're getting yourself into?" he asked.
"I think I can handle it," she nodded as she leaned down to brush her lips across his earlobe.
He gripped the arm of the couch as she teased the skin of his neck. He pivoted his pelvis upward, moving her up into the air as he wrapped his hands up into her hair. They kissed at last, keeping up the heated back and forth of their earlier disagreement until he finally reached his breaking point.
"Fine," he breathed hard. "But you call him."
She smiled, showing she was pleased with her success. "If that's what you want."
He groaned as she moved off his lap, in search of the phone. "I'll just go out on the balcony, so I don't disturb your studying—you like quiet, right?"
His head fell back against the couch as she left him, frustrated and defeated.
XXXX
Jess was yet again grabbing his keys and wallet off the hall table, off in search of vegetarian 'chicken' nuggets and coleslaw. Gwen was holed up with the pregnancy book and the pita chips that she'd recently found at the local market. Her nausea was a bit better than last night, but he'd left the kitchen trashcan by the bed just in case.
He reached for the door handle and opened it just wide enough to see his daughter melded against the very boy he'd okayed himself just the night before. A move he was seriously rethinking as he caught sight of his daughter's mouth being opened by said boy, and his hands as they snaked around….
Jess cleared his throat and they jumped apart. He couldn't help but smirk.
"Dad!"
"Time to say goodnight," he cleared his throat again.
Jules looked at Court, a bit too longingly for his taste. "Verbally," he added.
"I'll call you later," she promised.
"Tomorrow," Jess amended.
"Tomorrow," she pouted a bit as Court nodded and said goodnight to first Jules, then Jess. Jess just glared a bit and kept the door open for his daughter to reenter the apartment. When she sat down on the arm of the sofa, she looked at him as he crossed his arms in wait.
"I can't believe you just did that!"
"I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to open my front door?"
"You were spying," she accused.
"I was on my way to the store."
"Again? At this hour?"
"So?"
"What is it with you? Is Gwen still sick?"
"Sort of," he shrugged.
"If she's sick, why are you getting food all the time? You hate making multiple trips to the store, you always tell us if we want something to get it on the list or forget about it," she frowned.
"Don't think you're going to distract me from the near-fatal heart attack I just suffered," he pointed to the door.
"What, like you were never a teenager?" she rolled her eyes.
"We're not talking about me," he held up his hand.
"I mean, you and Gwen are way worse than that," she pointed out.
"Again, this is my house," he pointed out.
"It's my house too," she shot back.
"Jules, you are my teenage daughter—I'm never going to be thrilled about seeing some guy doing that to you," he shuddered as he uttered the word 'that.'
"Dad," she eyed him in his disheveled state.
"Yeah?" he sighed.
"Is there something going on that you aren't telling me?"
Jess stepped forward to his daughter and put his arm around her. "Actually, your mom and grandpa Jimmy are coming for a surprise inspection," he informed her.
"When?" she asked.
"Monday."
"Why is Mom coming?"
Jess rubbed the back of his neck. "I think it stems from your brother's lovely speech about Gwen."
"Is Gwen really okay?"
"She's fine," he promised. "Come on, let's go to bed."
"Weren't you on your way out?" she asked cautiously.
"Oh, shit, er, thanks," he kissed her forehead and moved for the door. "And if you must call your boyfriend, keep it short?"
She nodded and smiled. "I promise."
He shook his head and left the apartment yet again.
XXXX
Tristan closed the door to the hotel room, and he could already hear his wife drawing a bubble bath in the large Jacuzzi tub that their room sported. She was on the verge of a meltdown—he was surer of that than he'd ever been. He'd seen her in every situation in life, but after searching for homes that she didn't want to move into all day, and waiting for other people's schedules to permit her to eat she was in no mood to do anything but unfurl her tight muscles in the midst of a hot bath.
He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, an idea of how best to help her acclimate to her surroundings starting to culminate in his head. He remembered being frustrated when he first arrived in the South—not only at his family and his strict school, but the odd culture shock. He'd welcomed it after he got used to it; it was almost as if everyone treated you like family. Or at least more like what he thought normal families treated each other like. Learning to take things slow was a major lesson for him, and he realized, one his wife probably thought she'd learned, yet never had.
"Hey," he leaned in the door as she had began disrobe and turn the water off. She turned too look at him, weariness taking over her eyes. His sparkled at the challenge of returning the shine that would bounce back at him.
"You want to give the kids a call, see how they're doing? I'll just be a few minutes."
"The kids are fine," he said with a slow ease.
She turned her head slowly to look at him, through the foggy haze and foamy bubbles that she'd just sank her body down into.
