Rainwater
Chapter 15: Addicted
Rating: R for sexual situations and suggestions, adult topics and language.
WitchyPrincess

Addicted

"Too good to be true." I'm beginning to hate that sentence. Who came up with that saying anyway? Why does something always have to be too good? Why can't things just work out wonderfully all the time and only be good if they're true? Or maybe, only true if they're good.

Well, I knew this was "too good to be true" the moment it happened. I knew it wouldn't last - hell, I knew I shouldn't have even started it - but I couldn't resist the urge to make the best of what I had. And now look at where I am.

Have you ever been asleep, in one of the best dreams you've ever had, and then woken up? You know how you want to fall asleep again, just so you can keep dreaming that dream, but you can never get it back? You try and pretend that you're not awake so that the dream won't fade, and usually you don't even remember what it was you were dreaming about - suddenly it's just…gone. Well, that's how it was with him.

One minute he was there, arms wrapped tightly around me, his scent lingering on my skin. His body against my own, inside my own. And the next he wasn't. His kisses were a fabrication of my mind, a distant memory hovering around in the crevices of my brain, teasing and mocking my thought process with their presence. How do you forget something so sweet it made your jaws clench together in pleasure, your insides churn and rotate in anticipation?

How do you stop wanting something you've wanted all your life? Especially if you've been given a taste of it only to have it snatched away before you got used to it - before it became bland; before you couldn't miss it? I miss him. But I know it is for the better that he doesn't want me. If not best, certainly better.

–Pan Son
#######

Trunks tapped his pencil on his desk, looking down at his appointment book with a slight upturn to his lips. He didn't have another appointment for the rest of the day, he could go home with a clear conscience. He smiled softly, with relish, at the thought because that meant he wouldn't be tortured anymore. And not just the usual paperwork torture either. But the torture he'd been going through all month, losing his mind, because all he could think about was the girl sitting in the desk two halls down from his. The girl that stole into his dreams at night and made him wake up in a cold sweat. Every night.

Pan Son.

He hated to admit it but he missed her. More like, his body yearned for her in a way that he couldn't compensate for. And just knowing that she was close enough to reach, if he wanted to, drove him crazy every single day. All he had to do, he thought, was go down two halls and walk into her office. He couldn't sleep at night anymore because all he thought about was her. Burying himself inside her. This was insane. He'd never fought so hard to maintain his control before in his entire life.

He hadn't seen her since the Carribean trip, keeping his word that there was 'nothing' for them to argue over. Keeping his word that there was nothing between them. At least, keeping up appearances of things being back to normal. He was anything but normal and whatever had occurred was much more than 'nothing'. He didn't know why he was still lying to himself. Except that he had hated knowing that he didn't love her but he was using her. He wasn't like that, he didn't use people.

He didn't know why he couldn't fight the urge this time. What was it about her, or what was wrong with him, that drew them together? That made him feel this out of control and needy? Why couldn't he forget what she felt like against him?

His eyes drifted shut as he tried to remember what she smelled like. The scent came instantly, making him groan aloud. He couldn't keep doing this to himself, he thought sternly, opening his eyes defiantly. No matter what it was that was making him like this, he had to fight it. He had to keep on fighting it until he couldn't remember how soft her skin was, how sweet she smelled, how warm she felt. He had to keep telling himself how wrong it was before he lost it completely.

But he had a feeling that he'd already lost it. His hand was already moving to press the button that would call his secretary and, as he heard her respond, his lips formed the words that signed his fate before he could stop them.

"Send Pan Son to my office, please." With that one short request, he knew he hadn't just lost the battle, he'd lost the war.

#######

Pan slapped her nails against her knee, biting her bottom lip and trying to decide what to do. She didn't have to go to his office, she consoled herself silently. Accidently seeing him some mornings was bad enough, she didn't have to put herself through this. But she knew she was going to. Even if only to hear him say the words. She needed the closure.

