Well. I, uh — well. So, this happened. I do not know why my brain likes to go here, I really don't. But it does and it's insistent and would not leave me alone, so . . . well. I hope you guys enjoy it! As always, a huge thanks to lawand_disorder for her usual stellar beta job.
So . . . have some smut.
The Dangerous Illusion of Reality
As Karen Barber made her way to Christopher Dean's dressing room just after he and Jayne had finished their dress rehearsal for Power of Love, she absently realized that she was shaking.
And as she swiped an unsteady hand over her mouth, she wasn't nearly as surprised as she should be to realize she'd drooled a little, too.
Then again, she'd just watched her ex-boyfriend, the man she still desperately loved and wanted back, skate a sultry, heated number in a shimmering black shirt that made a striking contrast to his dark blonde hair and kept teasing her by caressing the sculpted upper arms that had always made her feel secure and safe.
He was also wearing Those Trousers.
Snug, black, glossy, and looking like they'd been molded directly to his tight, firm ass and the powerful muscles of his calves and thighs.
Oh, she was drooling again.
After wiping her mouth once more, she fished out the key Chris didn't know she still had to his dressing room and slipped inside, grateful that he'd left a lamp on so she didn't trip over that damned end table and break her toe again (the thing was footed with concrete; it had to be). She and Chris had been broken up — well, okay, he'd broken up with her — almost a year and she missed him desperately. She missed dating him, too. And while she'd known for years just how well-built he was, how good a shape he kept himself in, this was the first time in the history of DOI that he'd worn something so . . . so . . . revealing.
Clearly, he'd broken the restraint that kept him so damn modest on the show, which every woman — and more than a few men — in the studio appreciated beyond measure. There hadn't been that many people at a dress rehearsal since Jayne and Chris had been preparing their first skate for the pilot episode (not even for Chico's shirtless number, something that would have baffled Chris to no end had he known). Not that Karen could blame them, mind, annoying though it was. It was unseemly for people to gawk so openly at him, especially in front of her. Just because he'd ended things didn't mean he'd stopped loving her, in spite of his claims; it simply hadn't been good for the show. He was still hers.
It had taken some time for her to realize that, though; in fact, despite his (well, their) adamant denial, for the longest time, she'd bitterly assumed that he'd broken up with her so he and Jayne Torvill, who had gotten divorced around the same time, could get together. To the genuine surprise, thwarted hopes — and frustrated rage — of virtually everyone who knew them, they had done no such thing.
And people had been watching for it for years — decades, actually, long before Dancing on Ice was a gleam in anyone's eye. The expectation had been so strong that an official, albeit fan-run, 'Torvill and Dean Are In Love and/or Having Sex' Drinking Game™ had sprung to life shortly after the debut of Song of India, complete with a five-year calendar, a jumbo-sized box of little brown paper sacks to scream into when the player couldn't take the constant, unfulfilled suspense any longer, a double set of shot glasses, and a serious warning — in five languages — about the strong likelihood of alcohol poisoning (in a belatedly amusing — for everyone else — turn of events, the unofficial version had come into play a good four years earlier, but Mattel had chosen not to license it. It didn't take long for them to regret that decision.).
But the DOI staff wanted to do their own thing, so a separate book was opened exactly one week after training for the first series had commenced. However, despite both the rumors and the firm denials that had followed the couple for more than twenty years, the younger generations hadn't really understood all the implications behind them.
Thus, the official DOI betting pool had started with the genuine — and adorable — expectation of hitting the jackpot within the year, which people who'd known the pair since back in the day found utterly charming . . . and more than a little hilarious (this did not stop them from placing bets, mind; it was a living, breathing example of the triumph of hope over experience).
Instead, as time passed and The Event of the Century failed to happen (and failed, and failed, and failed, damn them. How did they NOT SEE IT?!), the new generation got to experience the agony the longtime fans had lived with as the absurdity of the situation hit 'really?!' somewhere around 2008, climbed to 'ridiculous' toward the end of the 2009 tour, and passed 'ludicrous' halfway through the 2011 season, with more than a few people surprised at Michael Zanezini's survival after That One Tour.
