"I'm an ocean in you bedroom
Make you feel warm
Make you want to re-assume
Now we know it all for sure…"
Chapter Three: Ocean in Your Bedroom
- Sixth Year -Guilt is an ugly thing to be greeted with in the morning.
Especially when much sleep hasn't been had.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
I roll out of bed, my left arm asleep and tingling. Laying on it was definitely not the best of plans. But I haven't been too good with those as of late. Plans, that is.
I shuffle, reminding myself of a senile old bat. Finding my way to the bathroom, deliberately avoiding catching my own eye in the mirror. The idea just makes my stomach turn. I can't look myself in the eye. And I am supposed to see him today. I can't look at me. How can I look at him…
The shower is hot. Scalding hot. Burn away the memories, burn him away. It's never that easy. Hot water and scented shampoo can only clean your body. Never your soul.
I'm fucking philosophizing in the shower.
---
Breakfast. My least favorite meal of the day.
He's sitting there. Shoving eggs down like chickens are bordering on extinction. It's revolting. He's revolting.
And so am I.
I sit down. And that took a whole lot more effort than I thought it would. He and his stuffed mouth are across from me. But I'm not looking at him. I'm studying my orange juice. Intently. Noticeably so.
"You awake over there?" His mouth is still full. I imagine food flying out. Of his mouth. That I let touch me last night. That I touched with my own.
"Hmmm." I finally look up. His eyes, no circles. His mouth, smirking. He looks the …same. He's looking at me the same. Attempting to talk to me the same. There is no problem here. For him. I'm always another story.
"Merlin, Ang, you look half dead over there." I glare. I don't know what else to do. Him and his appetite are pissing me off. Him and his smile. His face. His voice. He leans in. He arches an eyebrow. Here it is. The moment I have been waiting for. "Rough night last night?"
I fucking hate him.
---
It went on like this for a good week. Me, avoiding him. He, provoking me. He'd waggle his eyebrows at me. He'd deliberately check me out. He'd smirk. That became his specialty. Everytime I saw him, it was plastered on his freckled face: The Smirk.
Other than that, things stayed strangely enough the same. Our friends still hung out together. We all still ended up in the Common Room. Still ended up sitting near each other at meals. In class. Walking down the halls. There was no Quidditch, thanks to the Triwizard Tournament, and my initial anger over that evaporated into relief. One less place to encounter him. But still. I couldn't shake him. He was always there. And if it wasn't him, then it was George. They're fucking identical twins.
Of course there had to be two of him. That's just how my world goes.
It's getting old though. The not talking about it. That's just me. I guess. I always have to vocalize things. Patch things up when they're feeling a little awkward. Confront someone when they're pissing me off. This was both. Angry and awkward. Not the best combination.
---
I found him alone one night. He was without his usual entourage. And when I say entourage, I mean Lee and George. Finding him alone is a rarity.
I figured it was a sign.
So I pounced.
"Fred. Can we…talk? For a minute?" I swear, my heart was thumping in my throat. If only I could figure out why.
"Yeah. 'Course." He walked over. We were in the common room. It was late. I had been studying. He had been…I haven't a clue. Nothing good I'm sure. "What seems to be the problem?"
Why did he have to look at me like that? That analytical thing. That thing where it feels like he can see straight into my brain and he's dissecting each and every thought, good and bad, mainly the bad, that I have ever had. I swallow. Why am I so bloody nervous? "It's just…well. Um. Right." Tongue-tied. I'm fucking tongue-tied. I am never speechless like this. Speak. Now. "About, that night. You know which night. That night. Right. Well, it's just. I've felt…since then…I just feel weird. I'm not the one-night stand kind of girl, person, lady." I just said 'lady…' "And now…I just feel weird. Funny. Around you." Nothing. "Don't you?"
He smirked. For the gazillionth time. I am so sick of that bloody expression. "Nah. Mainly horny."
I want to behead him. Gut him. Strangle him. Disembowel him and string his intestines around the room. I open my mouth. Then promptly close it. My thoughts…ruined. Horny? Horny?
Merlin, I hate boys.
He's amused. Greatly so. I can tell. Not that you'd have to be super intuitive or anything to discern that. I'm going to continue. Somehow. "It's just…" I need to stop starting ideas this way. "I'm not quite sure how to act…around you…and you give me these…looks…and they are completely not appropriate…and….and…" Shit. Why is he inching closer? Distance closing. Not liking this. "And…I don't know what our role is…anymore…and I know…that…um…yeah…we had talked…before…and yeah, you are really fucking close right now."