He'd been avoiding her for a month; probably building up his resolve. Part of her hoped that was what he'd been doing, even though the bigger part of her hoped that he'd been just as miserable as she was. She hadn't slept peacefully since the last time he touched her. All she really wanted was for him to run his hands over her skin, to put his lips on her body, and make her forget about everything else. All she wanted was to feel him again, be one with him again. She felt like she didn't exist when she wasn't around him.

She felt like she loved him.

And that scared her because, how could she love someone she'd proclaimed to hate just weeks ago? How could she give herself over to someone so completely, after only that one night, especially when he'd treated her the way he had? He'd called her nothing, for Dende's sake. She should be over it or hurt by it or, at the very least, angry because of it. But the only thing she could think was that she hoped, with all her being, that he hadn't meant it.

She hoped he missed her and couldn't think without her. She hoped he at least wanted to touch her again, that he was calling her, not to tell her what an accident she had been but, to hold her again. She hoped he wasn't about to give her some speech he'd been planning out this entire month about how they weren't cut out for each other and how he'd made a terrible mistake that shouldn't have been made twice.

Yet she knew, all the time, that she'd hit the nail right on the head. That was exactly what he was about to do, she was sure of it. He'd been putting it off for too long. She reminded herself again that she didn't have to go even though she knew it was unnecessary to repeat it. She would go–if only just to know for sure what he wanted.

Her stomach clenched as she steeled her nerve and stood up, straightening her shirt nervously and drawing in a deep breath. It wouldn't be so horrible, she tried to convince herself, all the while not believing it. Things wouldn't be so terribly bad if she could just get herself to stop wishing he'd want more from 'them' than she knew he wanted. If she could just get past the part where she envisioned him taking her in his arms and sweeping her off her feet. She'd never have him like that–though she wouldn't mind taking anything she could get.

He was bad for her, like poison, and she was addicted to him. She couldn't help herself. She couldn't breathe without thinking about him, it was like he was apart of her body, her soul. She felt sick knowing he was about to affirm the fact that he didn't want her.

#######

Trunks sighed, looking at his watch and then back at his office door. How long did it take to walk down two halls? For a moment he was sure that she wouldn't come at all, that she would pretend like he hadn't called her because she was mad at him, or she wanted to save face. And he was relieved. Genuinely relieved that if he didn't have the will power to resist her, at least she had some common sense.

But then that flutter of uncertainty, that wave of despair that always seemed to wash over him at the worst moments, exploded though his body, making sure he knew, without a doubt, that she would come. She needed him more than he needed her, he'd felt that the night at the hotel. She would want to ignore him but she wouldn't, she wouldn't be able to. She was in love with him, he finally admitted frankly to himself. And he was taking advantage of that fact.

His door swung open with just enough force to let him know it wasn't his secretary that had just stormed in his office. Besides, he would have known who it was even if he had been blindfolded and deaf. He could smell her before he heard her, and that was in no way an insult to her. He noticed, while looking down at some papers and pretending to be very occupied, that she didn't close the door.

He motioned with his hand for her to step into his office, imagining the indignant look that he knew on instinct would be on her face, with a smile. "Close the door, will you?" He asked nicely, finally allowing his eyes the opportunity of glancing up. Big mistake, he realized the second after he'd done it.

He had forgotten how gorgeous she was. And not even the conventional kind of gorgeous that usually attracted his attention. She wasn't half as pretty as Marron or Paris, and not nearly as interesting as the type of girl he dated. Not that he dated often, or for very long, for that matter; he couldn't stand the airs women put up around him. He hated being uncomfortable and he hated having to pretend to be what they expected him to be.

And as quickly as he had the thought, his mind made the connection between Pan and those other women: she wasn't anything like them. Even in her looks. She was alluring, completely stunning to him, but she probably didn't have this appeal to many guys. You had to see her, really see her, to understand. And he could certainly see a lot of her as he looked up at the form standing in front of him.

Her arms were crossed her over chest, making the black-button up shirt she was wearing tighten around her. Only three of the buttons were actually done. He could see all of her neck line and the beginning of her cleavage, looking farther down he could see wisps of her toned stomach, trailing down until his eyes met with her low-cut, hip-hugging sweats. He licked his lips, trying to regain his ground, while searching his memory to decide if her outfit violated dress code or not.