But then, for the next year or so, things mostly leveled out. The situation did not get less absurd, but neither did it keep ballooning to truly stupid proportions.
(well, actually, the established crew had simply (finally) adjusted to the idiocy, so it just took longer and . . . um, bigger . . . to get their attention. Which, given how many 'big' moments they'd suffered through so far, was — quite frankly, it was terrifying when anyone thought about it too long)
Curiously, this deeper understanding resulted in a new category in the book.
No, it was an actual category: How It Will Happen, with the options being:
one of them snapping after some sort of accident/frightening incident (Dan giving Jayne her first headbanger sprang immediately to mind, much to his chagrin).
Jayne going Neanderthal after someone flirted too seriously with Chris (there was considerable surprise that it wasn't the other way around, but the bookies pointed out that since Chris hadn't set Michael Zanezini on fire or declared his undying love/lust for Jayne after The Incident, it was highly unlikely to happen at this late stage. Damn it.).
at the end of an emotionally-laden live routine (the screams of anguished frustration after they danced In My Life echoed through the studio for a solid week and people still cried about it a little. How did they not see it?!).
OR
Chris would see Jayne walking somewhere and finally just shove her against the wall to snog her socks (and, presumably, other things) off.
Oddly, the last one was the most popular choice.
(For some reason, Karen was under the impression that the book had been canceled after she and Chris got together and her naiveté had cracked the entire studio up. No, it had simply gone underground, with the day left alone and the year being updated for existing bets, joined by a surprisingly steady stream of new bettors. The fact that she (and Jayne and Chris, actually) remained unaware of this was classed as a minor miracle, given how gossip-prone the studio was — and that was without adding the celebs to the mix.).
It should go without saying that this addition did very interesting things to the money pot (not to mention people's tolerance for strong alcohol). It also resulted in the pair being watched with a renewed intensity, one that hadn't been seen since they skated to Your Song in 2010.
Karen had definitely been one of those who was watching, trying desperately to understand why he had left a relationship that had been going so well and failing miserably because, as usual, the man kept everything internalized — but he didn't go to another woman. That, she was sure of. So while his decision to wear Those Trousers had come as a bit of a shock, it was coupled with her knowledge that he was single and had been since their breakup, and the combination had made her decide that she was going to stake her claim and get her man back. It was the last year for DOI, so it wouldn't hurt anything or cause problems for them to be a couple now, and there wasn't anyone who was better for him than she was.
And to be blunt, she was itching to peel him out of Those Trousers.
The sound of someone futzing with the door caught her attention and she turned, a seductive smile on her lips as she prepared to greet him and start the campaign of her life. But when she saw a small, feminine hand on the doorknob and realized who it belonged to, she blanched.
Why was Jayne here?
And where was Chris?
Not wanting to answer any of the inevitable questions about why she was in her ex's dressing room, Karen scuttled to the bathroom. She wasn't able to get the door closed before Jayne came in but she did manage to push it half-shut, which kept her presence a secret for the moment and also provided her with a mostly-clear view of the room, including a direct line of sight to the door. It took a few deep breaths to calm her heartrate while she watched in increasing puzzlement as the other woman closed the door firmly behind her, dropping to the chair at the desk and sighing in relief as she removed her skates and took her hair down.
At that, Karen frowned.
What was going on? Jayne's room was further down — and why was she still wearing her own black pleather trousers and that stupid-looking shirt?
Less than thirty seconds later, the answer to all of her questions strolled through the door.
And was promptly ambushed against it.
Karen's jaw actually dropped open when Jayne wrapped one hand behind her partner's neck and yanked his head down, kissing him so ferociously he mmphed in surprise even as he dropped his skates and caught her hips, matching and returning her passion, one hand sliding up her back to fist in her hair so he could hold her head still while he plundered her mouth. His other hand fell to her thigh, which he urged her to curve around his hip. She did so eagerly and they both moaned when he rocked against her, the sound astonishingly loud in the otherwise silent room.
Karen gasped in her absolute shock at what she was seeing, though she somehow managed to get her hand up in time to muffle it.
But . . . but . . . but they weren't together!
EVERYBODY knew that!