He laughs. I can feel his breath on my face. I can feel the heat. Of him. One step closer. He's pressed up against me. All of him.
"What…" I'm cut off. By him. And his mouth. His tongue. Kissing me. He nips and he groans. Pushes me against him. I can feel his hand on my lower back, his other on my thigh. Up and down, up and down. He's kissing my neck, biting the skin. Making me moan and mumble, words I don't even know. He's good. Too good.
Up my shirt. Down my pants. Belts unbuckle and clothing disappears. Slightly. I'm up against a wall, with a fuzzy head and a burning desire. For him. "Someone…could…come…in…" I attempt to say. He murmurs some curse. Silencing I'm assuming. At this point I'm just concentrating on the hollow of his shoulder and how when I press my mouth there a certain way he shudders and shakes.
Mouths back together. Hands on my hips, my ass. In the air. And then he's in. He's grinding and rocking, and I'm attempting to keep up. The cadence keeps quickening, my hips, no longer under my control.
Panting in my ear. Pressing lips to his forehead. "Fuck…"I moan. I'm close. I know I am. So is he. I can tell. Breathy pants have morphed into masculine grunts and he's thrusting harder and harder and harder. Attempting to break me.
He hits it. My peak. I'm done, spent, babbling nonsense, arching up against him.
"Angelina…"he moans my name. It makes it all that much better. Knowing it's my name he cries when he comes.
This really wasn't how our discussion was supposed to end.
Not that I'm complaining…
---
From there on out, it was established between us. We were not boyfriend and girlfriend. We had no intention of ever becoming that. We were friends. Still. With, well. Benefits.
We were friends with benefits.
Damn good benefits at that.
We kept it secret. I'm not sure why. I'm sure he didn't care one way about it. He had cemented his reputation. But me…I guess I liked being seen as more prim. More proper. Fucking your best friend just for kicks really doesn't help keep you in that area. I guess I didn't want to be known as one of his girls.
I'm not easy. Despite what Fred may think.
---
The year continued on this way. We'd meet up randomly and have our own little shagging-session. He knew all the secret passageways, all the unknown rooms. How remains a secret between him and his carbon copy.
We never did it in the Common Room again that year. Too risky. For me. Like I said, he could have cared less.
We never had sex in an actual bed. It was always up against a wall. On a desk in an abandoned classroom. The bathroom. Sadly enough, a couple broom closets.
We sound kinkier than we actually were.
It never got old though. All the sex. And things never changed. Besides me, he saw other girls. I never asked about them. He never told me about them. I'm surprised he held onto me for as long as he did. A few months is quite the feat for him. But we weren't dating. We were boinking in broom closets. The commitment level there is really rather low.
I liked having a secret. Namely this one. I felt dangerous, provocative.
Alicia never knew. Katie never knew. I don't think they'd approve; least of all understand. They prescribed to pure romanticism. Roses, chocolates. Proposals on one knee. Men who swept them away and made love on a bed of satin sheets. Not the same as up against a stone wall. Slightly more comfortable.
---
Sixth year came to a close on a sinister and ominous note. Cedric Diggory was dead. The Dark Lord had returned. A rumor, cemented by Dumbledore.
It was strange knowing that darkness loomed right outside our walls.
Even stranger that next year would be our last time behind them.
---
The train station. I have always loved this place. The hustle, the bustle. The people coming in, the people going out. Arrivals and departures. Greetings and farewells. Every possible emotion, right there, at the train depot.
Yeah. I can be a sap when I feel like it.
We were back. At Platform 9 and ¾. It had been awhile.
I stood there. Trunk trailing behind me, owl resting in cage. And Fred right in front of me.
"See ya 'round." He nodded. And turned. And walked away.
I was alone. For the summer. Back to my world. My house, my family. Waiting to begin another year.
Waiting to see what comes next…
---
"I'm a dancehall dirty breakbeat
Make the snow fall
Up from underneath your feet
Not alone, I'll be there
Tell me when you want to go…"
---
A/N: Song lyrics from Don't Forget Me- Red Hot Chili Peppers
Seriously, you guys rock my socks for reading this story and actually enjoying it. Well, my nonexistent socks since I'm barefoot at the moment, but you get the gist. Today, June 30, is my birthday. Make it amazing and leave me lots of presents, a.k.a. reviews. Please!
And another side note: I leave for vacation July 9th which means I will be computerless for a good week and a half. I'm going to try real hard to pump out a few more chapters before we leave. No promises though!