"I called while you went to the restroom that last time," he smiled. "And I think you'll be more than a few minutes."
"Tristan, I just want to relax and go to sleep. I've not forgotten how to live by a schedule, despite the fact that evidently some people never learned."
He slid his shirt the rest of the way off and loosened his belt. "Did it ever occur to you what it might be like to not be able to make a schedule, just for one day?"
"I'm really not in the mood for your mocking of my way of life," she closed her eyes, as if she could tune him out.
"You seem very set against letting go and just taking time to enjoy simple things," he continued in his even, soothing tone. "Like tonight, at the restaurant, did you even taste your food? Did you notice the smell of gardenias through the open windows? Feel the soft breeze as it caressed your skin, blowing your hair around the nape of your neck?"
Her mouth parted slightly, as somehow a shiver found its way down her ultra-heated spine. "I know how to relax," she managed.
"You know many things, my dear," he said, moving to step into the water, which caused her to sit up slightly, the bubbles just barely covering her breasts. "But there are still some things at which you have yet to excel."
She shimmied down into the water under the control of his hands as he wrapped them around her thighs and pulled her up into his lap. "I'm trying," her eyes closed as he took his warm hand, and the bubbles that clung to it, down her cheek and neck, before slowing drifting down her chest and disappearing again below the water line.
"Let me show you what it feels like to go slow," he nuzzled his nose into her moist neck, moving aside the wisps of hair that were adhered by the bathwater.
Her head fell forward as his hand continued along her body, slowing in excruciatingly pleasure-filled areas, but never stopping long enough provide instant gratification. The water caused her to slide over his lap—his legs providing no real stability as she brushed over his arousal. It was left to her, her hands grabbing hold of his shoulders to root herself in place, aching to find enough friction to take the edge off of the building feeling he was stirring up, using only his lips and the lightest of touch with his fingertips along her spine.
He smiled into her skin as he could feel her working up a slow rhythm against him in the water, knowing she was ready for more. He'd never been one to deny her, but when he lifted her at the waist to break the hypnotic dance she was beginning, she didn't protest. All he heard was her breath catching in her throat as he continued to lift her up out of the water. He'd turned off the air conditioning and opened all the windows to the room before joining her, so even though the air was muggy and warm, it was still much cooler than the bathwater he'd just emerged her out of. She clung to him, to his warmth, as he carried her dripping wet body out into the bedroom and laid her out on top of the bedspread.
"That first night you spent the night in my bed, next to me, did you know I had to get up and turn the heat off?"
Her eyes were trained on his at the husky sound of his voice. "Why?"
"It was unbearable, having you pressed into me, not being able to really touch you for fear of pushing things too fast. All night, my hands hovered over the places I wanted to touch you, caress you—but I knew once we got going it'd be more like spontaneous combustion. Just laying next to you was like being in a generator," he swallowed.
"I didn't know," she breathed, reaching up for his hand, but he took her hands in his and rested them up over her head.
"Yes, you did, you just didn't want to think about it," he smiled softly, remembering the good girl his wife had been in her younger years. "Think back to that time, do you remember the difference in the time we spent up north versus down here?"
She closed her eyes, seeing their first kiss, their first time, all her frustrated attempts at picturing him being in the room with her as his voice spoke over the phone. His voice so soothing, so exciting at the same time. Her hands were constantly one step ahead of him—used to a much quicker pace. But the time they spent in North Carolina back in those days were filled with longing looks, first, most excruciatingly long touches, learning each other's bodies.
"What do you remember?"
"I remember when you lit that candle," she smiled at the memory. "And you wouldn't let me touch you until it snuffed itself out—but you touched me. You undressed me," her eyes flickered just as that candle had years before. "You touched every last inch of me," she admitted. "For weeks afterward, not a moment went by that I couldn't feel you touching me. I nearly failed that philosophy course."
His stomach tightened with desire. "Tonight you get your payback," he promised, leaving her looking after him as he moved to the mantle over the fireplace. He took the lighter and lit the single candle, bringing it over to the bedside table to set it down. He lay next to his wife, upturned on his side to look at every last curve. "Take your time."
"Tristan, I can't," she moved up to face him, nearly looking embarrassed at the notion.
"Forget what you know," he urged. "Just play."
"Play?" she queried. "With you?"
He just smiled in the candlelight, and she made her first experimental grazes over his skin. "Anywhere I want?" she danced her fingers over his stomach, down around the sides of his body—where she knew he was most ticklish.
"As long as you make it last," he reminded her of the only rule.