Concluding that it did, he smiled softly to himself, standing up and giving her an intense stare.

"Yes?" She asked, raising a confused eyebrow, backing unconsciously closer to the door. He started to walk toward her, his face calm and unconcerned as he approached.

"That outfit is in clear violation of dress code for work, Miss Son." He chastised seriously, giving her what he knew she took as an angry scowl. She glowered, no longer moving back, her arms unfolding, hands resting on hips.

"Well, what do you expect me to do about it?" She asked defiantly, looking for all the world as though he'd just gravely insulted her.

"Nothing." He responded curtly, stopping directly in front of her. "It's obvious that I'm going to handle the situation." His answer was purposely evasive as he met her eyes. She looked as though she were ready to punch him, the thought made him chuckle slightly.

"What? Are you going to fire me for violating dress code, Trunks? That's low, even for you."

"No, I'm not going to fire you. But, I already told you, you can't walk around the office like that." He took another step closer, dangerously near to invading her personal space.

"So what do you intend to do about it?" She asked softly, the confusion clear in her voice, presumably because she couldn't read the look in his eyes. Or she didn't understand it. No, Trunks corrected himself, she didn't want to understand it.

"The only thing I can do." He replied, matching her volume. He moved forward again, right up against her, reaching a hand up to rest on one of the buttons. "Take it off you." He undid the one he was touching, slowly, looking her in the eyes for any indication of hesitation. She looked confused, shocked, lost, but not at all opposed.

He paused, before continuing, praying silently that she'd tell him no. That she would tell him to stop, she wouldn't allow him to use her. But she didn't open her mouth, she didn't place her hand on his and give him a cautious gesture. In fact, she was nearly pleading that he didn't change his mind, with her eyes, and he knew he was lost to her. He knew that, even if she wanted him to leave her alone, she couldn't tell him to do it. And he wouldn't be able to.

They were inseparable. It was undeniable. For some strange reason, that he could not explain or comprehend, he was addicted to her and she was attached to him. They were both insane, but the second his fingers made contact with her bare skin, he didn't care. None of that mattered. Nothing mattered but her, and him, and right then. Again.

#######

It started off casually, their affair, whenever it was convenient they would see each other. But it quickly escalated into something more, something that was less off-handed and more necessity. Slowly it changed so that neither of them could sleep if they didn't see each other at least once a week.

The first week, Trunks went to her, three nights out of the seven. The other four he waited, wondering if she would come to him. She didn't and he sent her, every time he got the chance, an annoyed scowl that let her know he was waiting. The second day into the second week, she came. Reluctantly, as if she were about to be punished by him, but she came.

They always left each other before the sun rose; they had a routine: In the mornings, at work, nothing between them was different in the least. In fact, it was as if they were enemies and not even friends at all. Around their family and friends, they got along, but only reluctantly, and during the day they never second glanced each other unless it was to scowl. Yet the darkness of the night held a completely different story.

Trunks hated her during the day, he could feel it course through his brain and overtake his mind very thoroughly. He hated the fact that she had such a cold snarl around him, a tight leash that he could only walk so far away from before she yanked, and pulled him back in. He released every frustration that he had towards her, about their situation, at her during the day and she never said a word.

But then, why would she? She made him weak, unstable, embarrassingly apologetic at night. She made him scream her name in a desperate manner of apology, achieving her revenge without having to even expel the energy required to glower at him. And it only made him hate her more, and want her more, each time.

On her part, he could tell she was fighting this with everything she had. For days, she wouldn't come to him, for days she'd ignore the fact that her body silently pleaded for his touch. As if to prove to herself that she could walk away, if she wanted, but she never lasted long. A week, sometimes a week and a half, at the most. And then she'd be back. And he'd punish her in his own way for making him wait so long.

He was extra-slow, extra-thorough when she came back to him. Making her remember exactly why she couldn't leave him; making sure that she would come back the next night instead of making him suffer. He was painfully attentive, amazing in his every touch and he knew it. He made her cry tears of frustration and pleasure every time, every single time. And that was his punishment to her when she walked away. She hated him just as much for it.