There was no way they could have hooked up without someone in this studio finding out about it. It literally was not possible. A drunk government official at an office Christmas party kept secrets better than the Dancing on Ice studio (sadly, this was a verified fact. The Prime Minister had not been impressed, and neither had Robin Cousins.).
"Hi," Chris purred as he finally drew back, only to gurgle when Jayne gave him an actual growl of frustrated arousal, took a single step back, and fell to her knees, opening his trousers as she did. Karen's second stunned gasp was covered by his moan when she tugged them down to his thighs and, with no preamble whatsoever, sucked his cock into her mouth.
"Jayne!" he choked out, his head hitting the door with a solid thunk while he helplessly arched his back and tangled his fingers in her hair. "I thought we . . . I thought — oh, pleasepleaseplease do that again," he begged, his voice hoarse as he looked down at the woman Karen suddenly hated more than anyone else on earth.
She obviously gave him what he wanted, because he moaned her name again and let himself relax against the door, his hips beginning to move in perfect time with her as she sucked and bobbed and licked, clearly enjoying the taste and feel of him. The sight of that long, slender cock sliding between her lips and the husky, uninhibited cries of enjoyment spilling from his throat seared through Karen like acid, because not once in the three years they'd been together had he let them have sex at the studio. He wouldn't even joke about it. Hell, he'd only let her kiss him a grand total of four times here — behind closed doors at that — but he was letting Jayne Sodding Torvill suck him off in the middle of the day?!
Jayne suddenly did something that felt very good, because Chris actually rose up on his toes in response, keening his appreciation, and now Karen hated the woman who had been one of her best friends until about three minutes ago even more, because seeing his joyous abandon as he gave himself completely over to her hurt so, so much. It was made all the worse not just because of how hot, how erotic, it was, watching them, but also because they looked so good — so natural — together. Jealousy surged up, hot and thick and mixed with another wave of arousal, while she watched them move, as seamlessly and in sync here as they were on the ice. Bitterness swelled up as well, because despite them being friends more than thirty years and dating for three, they'd never come close to achieving that kind of rhythm, that communion, no matter how much and how hard she'd tried.
And while Karen would admit she'd never particularly enjoyed giving blowjobs, it was also true that Chris rarely asked for them. Actually, neither of them had been much for any kind of oral sex and after the first two or so months, their sex life had settled very quickly into once-a-week predictability — nice, certainly, but completely lacking spontaneity. And even in those early days, it had never been what could be described as 'explosive'. She hadn't thought anything about it for the obvious reasons and had certainly never felt neglected or unsatisfied, but as she watched him moan and writhe and thrash under Jayne's hands and mouth, clearly loving it, Karen began to realize what she'd been deprived of.
Chris' deep, guttural groan pulled her back from her resentful understanding and she looked at the pair just in time to see him succumb to what looked like one hell of a climax, his face contorting with pleasure while his hips stuttered, and his choked-off "Aah!" echoed through the room, stunning her again because he wasn't a vocal lover. Jayne looked highly satisfied as she licked him clean before tugging his trousers back into place and resting her hands on his thighs, absently caressing them while she watched her partner, an unexpectedly tender smile curving her lips.
As he slumped against the door, panting hard and his eyes closed, Karen almost couldn't swallow, her throat was so dry. But her desire was overshadowed by another surge of resentment at the unwelcome realization that not once had Chris ever come that quickly or that hard for her. And then she watched, positively green with envy, as he took a deep breath and looked down, his face softening to a look of such utter adoration that it actually hurt to see, because it wasn't her he was looking at.
But the passion blazing in his eyes didn't abate in the slightest.
And when he drew Jayne to her feet, with her eager assistance, his expression shifted again to something almost . . . something almost predatory.
Karen swallowed, unaccountably nervous.
And even more unaccountably aroused.
"I thought we agreed no sex in the studio," he murmured, taking both of his partner's wrists in one hand and holding them firmly at her belly, his eyes gleaming with something that Karen couldn't identify, though it sent another rush of heat through her.
Jayne, however, gave him a dark, hot look and leaned back, letting him take her weight, which put her upper body on display, that ridiculous shirt molding tightly to her chest and belly and instantly drawing his attention to her small but well-formed breasts.