And so she did—using her nails, her fingertips, her mouth, tongue, and teeth—she experimented once again with pressures, textures, movements, and speeds. He kept his word not to touch her, save for brushing against her unconsciously in sheer want. Hours later, when the candle began to wane and flicker out the last bursts of flame, he could practically feel their bodies humming at the same pitch.
He understood what had left her in such a state of distraction back then—he could feel his body anew, as if she'd taken him apart and reconstructed him. He could feel her tongue massaging the muscles of his stomach, her nails ungluing him as they raked over his legs, the unavoidable shiver that he gave as her body slid up his. He began to wonder if he could handle much more, in awe that she'd been able to have this level of restraint so many years ago, when the flame finally died out in a soft amber glow and faded to leave them in the near darkness of their room.
"Do you want to touch me?" she asked, her voice sounding almost foreign and unnecessary after all this time of another form of communication between them.
He didn't answer her; he simply reached out for her, pressing her fully against him. His hands ran up her sides, using too much pressure to cause her to giggle—he wanted her to know the gravity of the situation. She arched into him, with a languid agility that he'd never felt from her. He knew she wasn't teasing him any longer, it was just that she'd finally found the inner pace of aching. He groaned as she wrapped one leg around his torso, allowing him to flip her onto her back with ease. He played catch-up in true form, pressing his open lips into the whitest of her skin, places forgotten by quickness and left untouched for the sake of time. He swirled his tongue, moving down her body, leaving her nearly steaming body shaking underneath him.
And when he finally joined her, angling up and rocking slowly, she cried out with relief. Her chin pressed into his shoulder as he held her close to him, her ankles dug into his low back. He released her, her hair splaying out over the pillow like a halo, her eyes unfocused but truly seeing him as he did all the things she'd asked him to do in the past few hours. He leaned down to kiss her, ready to seek his own pleasure, swallowing her cries as she found hers.
He rested on top of her, her ragged breath falling across the tips of his hair, pressing his palms under her back. He hoped her mind wasn't racing with things like needing to let the water out of the bathtub or needing the sheets changed since they'd basically soaked them first with suds and now sex. He brushed his lips over the skin he was leaving uncovered to look up at her. Her eyelids were closed, her mouth partially open as her breath steadily returned to normal. She was asleep, completely without worry. He touched his lips to hers and lay back down, using her body as his place of rest for the night.
XXXX
Ambrose nearly hung between Jasper and Greyson as they kicked open the door to the girls' suite. Rosa came bursting out of her room to see what all the noise was about. She gasped when she saw Jake come stumbling back into the room after them, laughing and calling out to his friend to shake it off.
"Where did you take them?" she asked her brother.
"A party, relax," he ignored her concern.
"A party? Grey, they're too young to go to any party you'd frequent," she moved to push the boys off of Ambrose and check his pulse. "Is he breathing?"
"He had a lot of beer," Jasper said. "He just needs a good rest. It's a depressant, you know."
"I know, that's why I was checking his vitals," Rosa rolled her eyes. "What about you?" she turned to the suddenly smiley Jake.
"Oh, I'm good. I had beer and danced with Heather," he smiled.
"And Linda," Grey reminded.
"Oooh, Linda," Jake smiled. "I love college girls."
"How wonderful to hear," Rosa shook her head. "I'm sure your sister would be kicking herself to miss such a proclamation. You two can leave," she instructed.
"We deliver the boys safe and sound, and we don't even get a reward?" Grey looked upset.
"I should make you be on vomit patrol with him," she pointed to Ambrose, who moaned and curled up in a ball, "But I think his parents would like him returned alive."
"He didn't have that much, like eight beers."
"He likes beer," Jake announced.
"Okay, tell you what, you get Mr. Chatty to bed in Ella's room—stay out of her underwear drawer," she frowned at Jasper, whom she could tell was plenty imbibed enough to start getting frisky in the room of a girl he was dating—or any other girl, for that matter. "I'll get him feeling better," she hooked Ambrose's arm around her shoulders and heaved him up—eliciting a groan from each of them.
"Wanna sleep," he moaned in baritone.
"I know," she soothed. "Ooh, hey, can you just support a little of your own weight?" she coaxed, and he used her shoulders to pull himself upright.
"Sorry," he looked down to her.
"It's okay, just talk to me, okay?"
"'Kay. 'Bout what?"
"What did you guys do tonight?"
"Party. Beer. Girls," he frowned. "Too much beer."
"Is that all you had, beer?"
He shook his head. "I had a Jack and Coke first," he said as she dragged him in the bathroom, trying her best to kneel him in front of the toilet. "I don't have to go," he said.
