Hey guys- this is a continuation of yesterdays episode. Rated M for a reason!
"I just don't want to end up like the other blokes." Fletch revealed, flapping his hands to his sides, frustrated.
"Other blokes? What are you talking about?" She questions him, clearly somewhere between confused and annoyed.
"You shut yourself off, right, you get to a point where you don't want to be involved anymore!" Fletch gave in to his emotions and raised his voice, but he didn't miss her flinching as he brought his arms up again.
"What, did Chloe tell you that?" Ange asked incredulously, placing her hands on her hips and watching on as he struggled for a reply, before she realised.
"Evan? You're taking relationship advice, about me, from Evan?" If she hadn't been angry before, she certainly was now. She turned away to look at the wall, hiding her face.
"Yeah, but I shouldn't have to. It's true, though. I mean, you don't talk to me about your past, you don't talk to me about your family. Do you know what, I don't actually know all that much about you!" He shouted, waving his hands in frustration again.
"Well, why does that matter?" Ange spun around to face him, her eyes fiery.
"It just does!"
"So what are you entitled to know then, Fletch? Just so we're clear?" She demanded, her voice shaking with anger. He had never seen her like this; he'd seen her upset, protective, and angry even, but this was different. This was a scared sort of anger, a front put up because she was afraid. He didn't know if it was a fear of letting people in, or telling people about herself, but she had become frighteningly upset very quickly.
"Honestly? I'd love to be able to take this from the top, where I'm not on the defensive and you're not on the warpath." His words hung in the tense air and slowly seemed to resonate with her. After a few moments, she nodded apologetically.
"You know what? You're right. We can't have this conversation right now. I'm upset and you're angry. Do you want to come over to mine after work?" She asked, her voice shaky but calm.
"And then you talk to me? About yourself?" Fletch reached out and rested a hand on her arm gently and she nodded in confirmation.
"And then I talk to you about myself."
—
When the doorbell rung later that night, Ange had to actively will herself not to run upstairs and hide like a child. Her breathing was shallower than it should be and her legs wouldn't stop shaking, but other than that she was fine. Really, she was. As she walked up her hallway and unlatched the door, she noticed many things about her house that she hadn't before. That the air freshener actually made a noise, and that she should probably start dusting things if she's going to have company.
"Hey." She said, giving him a wane smile and opening the door further.
"Evening. You have a nice house." Fletch commented as he stepped inside, rubbing his shoes on the mat.
"Thanks." She replied, but before she could offer him a cup of tea he interrupted.
"Ange, I really didn't mean to attack you like that earlier and I'm sorry if it came off that way." He had obviously needed to get this off his shoulders all day, and she smiled gratefully.
"And I'm sorry for not telling you anything. That hasn't been fair to you. Why don't you talk first? Be honest with me, completely honest. How are you feeling?" She asked, showing him into the living room and joining him on the sofa. He sensed that she was trying to avoid talking about herself again but he humoured her.
"Okay, here goes. I kind of feel like we should be further along in this whole relationship thing." He didn't make eye contact while he said this, instead choosing to rub his hands on his knees and examine the thread on his jeans.
"Regarding?" Ange cocked her head to the side, knowing instantly what he meant.
"Regarding knowing basic details about each other's pasts." He said slowly, and Ange raised an eyebrow. He scoffed at this, the expression on her face almost egging him on.
"You can say it." She smiled at him and his awkwardness. He obviously didn't want to make her feel bad, which she appreciated.
"And other things." He said finally.
"Okay. I understand that." Ange nodded, taking a deep breath before continuing.
"I haven't been in many serious relationships. We're talking two, maybe three. So I think I struggle to find appropriate boundaries for myself, and I seem to have misjudged them here." She explained, and he was a little surprised- the wasn't what he had expected.
"I get it." He nodded in response.
"I'm not actually in touch with my family at the moment. I think Chloe still speaks to my mother occasionally and I'm trying to contact one of my sisters, but I haven't seen the rest of them in about twenty years, now." He watches her closely as she goes on, notices how she flicks her eyes upwards when she's trying not to show emotion.