"What the hell did you expect?" she shot back, licking her lips. "Did you actually think I was going to let you wear those damn trousers and not fuck you stupid?"
His golden burst of laughter shocked Karen into a silent gasp; it was true that Chris had a dry sense of humor, but vulgar language wasn't something he indulged in, as a rule. And he liked hearing it even less than he said it.
So his clear delight at his partner's snippy statement was definitely not a trait Karen was overly-familiar with.
"Oh, I was planning on it," he replied, his delighted expression deepening to lust as he raked her with eyes that were actually smoldering before catching her gaze. She went very still and didn't move when he ran one finger slowly down her cheek, over her bottom lip, then her chin, her throat, between her breasts, down her stomach, circling her bellybutton, and then skimming back up the same path, tearing a soft moan from Jayne's throat.
Karen had to bite back a whimper at the sight, both from surprise and from another unexpected surge of arousal, because in all the years she'd known Chris, she'd never really thought of him as . . . well, as sexy. Wait, no, that wasn't it. He'd always been good-looking, though he'd definitely grown into his looks as he'd aged, and his intensity and his genius were frequently overwhelming in all the right ways. But off the ice, when he wasn't playing a part, she would never have called him 'commanding'.
She obviously hadn't been paying nearly enough attention.
"Were you?" Jayne asked when his hand fell to his side, arching her back a little more and smiling in clear triumph when his eyes once again went straight to her breasts.
"Oh, yes," he replied huskily, licking his lips and bending down to catch her left earlobe in his teeth, pulling another tiny moan from her. "At least three times. I have an itinerary."
Dammit, that should not have sent fireworks sparking through her blood.
Jayne, however, just raised her eyebrows.
"An itinerary?" she repeated, clearly amused. "Well, that explains the suitcase. Was one of them in the car?"
He chuckled in response before softly biting her chin. "Of course. How much self-control do you think I have?"
"Too damn much," she moaned, pressing against his mouth when he nuzzled the hollow of her throat. "But you can't have thought for a moment we'd wait until tomorrow," she added, moaning again when he hummed in agreement before sinking his teeth into her shoulder.
To his obvious surprise, she suddenly straightened and pulled her wrists free of his grip, burying her left hand in his hair to take his lips in a hard kiss. Satisfaction oozed from her when he submitted to her clear demand for control and let her ravish his mouth until neither of them could actually breathe.
Karen was having a bit of trouble catching her breath, too.
"No," he panted when she let him go, leaning against the door again and gazing at her through heavy-lidded eyes. "I had every intention of screwing you through the door the minute we got home tonight; that's why you couldn't find that skirt — it's in my bag."
Her sharp inhale made him smile with his own dark satisfaction, and it deepened when she actually lost her footing at his bold declaration. But barely a second later, she recovered and yanked him away from the door so she could reverse their positions.
"Go get it. It won't take me that long to change," she ordered him even as she took his hands and placed them firmly on her breasts. He instantly curved his fingers around them, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, and Karen moaned in concert with Jayne, albeit muffled into her palm. Oh, that had to feel wonderful, even through the shirt. Chris had the most amazing hands and he should be touching her. Then he gave Jayne such a heated look that Karen actually felt herself soak her knickers.
"God, I want you to," he groaned, leaning hard against her and growling softly when she wrapped her left leg around his hip and arched her back to press him even closer. Their twin moans had Karen biting back her own . . . but then Chris pulled free of his partner and took one step back, his hands curled over her bare shoulders and his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that actually made Jayne's hair straighten. "But not right now."
Flabbergasted, she and Karen both gawked at him.
"I — what?!" Jayne gasped, and he gave her a smile that could only be described as anticipatory.
No. No, this was the smile of a predator.
It. Was. HOT.
And it wasn't fair. It should be Karen receiving his intensity. His passion.
Her.
Not Jayne.
"We don't have time," he said so matter-of-factly that both women gawked at him again, especially since the desire, the want, radiating from him was actually making the room feel stuffy. "And I'm going to need at least three hours to express my full appreciation for those trousers," he added, raking her with a look so scorching, it was a wonder neither the clothes nor the women simply melted.