"No, but you'll need to hurl in about five seconds, from what you just told me," she patted his back soothingly. "You think we have time to get your shirt off?" she asked.
He nodded and held his hands over his head so she could slip his t-shirt up over his head and off his body. She tossed it into the main room as he lurched forward and vomited into the toilet. She got a cool washcloth ready and wiped his face off after he sat up again. His eyes took their time in focusing on her face and she smiled as she saw his drunkenness turn to introspection quickly.
"You're beautiful."
She did her best not to smile. "Thank you," she nodded. "You feeling like moving or should we just wait for a minute?"
"You had a date tonight, didn't you?" he asked, sounding quite dejected.
"You're probably good for now, but we'll get a trashcan next to your couch," she said, trying to duck her head under his arm to brace him.
"You have dates 'cause you're pretty."
"Come on, try to stand."
"I just want you to give me a shot," he said, completely ignoring her.
"If I promise to let you take me out for breakfast, assuming you can even stand to be in a room with anything edible in the morning, will you help me and try to stand up?"
He nodded, braced his other hand on the toilet rim and pushed his body up next to hers. They made their way slowly to the couch, and she dragged a trashcan, the bottle of aspirin, and a big bottle of water near him. She covered him up with a blanket and checked to see if he was passed out or still awake. His eyes were half closed, and his breathing was growing deep. She felt his forehead, then his pulse on his neck before shaking her head and watching him for a moment.
XXXX
"You like that girl?" Jake asked loudly, as Jasper opened Ella's drawers in search of the jackpot. Grey was reclining on her bed, considering the stuffed animal she had by her pillow.
"What girl?" Jasper asked as he held up a lacy black bra.
"The blonde," Jake said as he winced at the sight of what Jasper had found.
"Does she actually wear this, like, under regular clothes? The very thought drives me mad," he inspected the clasp.
"I told her you'd do shit like that," he half slurred.
"Your sister doesn't care," he said, rifling now through until he found a thong. "Oh, sweet Jesus," he whimpered.
"She always played this crap in high school, but you know what she's never had? Guys that give her back what she puts out."
"She puts out?" Grey asked, evidently only hearing bits of the conversation.
"The blonde was inconsequential," Jasper said, putting the delicates back in their drawer. "Not because I owe anything to Ella, but because that is how life works. You do not choose whom you fall in love with," he let on. "But a man doesn't have to be in love when he is in the need of company."
"I love it when you get philosophical," Grey smirked, tossing the plush toy back on the made bed.
"You're in love with Ella?" Jake asked, nearly awed by the thought.
"Be sure to drink about a liter of water before you fall asleep," Jasper said with earned authority.
And with that, they left the room, out to see Rosa as she sat on the coffee table, watching Ambrose sleep. She cast them a look of disapproval, to which her brother shrugged his shoulders.
"You girls told us to make sure they had a good time. Mission accomplished."
"Just be glad Ella isn't coming home any time soon," she warned.
"How do you know?" Jas asked, trying to sound as if he didn't care.
Rosa looked up at him. "Oh, well, she called a while ago, something about the jet not being cleared to take off. She'll be back in the morning."
Jasper nodded silently and walked out the door behind Greyson.
XXXX
"We can get a hotel room," Pax reminded her. "There are lots of nice ones, right near here," he said for the fifth time.
"Really? Cause I didn't hear you the first twenty times," Ella teased, looking at him blankly in efforts to play dumb.
He tossed sand up at her with his hand, causing her to roll away from him on her side, giggling. He rolled up, pressing his body into her back, reaching for her arm to turn her back to face him. She let out a defiant squeal and wriggled, doing her best to get out of his grip—succeeding only in tangling their limbs up even more. She gave a slight shiver as they fell silent and still, his body leaning over hers.
"Cold?"
"No," she shook her head, her eyes traveling down to his lips. "Pax," she seemed to breathe him in.
"Please don't tell me not to kiss you," he pleaded.
She just smiled and craned her neck upward to catch his lips against hers. He cradled her face in his hands, his palms soft against her jaw as she opened her mouth, insisting he do the same. He kept his weight up off of her, trying to keep the interaction on the hesitant side of passion. His ability to hold back lessened as he felt her heartbeat against his when he moved to shift his weight to one side. Soon she was cradled in his arms, the sand the perfect gritty contrast to her smooth skin. His curiosity unquenched, he kissed his way down to her neck, as she edged her fingers under the hem of his shirt.
"I told you sleeping on the beach would be fun," she whispered into his ear, her breath tickling the shell.
"I'll never doubt your word again," he breathed, thanking his good fortune for fog and her sense of adventure.