They weren't sure who knew, and who didn't, but they weren't exactly keen on finding out either. The only thing that mattered was that no one said anything, because they were going to do what they were going to do regardless of anyone else's opinion. Trunks had a slight suspicion that his mother knew, which meant his father knew, but neither of them talked about it. Neither of them mentioned that what he was doing was wrong - he knew he was wrong without them saying it anyway. He simply didn't care. Pan was a grown woman that could make her own decisions and he'd never pressured her into doing anything. His eyes always practically dared his mother or father to challenge that.

Gohan, on the other hand, was another story. But Pan didn't seem at all worried about her father finding out. In fact, it was quite the contrary where the older man was concerned. Pan seemed to be trying to shove small remnants of her affair in her father's face. And Gohan seemed to be trying to ignore it with all he had. So, if he knew, he clearly wasn't going to do anything about it. And, if he didn't, it was because he really didn't want to know. Which was fine with Trunks.

Goten, who would probably be the angriest and the first to figure it out, was too busy planning a wedding to really care. Not to mention, he seemed to be avoiding anyone with the last name 'Briefs' like the plague. Trunks had inquired to both Bra and Pan as to what that was about, but neither of them would give him a clear answer. One thing was for certain though, it offended Bra directly. He could see it in her eyes whenever Goten was mentioned. He was beginning to think his sister felt more for the Saiyan than she was telling anyone. But he knew better than to ask her, knowing where that road would lead. Besides, she hadn't said anything to him about Pan and he was fairly certain that she knew what was going on with them.

So, the only obstacle that stood in Trunks and Pan's way, was Trunks and Pan themselves. They were the only ones keeping themselves away from each other at the moment. This week was a week in which Pan was trying to prove her point, and it was driving Trunks insane. They both knew she was coming back, probably tonight, maybe tomorrow, so why was she even trying to fight it? It was pointless.

He wanted to go over to her apartment, right now, and tell her that, but he controlled the urge. He'd just have to really make her pay when she came back. He was tired of her doing this, tired of her fighting this, but he supposed it was only fair. If he was still fighting it, by treating her the way he treated her, then certainly she could fight it any way she wanted to.

But still, he would have preferred it if her method did not annoy him so directly. Couldn't she pick a fight with him, the way he did with her? Couldn't she burn something of his or embarrass him in front of a group of people? Did she have to take away the only thing he wanted from her?

Yet, even as he had that thought, he knew that was why she did it. It was the only thing he wanted from her, therefore the only thing she had to take away from him. That was the same reason he treated her the way he treated her. She was in love with him, his affection was all she truly ever wanted and he knew it. If he was nasty to her, he was hitting her directly where it hurt. And this was how she retaliated.

He thought hard, trying to recall if there was anything in particular that he'd done to make her upset, but he couldn't think of anything. He was no worse, no better, than normal last week. No, that wasn't true, he might have been a little less extreme because they'd been at it for a little more than three months now and he was starting to feel a little sorry for her. He could tell, could always tell, when she was close to her breaking point with him. He would ease up when he felt her stress, when he felt her tense, and give her some room. When he thought that he might be close to losing this little affair of theirs, he always knew exactly what to do to keep it in tact.

He never pushed her past the brink, always only right next to the edge, before he backed up some and gave her some space. He could see it in her eyes when she wanted to leave him for good. He wasn't ever going to let her, he was too dependant on her. And that was the exact thought that made him hate her. Why did he have to feel this way for her? For Pan? Couldn't he be addicted to someone else, anyone else? It had to be her?

He sighed, laying across his bed and closing his eyes, his head beginning to pound. He'd never wanted anyone the way he wanted her, it was driving him out of his mind just admitting it. He hated the way his body had a mind of its own and never listened to his mind or his heart. Why couldn't every one of his parts be in complete agreement? That was all he wanted. Even if it meant that he was in love with Pan herself, it didn't matter. As long as he was actually in love with her while he craved her so much. But he wasn't, he was only attracted to her in some inexplicable way.