When Jayne only gave him a soft, choked-off whine in response, he smiled again, obviously pleased, and let his fingers trace a zigzag pattern down her arm until they reached her left hand and brought it to his lips. Then he slowly, deliberately, looked down, her gaze following his as he skimmed his free hand down her neck and over her torso, his touch clearly feather-light and teasing if the way she was squirming was any indication, coming to rest at her waistband. Licking his lips, he dragged his gaze back up her body until he found her eyes, holding them with the intensity that he refused to give to anyone else, and popped open the button with a slow deliberation that made Jayne actually choke and had Karen whimpering into her palm. Again.
God, that was sexy.
She wanted it.
She hated it.
It should be her.
Then he took Jayne's other hand, still cradled in his, and slid it down her body until it reached her unbuttoned trousers . . . where he urged it inside that open placket, sending another wave of jealous heat searing through Karen.
His partner's eyes flared with shock at his brazen demand, but a split second later, lust washed over her face and she clearly did something that felt good, because that soft gasp of pleasure couldn't be faked, and Chris jolted in an uninhibited, visceral response to it and her. His fingers flexed, hard, and Karen realized with stunned disbelief that he was actually shaking from the desire for it to be his hand.
"Touch yourself," he rasped, his entire body rigid with want, and then, his face tight with the effort it took, he stepped back and dragged his hands away from her. "Show me what I'm going to do to you tonight," he added, his voice sandpaper rough and full of a hunger that made Karen's lip bleed from the force it took to bite down her reaction.
Not that he would have heard her over Jayne's wanton moan at his order. She closed her eyes for just a second and took a deep, deep breath — and then met his challenge with her own.
"As you wish," she replied saucily, licking her lips and refusing to let his eyes leave hers. "But you don't get to move, you don't get to talk, and you don't get to blink."
He inhaled sharply at that, looking both stunned and eager for the challenge, and she smiled.
To Karen's eternal shock, she saw Christopher Dean bow in complete and utter submission to the woman he'd spent thirty years vowing was nothing more than a friend — and his absolute equal.
"But Christopher . . . take very, very good notes, because I will not be happy if you don't do well later," Jayne purred, looking vastly pleased when he swallowed hard and gave her a single nod, eyes glowing gold with lust and passion and desire.
And then Karen watched, filled with overwhelming envy, arousal, jealousy, and more than a little confusion, as the man she loved — the man who had once sworn he loved her — put his hands behind his back and simply waited in breathless anticipation as his partner worked her clothes down far enough to make room for her hand and gave him the show he so obviously craved. He didn't move from that spot, but his body swayed in time with the movements of her hand and fingers, his eyes fixed on them, and she made no effort to keep still . . . or hold back her own sounds of enjoyment. Those soft, throaty moans were clearly driving him crazy and he kept biting his tongue and lips to obey Jayne's demand for silence.
The fact that he did told Karen so much that she honestly should have realized long before now.
Somehow, he managed to stand firm against his rampant desire, which had her gaping once again; not only had she never seen anything resembling this kind of self-control from him, but never had she seen this depth of arousal. It should not have been possible, not for the second time today and sure as hell not this fast.
She really didn't want to understand that.
And then Jayne gave a tiny, bitten back scream as she spasmed from her own touch and Chris finally snapped. He lunged forward and hit his knees, yanking her hand out of the way so he could bury his mouth between her thighs, licking frantically and pulling another choked scream from her throat as her hands fisted in his hair and made damn sure he couldn't go anywhere as she surrendered to her clearly incredible second orgasm.
Watching that had Karen so aroused she couldn't think straight, but she made no effort to see it through. It would only hurt and she just wasn't re—
"Oh! OH! Chris — ye—right there! Harde—ah!"
His dark, smug laugh echoed through the room and Jayne moaned again, squirming as he resumed his attentions, rocking into his mouth and unmistakably cresting another wave of pleasure. And then, just as Karen knewshe couldn't stand another second and would have to do something to relieve this unbearable ache—
"Enough."
