Learning To Fall
By Allison E.L. Cleckler

Author's Note: This chapter contains scenes of a sexual nature. I consider it a mid- to hard R rating; others may consider it NC-17. You have been warned.

There was an argument taking place in Archie Morris's head:

Dude, you're making out with your roommate.
So? She's totally into it now. Take this ball and run with it.
…your roommate that hates you? And did I mention she's drunk?
Hey, she started this. You want her, she's acting like she wants you, quit arguing with yourself and run. with. it.

Her hand on his cheek was light and warm and she was opening up to him readily; she tasted like beer and cinnamon drops on his tongue. Carefully, testing her limits, he moved his hand from her hair and slowly trailed it down the front of her body.

Allison felt oddly as though she were experiencing everything from outside herself. She was perfectly aware of what she was doing, knew what she was going for, and knew in her heart that it was wrong, but at the same time she was unable to stop herself. He was here and she could tell he was willing, and she needed to be wanted too badly to care about just who was doing the wanting.

At the touch of his hand on her, she whimpered softly and automatically shifted closer to him. Morris took that as a good sign and, encouraged, pulled her flush up against him. Damn, but she fit him just right, he mused, trailing kisses along her jaw and up to her ear. Not to mention she's softer than soft, he mentally added as he slipped his hands under her shirt to unhook her bra. She shivered lightly against him and he ran his hands up the length of her back, then lightly raked his nails down her side to skim his fingertips along the underside of her breasts, exploring her as much as he dared.

She inhaled sharply against his mouth and shivered again, her entire body suddenly aching for more. She wanted to meld herself to him, to drown in him if it were humanly possible—to lose herself in skin and lips and feeling. Her arms were around him now but it wasn't enough for her; she hooked a leg over one of his to pull him even closer.

That brought them into almost unbearably intimate contact, and Morris's pleasure-hazed senses sparked back to reality. Pulling away slightly, he asked, "Al?"

Her hands were at the nape of his neck, the tip of her nose was almost touching his, and his lips were tantalizingly close. Allison felt both hypersensitive and miles removed at the same time. "Yeah?"

Morris cleared his throat and ran his hands over her back again, looking at her. His vision had adjusted to the darkness and he could see that her eyes were clear, and not unfocused at all. He was still having doubts about the state of her sobriety; her sudden interest in him still seemed too good to be true. "Are you really okay with this?"

"No," she said simply, leaning in so their foreheads touched, and something in Morris's chest that felt like hope shriveled and died. But then she closed the distance between them by gently claiming his lips with hers, a wordless invitation to continue, and the hope instantly flared back to life.

She's just nervous, he told himself. She's a virgin. It's understandable. And then, Dude, you're going to deflower a virgin. You better not mess this up or if she hated you before this…

He kissed her back softly, his hands moving to undo the buttons on her shirt, the kiss growing deeper and more demanding as more of her skin was exposed. Pushing the material apart and across her shoulders, he slid both it and the straps of her undone bra down her arms, and she relaxed against his hands until she was lying on her back without breaking their kiss for even a second. Morris lightly squeezed her hands with his as he brought her sleeves over and off them, then tossed her bra away. Bringing his hands to the curve of her waist, he dipped his fingers inside her pants and gently stroked the skin there.

So far, Allison was everything he'd wanted her to be—warm, almost illegally soft, willing, and most importantly, sober-minded. She knew what she was doing; he'd seen it in her eyes. Reluctantly tearing his lips from hers, he pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered roughly, "I want you."

Oh God, how he wanted her. It was almost startling just how much. He hadn't let himself think about it before, but now that it was happening, the desire to have her was almost overwhelming.

Her only response was to push his shirt up and over his head. Allison had realized at the beginning that she didn't want this, she didn't want him, at all… but she needed him. And there was a difference between wanting and needing.

Pulling his shirt off and discarding it, Morris reached to undo her pants and tug them off. She immediately lifted her hips to accommodate him, kicking pants and underwear away, her hands tracing the contours of his back and her mouth moving hotly down his neck. It felt almost unbearably good and he was unable to hold back a groan of pleasure. Testing her again, he took one of her hands and guided it to the hard bulge in his boxers.

For the love of God, don't back down now, he silently begged.

Again, Allison said nothing and made no noise, only shuddered slightly before closing her hand around him.

He pressed himself against her hand eagerly, groaning again, and her voice joined his as, growing impatient to feel her, he slipped a hand between her thighs and rubbed his fingers against her. The sound of her moan was like a bomb going off in his head, and he was only too happy to oblige as she grabbed his waist to pull him on top of her. He paused only to get rid of his boxers, shoving them off quickly before turning back to carefully settle himself on top of her. She gasped softly in the back of her throat as their skin met, the heat in him feeling like it would burn her alive.

They were so incredibly close to the point of no return now, and despite the desire he could sense in the way her mouth moved on his, Morris could still hardly believe she wanted to go all the way with him. Reaching to hook a hand behind her knee, he lifted her leg and brought it around his waist. "Tell me you want this, Allison," he demanded in a hoarse whisper against her ear.

Her stomach somersaulting, she murmured into his cheek, "I want it…"

Morris forced himself to take a moment to breathe, propping himself up on his elbows and opening his eyes to look at her. She was so beautiful there beneath him, so very beautiful and long-limbed and about goddamned perfect… but a very small part of him continued to insist that this was a bad idea. That she really was drunk, that she'd wake up in the morning and hate him even more for this, that he didn't want the responsibility of being the first man she was with. Then he squashed that and replaced it with the thought that maybe this would be special for her, that maybe she wouldn't hate him anymore, that just maybe she would realize he wasn't the horrible person she thought he was if he was willing to share this with her.