His door opened, jarring him from his thoughts, as he sat up to see who it was. A smile curved his lips even before he saw her, knowing who it was immediately. He could always smell her, sense her, before he saw her. His body knew before his eyes, before his mind. She shut the door quickly behind her, standing near it with her hands wrapped around each other in front of her. Her eyes were cast downwards, looking at her feet. He smirked, standing up and walking over to her.

"I haven't seen you all week," He informed, a teasing tone to his voice.

"No," She confirmed. "You haven't."

"Why not?" He continued, deciding that this time she was going to have to ask him before he touched her. He didn't know why, but he'd missed her more than normal this time and she had to pay for that.

"I was busy." She answered angrily, her eyes meeting up with his, the spark visible in them.

"Doing what?"

"What do you care?" She fired back, almost automatically. "I'm here now."

"Why?" He asked softly, walking close enough that they touched lightly. She drew in an annoyed breath and leaned back against the door, so their bodies were no longer in contact.

"Because now I'm not busy."

Trunks lifted an eyebrow, not liking her answer one bit. That wasn't what he wanted to hear at all. She wasn't supposed to be giving him attitude right now, that wasn't how it worked. She was supposed to come back defeated and bashful, she was supposed to be humbled by the fact that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. That she would rather be degraded by him during the day and touched by him at night, than nothing at all. He was going to have to make her change her answer.

He moved forward to remove the distance she'd created, leaning down to kiss her lips softy. She closed her eyes dramatically and he knew what she was feeling, it was electric. Powerful in the very sense of the word. Just a simple touch, a simple brush of the lips, and he was almost weak in the knees and she was almost with him. Her head beat softly against the door, eyes still closed in reverie.

"Why?" He repeated with warning so that she knew her answer hadn't been the one he'd wanted to hear, letting his breath caress her lips as he spoke.

"Hmm?" He continued to press, while she moaned softly, trying to move away from him even though there was no where to go. He smiled and pressed another soft kiss on her lips, before moving across her jaw-line, stopping at her ear. "Why are you here?" He dared her not to answer this time, silently telling her that she knew what he wanted her to say.

"Because." She stated defiantly, her arms coming around his neck in a way that said she was about to fight back.

"Because why?" He asked, neither one of them moving.

"Just because." She responded, leaning up to kiss the side of his mouth. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his chest, gently brushing against him, softly caressing, making him forget his train of thought for a moment. How could she do that to him with a simple touch? He asked himself quietly, curiously. He shook out of it as her hands moved lower, pushing her back and grabbing her wrists softly.

"That's not an answer, Pan." He protested, scowling because the smile on her face suggested that she knew she'd almost won.

"It's the only one you're getting, Trunks."

"Did you come here because you expected us to do more than argue?" He prompted, deciding that he would simply lead her to the words he wanted to hear from her. She wasn't going to fall for it though because she responded with,

"Did you miss me, Trunks?" Her lips tipping up in a way that suggested she already knew the answer. "Could you sleep at night? Were you thinking about me? Wishing you could touch me?" She paused, to give him the opportunity to answer though she knew he wouldn't, before continuing. "Do you want to spend this time arguing, because I can think of better things to do than come up with fighting words, if you'd like."

He didn't respond, couldn't have if he had wanted to, only pulled her into his arms, silently promising that she would pay for that comment later in the night. He needed her a little too much right now to keep up the charade, but later that night he'd go slower and he would make her beg before he continued.

With the promise to himself made, he led her to the bed, not speaking another word. And, later that night, he made sure his promise was kept. She did beg and she deserved every bit of the torment, in his opinion.

#######

Pan held her breath, listening to Trunks' rhythmic inhaling and exhaling, deciphering that he was, indeed, asleep. He never fell asleep when she was with him, he always lay rigidly, waiting until she decided it was time for her to leave, before he relaxed. He never even pretended like he was giving her the option of deciding whether or not she should stay or leave. But now, now she could choose for herself. He was asleep, all she had to do was pretend like she fell asleep too. Then he couldn't possibly say anything to her.