Jayne's quiet command shattered the heated silence of the room, punctuated only by her sucking in deep, harsh breaths, and Karen blinked to clear her vision, watching with a stab of longing as Chris rose smoothly to his feet and kissed Jayne so deeply, her knees actually went out. It took at least two minutes for them to finally break apart, only for her to wrap her arms around his shoulders and hug him, passion fading to a softer, gentler emotion.
"I love you," Chris breathed, so quietly that Karen almost didn't hear.
Almost.
And in that moment of sudden, brutal clarity, she wondered for the first time if what she'd lost had been hers to claim.
"I know," Jayne replied, looking up with a tender smile. "You're smart like that. My blond prince."
She got a brilliant grin in response, but when she leaned back to stretch her arms and shoulders, it pushed her chest out a little. Like a magnet, his eyes dropped to her breasts and he licked his lips, raw lust washing over his face as his hands fell to the button of his trousers. His intentions were unmistakable but despite her own obvious desire, she put a hand to his chest and pushed him back before tugging her trousers back up.
"No," she said firmly, rolling her eyes when he pouted and looked down at his very prominent hard-on. "YOU said it yourself: there's not enough time and if you think I'm explaining another pair of torn trousers to Wardrobe, you're crazy. And no, that wasn't your fault," she said in answer to the protest that was so clearly on his lips, "and poor Brianne was mortified, but still: three times in four weeks is trouble we don't need." His mouth slammed shut at this succinct point and he nodded in reluctant agreement, which made Jayne smile and take his other hand. "Plus, we still have baby skaters to get through their rehearsals," she finished. "So either sort yourself out or throw an ice pack on it and meet me in ten minutes."
This got a matching pair of arched eyebrows and Jayne scoffed.
"I can be ready," she insisted in the face of his (and Karen's, though she didn't know it) obvious disbelief.
Chris was smart enough to keep his mouth shut; instead, he kissed her again, quickly but tenderly this time, and handed her skates to her. Jayne smiled her thanks and caressed his cheek before unlocking the door, and he grinned when she hesitated, clearly not wanting to leave just yet. But that only lasted a heartbeat before her eyes narrowed as she gave him a single nod, resolutely opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. The click as it closed echoed through the room and Karen let out a shaky breath as she slumped against the wall, absently noting that the mirror had actually fogged over.
She was . . . she didn't know what she was. Aroused, hurt, angry, aroused, jealous, frustrated, aroused — and trapped, she realized with more than a little panic. He was going to come to the bathroom at some point in the next few minutes and she could hardly hide in the cabinet. Although — it was Chris. He'd go to the closet first and get a change of clothes before he came in; that way he could hang everything up and keep it neat and clean until the performance tomorrow. So if she timed it right, she should be able to run out while his back was turned. Assuming, of course, that her legs worked enough to let her run. Or walk quickly.
Or at all.
"Enjoy the show?"
His voice startled her so much, she actually yelped and jolted upright, arms flailing in an effort to keep her balance. Her eyes, wide with shock, found his as she caught her footing — and the cold contempt she saw made her flinch.
In the thirty-plus years she'd known him, not once had she ever seen that look from him.
He hadn't looked at the judges in Lillehammer that way when it became clear that they had, in actual fact, cheated.
"I hope so, because it was a one-time only event," he continued, leaning against the doorframe and crossing one ankle over the other. He was ridiculously attractive with his shirt untucked and his hair mussed.
From Jayne's hands.
But before Karen could do anything with that thought, he cleared his throat. Only, something about the way he did it got her complete attention.
And not in a good way.
"Do you understand now, Karen?"
It was asked quietly, but his eyes were still dark with disdain — and something else that she couldn't (didn't want to) identify. "I've been polite, I've been respectful, and I have been as clear as a bell. Did you really think that trying to seduce me would work?" he demanded, his whole being now radiating indignation as well, but he kept going before she could begin to think of a reply. "Even if I didn't belong to Jayne and you'd somehow managed to actually get me to bed, it wouldn't have meant a damn thing other than I was horny."
He could have slapped her and it would have hurt less than that matter-of-fact statement.
Especially because even now, she wanted him. She loved him.
"No, you don't," he quietly contradicted her, the contempt in his eyes fading, horribly, to pity. Oh, God. Had she said that out loud?!