"You want me," he insisted, hoping to confirm that fact with her as much as he was assuring himself of it; he rocked his hips forward and rubbed himself against her with a low moan. "You want me…"

She shuddered from his nearness, running her hands up and down his chest and then up around his neck into his hair. Her skin felt like it was on fire from the heat raging through her veins. Disgust, fear, hesitation, even anticipation—it was all gone now. She pulled his face down to hers, their lips just barely touching, and replied in a strained murmur, "I need you."

At that, Morris let out a deep breath, closed his eyes, and bit back a loud groan as he slowly, carefully pushed himself inside her.

Her initial gasp at the sensation of his entrance turned into something of a squeak, then a long, low moan as her hands instinctively went to the small of his back to push him in deeper and hold him there. He caught her lips in a searing, bruising kiss but moved against her gently, forcing himself to keep it slow and steady. She was incredibly hot and tight but he wanted to last as long as possible for her; her body against him and around him felt better than he had dared imagine it would.

"You feel… so… good," he gasped against her mouth, his breathing ragged. "God… so good…"

Allison could only kiss him harder, holding him to her as closely as possible with the irrational thought that she might abruptly fly to pieces from the intensity of what she was feeling. She convulsively clenched around him, and when that made the pleasure inside her spike sharply she did it again, harder. Morris groaned and thrust into her faster for a moment, then made himself ease back when he felt himself getting too close to the edge. Then she was clasping him hard at the waist again, hungrily grinding against him, her lips and tongue burning his, clenching around him for a third time like a velvet vise.

"Jesus!" he gasped, unable to stop himself from losing control and moving to pound into her. She arched against him desperately, digging her fingers into his back and moaning his name in a voice he hardly recognized, only intensifying his want for her. And suddenly she was shaking violently, gasping—almost crying—into his ear, and his nerves were overloaded with release and his arms refused to hold him up any longer. He collapsed like so much dead weight against her, pressing his face into the curve of her neck, his breathing in ragged concert with her own.

They stayed that way for a long moment. Then, when his heartbeat began to slow and even out, Morris slid carefully off of her but kept her close, cradling her against his chest. Allison let him do it, her mind numb, unable to do much more than try breathe as evenly as possible.

Running a hand down her back, Morris asked quietly, "You okay, Al?"

She nodded silently. Her forehead was resting against his chest, but her eyes were opening, and she was staring into nothingness.

A little concerned about her relative lack of response, he cupped her chin in his hand and tipped her head up so he could see her face. "Are you okay?" he repeated. "Did… did I hurt you?" God, he hoped he hadn't hurt her. He'd tried to be as gentle as possible, before she'd made it impossible for him to hold back.

Thought and feeling were starting to return to her, and a small voice in the back of Allison's mind was chanting:

What have I done? What have I done?

She felt unbalanced; she wanted to kiss Morris again, felt she ought to, but at the same time she wanted to push him away and run like hell. But she still wanted—no, needed—to be wanted. And he was warm, and strangely comforting, and he wanted her. He wanted her.

"I'm okay," she said, even though she wasn't okay at all.

Morris had no real reason to doubt her words and didn't know they were a partial truth, so he simply nodded. Then, on impulse, he kissed her forehead tenderly and hugged her close. "I'm really glad this happened," he admitted softly, stroking her hair. "I've always… um, thought you were attractive."

Oh, God. Bile rose in her throat, and she tried to swallow it down. "You never acted like it," she replied faintly.

Morris kissed her brow again, gently rubbing her back with one hand, enjoying the way she felt in his arms and the simple fact that she was there in the first place. She was perfectly sober and lucid, and she had yet to push him away. That had to mean something. "You thought I was a disgusting pig," he said quietly. "And you weren't interested… you wanted someone else. There wasn't any point. But now? I guess there is a point. I like you, and I think you're pretty. You smell good and you feel great."

The open hope on his face made Allison feel like she was dying inside, even more so than Dr. Stewart's rejection had. She'd never thought Morris might have a side like this, a gentle, almost affectionate side, or a bitter side that clearly wanted to be loved just as much as she did…

What have I done? the little voice in her mind wailed.

Suddenly she was afraid that the misery and disgust overwhelming her might show on her face, and somehow she couldn't bear to let Morris see it, so she quickly buried her face in his chest.

He just hugged her again, figuring she was unsure of how to handle the situation. He couldn't blame her; his first time had been mind-blowing too, and even if there hadn't been that, their relationship had just taken a huge shift in a very short amount of time. He was still processing it same as she was, only it was easier for him because he hadn't hated her at first. "Just get some sleep," he murmured into her hair. "It's late."

"Okay," she murmured back, not trusting herself to speak more than one word at a time.

Entwining his legs comfortably with hers, Morris let out a sigh of contentment and closed his eyes, his hands idly caressing her back as he drifted off into a happy sleep.

Allison kept very still against him. Outwardly she was relaxed, but inwardly her emotions were stretched to the breaking point. Her eyes were still open, and her heart was a slow, painful drum in her chest. She didn't even move when the tears came, not wanting to disturb him and have him ask questions she couldn't or wouldn't answer. She let them flow silently as she continued staring into the nothingness behind her eyes.

What have I done?

What have I done?…