But she wouldn't do that. She'd have to see him in the morning, and she knew it wouldn't be pleasant. He didn't even look at her the same way during the day that he did at night. It was like he wasn't even the same person anymore, and she hated it. She wished he would give her a kind glance, or a friendly gesture even, something that made it clear that he was aware of the fact that her touches made him weak in the knees. It would be nice if he at least didn't go out of his way to insult her.

But she didn't complain. She tried, honestly she tried, to stay away from him. Every time she left like this, creeping in the time between night and day, she told herself that she wouldn't do it again. Every time it was time for her to leave, she promised herself that this would be the last time. But he made it so hard for her, it was like he knew what she was thinking and he was daring her to find the strength. He was always especially gentle with her, especially extraordinary, when she was sure that she wasn't coming back. Like he knew and he was playing games with her.

Whenever she was certain that she'd reached the end of her rope, he did something, said something, that made her change her mind. Or it was simply the way he touched her, implanting his caress into her head, spoiling her for anyone else. She'd never want another guy to touch her if they weren't much better than him, and she had a feeling that no one was better than him.

She hated relying on him. She scowled as she slowly eased her way off of the bed, finding her clothes piece by piece, trying to be quiet enough not to wake him up. Even though a part of her wanted to wake him, make him aware that he'd fallen asleep like she wasn't still there, that he'd fallen asleep but she was leaving anyway. She knew he thought that if he didn't make it clear that he didn't want her there, she wouldn't leave. But he was wrong. As long as she could imagine the disgust on his face when he woke up beside her in the morning and know that she wasn't off-base in her imaginings, she didn't want to face him in the morning any more than he wanted her there.

But she didn't wake him, knowing that he'd probably be annoyed with her no matter what she was doing. She wondered why he hated her, wondered how he could touch her like that and still not care about her well being. She wished that she was a guy, she resolved softly, because then she could turn her emotions off. But she wasn't a guy and she couldn't do that. She loved him and she couldn't change that–she needed him.

After she was dressed, she eased over to the bed and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, waiting a few seconds to watch him. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, perfect in a way that she couldn't touch. Like a sleeping child that turned the world upside down during waking hours but behaved impeccably in his rest.

He didn't hold her. She thought randomly, bitterly. Not a comforting touch or gesture, nothing that told her that he valued her company. Not after, ever. Dende she wished he did. She yearned to know what it felt like to have his arms wrap around her with care and consideration, yearned to know what it was like to be adored by him. She brushed a bit of his hair away from his eyes, smiling softly, ruefully, before turning away from him. She needed to stop wishing for things she could never have.

She had him sometimes. Sometimes his arms were around her, his lips on hers. Sometimes he was everything she ever wanted him to be. But those moments were few a fleeting, and they were only leading up to something that was purely physical and not meaningful at all. Something that he made perfectly clear was only primal and nothing more.

She shook her head, still smiling in a way that suggested her heart was breaking, before making her way quietly out of his room. Maybe one day, she thought hopefully, if she prayed hard enough.

#######

He woke up, for the first time not sure if she was there or not. Usually, he waited for her to leave before he fell asleep, this time he had not and there was every possibility that she could still be with him. Usually he made sure she was gone, that way he always knew. This time he'd left it up to chance, up to her–purely by accident–and he was curious to see what she had chosen to do.

He rolled over, slinging his arm onto the side of the bed where she should be; that way, if she hadn't left, his arm would bump her body and she wouldn't think that he was checking to see if she was there, if she were awake. Which was exactly what he was doing. She would only think that he was trying to get more comfortable. But his arm hit nothing but air, then mattress. Somehow, knowing that she'd chosen to leave without prompting from him sent a shiver of emotion that he couldn't identify dancing down his spine. It wasn't positive, he could tell that much.

He decided, then and there, that he liked knowing, one way or another, a whole lot better than waking up to find out. It left no room for annoyance, no matter her decision.

That day, he was sure he was the meanest he'd ever been to her. He made up for it that night though, making her feel as if she'd reached heaven with his every touch. And when she tried to get up, he didn't let her leave. Neither of them got any sleep that night.

To be continued...