"Right."
"I was born in the Pollokshields, in Glasgow. I had four sisters and two brothers, I was the oldest. It was a- complicated family situation, to say the least, and it only got worse as I grew up. We were working class, poor, even. We were, or they were, I suppose, very religious catholics."
"Ah." Fletch articulates, putting two and two together.
"Ah indeed. I didn't actually find out about Dominic until I was five months along, and by then it was too late to do anything about it. My family wanted nothing to do with me. I thought they would be different once he was born, but they weren't. I had no support. It wasn't right for me to raise a baby in that kind of environment- where his own family despised his existence. So I gave him away." Ange said simply, when in fact the situation had been anything but simple. It had been messy and heartbreaking, and it still was.
"How old were you?" Fletch asked quietly.
"Fourteen." She said, and he ran a hand through his hair.
"And if my family didn't hate me enough, a few years later it got even worse." Ange's eyes travelled to somewhere on the wall behind Fletch's head, resting on a spider that was slowly descending from her bookcase.
"Chloe?" Fletch guessed and Ange nodded, before taking a deep breath.
"I was sixteen. I made an allegation about one of my father's friends, and at that point, they completely turned their backs on me. I had brought shame on them." Her voice cracked in the last sentence, making Fletch look up at her.
"An allegation?" He questioned further.
"He raped me, Fletch. In my childhood bedroom. And no, I don't want to talk about it. But that's why it takes me a bit longer than most other women, you know?" Ange glanced down to the floor, brushing her eyes quickly with the sleeve of her pink jumper.
"Yeah, yeah, of course. Ange, I'm so sorry, I've been so insensitive." Fletch brushed his floppy hair back from his forehead, embarrassed. He had tried to make an advance on her when she clearly hadn't been comfortable, and he felt awful.
"It's fine, you weren't to know." She insisted quietly.
"No, but I should have asked questions last week, when you left so suddenly." Fletch reminded her of the week before when they had retreated back to Fletch's house after dinner. She had had a nice evening and she had been enjoying the night too, until she started overthinking things. She had frozen and left quickly, before he could ask too many questions.
"Seriously, Fletch, it's okay. It's been almost thirty years, I am alright. It just takes a little more reassurance. Underneath this whole superwoman- batman, even- thing I have going on, I'm really scared." Ange presser her lips together in a faint smile. Everything was out in the open now. There was nowhere she could hide.
"Of me?" Fletch asked, his voice suddenly vulnerable.
"No. Not of you, never of you. It's just," Ange paused and gathered her thoughts, not wanting to come across the wrong way.
"Hey, it's okay. Take as long as you need." Fletch rubbed her arm gently with his hand.
"I'm just worried that if we start, doing something, and at any point I want to stop, I won't be able to tell you. It's happened before, with other men. We get halfway through and I get overwhelmed and upset and I just freeze. They were all decent blokes, they would have stopped if I asked them to, but I wasn't able to ask. I wasn't able to say no." Ange finished, wincing at her own words.
"Angel. I would never, ever want to do anything to make you uncomfortable, or that you weren't a hundred percent enthusiastic about. What if, when the time is right, we have some sort of mutual agreement? I'll keep checking in with you, and if I don't get full reassurance each time, we stop straight away?" Fletch suggested.
"It's embarrassing, Fletch. I'm a grown woman."
"I don't find it embarrassing. It's just sex, right? It's different for everyone." Fletch said placatingly and Ange snorted with laughter in response.
"Angel Godard, are you embarrassed about sex talk?" Fletch stood up from the sofa with his hands on his hips, smiling cheekily down at her.
"No, no! It's just, you..." Her voice trailed off.
"I, what?"
"I like you, Adrian Fletcher. I like you a lot." She extended a hand for him to take, rising off of the sofa and joining him in a dance-like embrace. He placed his hands on her waist gently and their lips met in the air, slow kisses quickly turning more frantic as they walked backwards until Ange's back hit the wall.