"Yes," he replied to this thankfully-unspoken question. "And you don't love ME, Karen. You love the idea of me, and you love the thought of taking me away from Jayne. You care about me, sure, but you aren't in love with me any more than I am with you. I was just willing to admit it once I understood, and realized that I had to walk away because anything else would have just been cruel. And I cared too much about you to do that to you."
This assessment of her underlying feelings was also so matter-of-fact it hurt, since he clearly believed what he was saying. But his casual dismissal of his actions, which had devastated her, was an actual body blow.
"Also, neither Jayne nor I am impressed with this stalker-thing you've got going on," he told her, completely misconstruing her intentions and striking yet another blow to her increasingly fragile world.
And she still couldn't find the breath or the mental wherewithal to answer him, to make him see that he was wrong, that she loved him and he would love her if he'd only let himself.
He remained so blithely oblivious to her torment that she abruptly wanted to scream . . . and then his mood shifted again.
"But since telling you didn't work, and being nice to you hasn't made an impression, you got the show. And if that didn't work, Karen, you bloody well better MAKE it work, because I am done, and so is Jayne!" he snapped, clearly furious, and she swallowed, shrinking back into the wall and unable to respond now because she was in the wrong and could no longer deny it. "And I have to congratulate you: you have successfully destroyed not one but two decades-old friendships out of nothing more than selfish, childish spite."
He paused for a very meaningful few seconds and she swallowed again.
"So if you have any sense at all, you'll stay away from Jayne," he warned her in an unnervingly even voice. "She's not happy that you watched, even though we all know it's the only thing that might get through your thick skull. But she is furious that you were going to try seducing me — and it's got nothing to do with her, because you didn't know about us. But you of all people should know how she looks after me, and she knows that I don't want this, or you." This was just as brutally painful as his casual denial of loving her, but once more, he kept going before she could garner the wit to respond. "She's sick and tired of you trying to force the issue. And I know you don't want a repeat of the last time someone pissed her off that much."
It took several seconds for the full ramifications of that to really register.
Jayne knew she'd been there?!
Oh, God.
Oh, she was so screwed. The last time Jayne had truly lost her temper, Phil had tried to touch her against her express wishes and she had — well, his hand might heal correctly, if the doctor was good enough, and even if he had wanted to father another child, it was unlikely he'd physically be able to.
Why?
Why would do they that to her?
"Why?" she choked, unable to live in ignorance any longer and tears blurring her eyes as the reality of her situation finally began to sink in.
"Because you boxed us all in a corner," was his merciless reply. "I told you a year ago that I wasn't in love with you, or falling in love, and walked away. I shouldn't have tried to be your friend after that, but I assumed you were adult enough to handle it, and that's my mistake. I should have known better."
Oh, that pissed her off, but once again, he cut any reply off at the knees.
"That's one of the main reasons Jayne and I kept it so quiet; we didn't want to hurt you," he told her, the evenness of his voice a sharp contrast to the anger on his face, and this revelation yanked the rug out from under her feet again.
"But you just can't let anything go, so here we are."
Somehow, his disappointment hurt worse than everything she'd seen since Jayne had first walked in the door, and Karen actually put her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.
"So we're done," he said, unnaturally calmly, and she nodded slowly, her breath uneven as she processed his anger. And his resolve. "We'll all be polite and civil and work together to make this series spectacular, but Jayne and I are done with you," he said again, eyes boring into hers with an intensity that even now sent a flash of heat through her. "Outside of DOI, we don't want to see you and we won't make any bones about it if you try to force the issue."
Dumbly, she nodded again.
What else could she do?
"Good!" he chirped, the fake cheerfulness even more jarring than his contempt and finally making Karen understand just how badly she'd miscalculated.
No. It made her see just how much she'd fucked up.
Oblivious to this (she hoped), he gave her such a phony smile, it actually hurt to see, and took a few steps back so she could leave the bathroom, making a point of moving to the side. He didn't want to touch her, she realized dully, and the first real wave of loss swept through her.