This is a new thing to him, the way Ange's skin looks, flushed in the low light of the living room lamp and the dark red walls. With Jac, sex had always had an objective- she needed a release, they had mutual anger, but never like this. This was passionate but calm, needy but gentle. There was no purpose to this, just a desire to make each other feel good. Fletch had never truly appreciated how soft she was, how he could fit his hands so well in her curves, how gentle and loving and slow she could be.
He realised quickly that she's quite vocal, letting out a gasp as his hands travelled to rest behind her. Her quiet moans are quickly shushed by his mouth, swallowed by his own breathlessness.
"Is this okay?" He asks as his hands graze the fabric of her jumper, starting to climb their way up but hesitating.
"Yes." As soon as she confirms, he pulls her top up and over her head in one swift motion, leaving her in her bra and leggings. She pulled him closer by his shirt, and he only then realised their height difference. She had to crane up to kiss him again, looping a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him closer. Meanwhile, her other hand worked on the buttons of his shirt, pushing it aside and finally drawing back, panting a little and looking him up and down.
"Do you want to-"
"Upstairs?"
They both started speaking at the same time and stopped, laughing at each other. Ange took him by the hand and led him up the stairs, careful not to trip on the piles of laundry she had forgotten to put away.
Once they were in her bedroom, Fletch didn't turn the light on. He just guided Ange to the bed by feel, pulling his own trousers off as they go and he could feel that Ange was doing the same. Once they're both on the bed, he switches on the bedside lamp, a dim glow in an ocean of darkness.
"Are you okay?" He asks, his hand pausing at her hips, not quite under her waistband.
"Yes, yes, please."
"Please what?" He questions patronisingly and she rolls her eyes but obliges.
"Please touch me, Fletch, please." She lets out a breathy moan that he just can't resist, finally slipping her underwear off and pressing wet kisses to her collarbone.
Ange winces at first, a little, but she seems to adjust quickly, before he's pushing in a little harder and faster, thrusts juddering as her thighs shake and tremble, and he's with Ange, so it's perfect, because it's Ange.
"Stop, stop."
"Are you okay?" He pulls back, one hand on her forearm and the other on her shoulder, helping her to sit up against the headboard.
"Hang on." She mutters, placing a hand on her chest and feeling her racing heartbeat start to slow. He watches on in confusion, unsure of whether to step in or not, but she meets his eyes again quickly.
Suddenly, Ange is in his lap, her hands on the back of his head, in control but still vulnerable. Ange is demanding, grabby, but he turns her over easily, settling on his elbows and knees above her. He slides a hand down her body, reaching where she needs him most and pressing gently, just to hear her groan for him.
The first flick of his tongue gets a muffled yelp, but the noises of surprise soon mellow in to honey-sweet moans, slow and thick.
Ange is writhing, moaning, hands clawing at the sheets with how good it is, and all Fletch can think is this is how it's supposed to feel.
When he presses in, Ange's deep groan is far more welcome than the wince of before, the way she rolls her hips slowly, like she's loving every second of the stretch – this is how it's supposed to feel, Fletch thinks, again – and every motion feels like they're locked in amber, time going slow and steady around them, nothing but the feel of the two of them and their shared breaths. The way Ange has a hand on herself like she'll die if she doesn't come soon, the way the world seems to have frozen to allow them this moment together. Ange looks at him like he's hung the moon, like there's nothing she wouldn't give up to him in this moment. God, she's so sweet beneath him, quiet and rapturous, head thrown back and back arched like there's nothing she wants more than to get him deeper and closer.
—
In the morning, Ange cries and shakes, and Fletch hovers, wonders if he's unwelcome, before Ange drags him close and wraps him up in a hold so tight it feels like she never wants to let go.
Time seems to stop again, Ange quietening in his arms, his hand on soft hair, stroking like it's going to do any good. If he could take all this pain into himself and stop Ange from feeling it, he would do it in a heartbeat. Fletch thinks that, maybe, this is what it's meant to feel like when you're in love with someone.