"I need that key, please," he said so politely she wanted to cry. As far as Chris was concerned, he was talking to a semi-friendly acquaintance, and oh, it hurt. With shaking hands, she fished the key out of her pocket and offered it to him, only to be met with a bland look, followed by a shake of that tousled blond head. "On the table," he instructed gently, and another sob rose at this indicator of his final severance of their relationship.
But she somehow found enough pride to meet his eyes and nod. She would do as he asked and break down in the privacy of her own room.
He didn't want her?
Fine. There were others out there who did, and some that she wanted in return. Christopher Dean wasn't the only man for her.
(If she tried hard enough, she might eventually convince herself of that.)
She made a point of matching his chilly politeness when she set his dressing room key on the table, looking back at him just once and civilly wishing him a good day. If she'd hoped her own indifference would rattle him, she was sorely disappointed and left the last of her dreams in that quiet room, shutting the door on him and her hopes and sagging against the wall, too shaky to walk as everything began to sink in.
"Fantasies are dangerous things."
For the second time in ten minutes, an unexpected voice caught her off-guard and she nearly tripped over her own feet when she spun around to face the speaker.
Jayne was looking back at her, wearing her regular training clothes now, eyes narrow and arms crossed.
Karen had never been afraid of Jayne, not once in thirty-odd years, but in that instant, she saw just how dangerous the other woman was when she was protecting what was hers.
And Chris was hers. In every possible way.
Finally accepting that, at least on a surface level, allowed Karen to regain some composure and she straightened, holding her former friend's gaze.
"Yes, they are," she quietly agreed, crossing her own arms and feeling a faint spike of amusement when this acknowledgement got a blink of surprise. "But then, that's what makes them so appealing. As a wise man once said, having is not so pleasing a thing as wanting," she added a touch snidely. She'd lost, yes, and the full magnitude of that loss had yet to set in, but they'd been unimaginably cruel to her today and she wasn't in the mood to cut them any slack.
(she would never know that Jayne hadn't realized until just before she left, when she saw Karen move behind the door and knew that she'd intruded on something that was never meant for her, trying to take something that she knew wasn't hers to claim)
"Oh?" Jayne riposted, a faint smile curving her lips. "How sad for you."
It took a minute for that to sink in, but once it did, the implication was unmistakable.
"Why?" Karen asked her once-best friend plaintively. "Why couldn't you just let me have this?"
(have him?)
Jayne didn't even blink.
"Because he doesn't want it, or you," was her brutally-true response. It stopped Karen's accusation of Jayne stealing Chris from her in its tracks, and not just because he'd said the same thing. But as much as she hated them both right now, she couldn't deny the reality that Christopher Dean was incapable of cheating, something she knew from personal experience. She was pretty sure Jayne wouldn't, either, but even if she had been so inclined, the other irrefutable truth was that she would never ask that of her partner. And honesty also forced Karen to admit that Chris would never have done that to her.
But—
"How long?" she asked quietly, her voice only quavering a little as she asked the question she really didn't want an answer to.
But she had to know, had to find out how long they'd played her for a fool.
Jayne raised both eyebrows but answered readily enough. She knew why Karen was asking, after all.
"Five months," she said easily . . . but her eyes were dark and watchful, and it took a great deal of effort for Karen to keep from shivering at the animosity so clearly visible in that deceptively soft blue gaze, even as the truth of that answer burned away the last of her hope. "And now that we've cleared everything up, feel free to go," Jayne added, making a shooing motion with her hands as she turned away. The dismissal was unmistakable and as cold as Chris' had been.
Even more hurtful, Jayne simply walked away — not to go to her partner, Karen's shell-shocked mind noticed. She was going back to her dressing room, clearly trusting that her former friend was no longer an issue.
At all.
And standing alone in the hall, surrounded by the ashes of two thirty-year friendships, burned . . . no. No, those relationships were incinerated, by her own hand at that, and Karen could only stare at the abyss, unable to move or even look away as she finally faced the seductive danger of her false reality.
She had gambled everything on an illusion of her own making and lost more than she would ever have dreamed.
All she could do now was learn to accept the harsh, unflinching truth of her life and then just . . . live it.
So with a deep breath, Karen Barber walked away from the dangerous allure of the last fantasy she would ever have.
}~{
fin
