For the OQPromptParty
Prompt #197: Midnight snack.
OQ AU. Just a fun little thing. Humongous thanks to amazing Eva who read through it and gave little ol' me the thumbs up. You rock! A tad smutty (just a little bit).
Normally she lets it go.
After all, she's used to the sounds coming from next door. She's used to the high pitched moans followed by the slight howl from her neighbor as he reaches oblivion. To the constant bumps against her bedroom door as he fucks relentlessly his new victim.
Ah, the glorious consequences of paper thin walls.
But she's used to it.
Just like she's used to bumping into him every other day.
It's no wonder, though, that he has sex nearly everyday. He's an absolute marvel. Five feet nine inches of pure perfection with his blue eyes, dimpled smile and sandy blonde hair. A truly gorgeous specimen brought to life just for those around him to gawk at him, and of course, for the lucky ladies to feast on.
Robin Locksley, that's his name. A biochemistry graduate student with a love for the molecular aspect of things. At least, that's what she knows of him from their short walks up the stairs to the third floor of their apartment complex, only to part with a small smile and a wave as they get into their respective flats.
She sees him sometimes, when she's leaving her dorm, sees him picking up the newspaper, bare chested, mug in hand as he throws a small smile her way followed by a 'Good morning' before slipping inside again to, obviously, ravage the pretty little blondes she sees walking out his flat late afternoon.
Sometimes, when she's feeling lonely and incredibly needy, she imagines he grunts just for her. Imagines his hands roaming her body, hers scratching the planes of the chest she sees almost daily. Imagines his lips attached to her neck as his cock slowly but surely fills her, fucks her, imagines his voice all deep and guttural telling her to 'Come for me, baby' in that deep accent of his at the same time he circles his hips and moves his thumb up and down against her clit, driving her closer and closer and closer to the edge until she's coming apart in her own fingers, just in time for that howl to reach her ears from the room to her left.
Normally she lets it go.
Normally she goes with the flow.
But tonight she needs to study, she needs to read countless of papers, countless of pages, memorize so many things for a test two days from tonight and she can't do it! Not with the fucking bump, bump, bump against the wall of her bedroom (clearly from a bed). Not with the constant yelling from a five feet seven inches long legged blonde with an itty bitty waist that she'll get to see leave that flat tomorrow afternoon. Not with his fucking moans and groans and way too lewd sounds traveling to her ears.
Not when he'd struck small conversation with her on the way up the stairs yesterday. Not when he'd made her laugh and chuckle and quite possibly made her realize she actually had a crush on him, finding him incredibly smart and overall just insanely attractive.
Until tonight.
It isn't even that she's jealous (maybe a little bit?). It's the fact that it's not fair he gets to have so much fun, gets to be a playboy at night and yet have deep intellectual conversations with her, allowing her to crush on him, hard, allowing her to want to get fucked by him as hard as he fucks his blondes, but knowing he'll never do so. She's not his type, clearly. She's a five foot three short legged athletic figure with a barely-there waist he'd rather have a conversation with rather than a kiss —granted, she has an incredible ass, and incredible thighs, but so far, everybody notices except him. (Does she want him to notice? Is she truly that desperate?)
So, normally she lets it go.
But not tonight.
So, when the woman moans like a cat in heat, Regina closes her book with a huff and stands up from her desk chair.
"Incredible!" She lets out frustrated, not bothering to put some shoes on (hide the fact that she's wearing mismatched socks), and walks out of her apartment.
She huffs and stomps the six steps to his front door, the sexual sounds barely audible in the hall (her bedroom is next to one of his, how lucky is she?) and knocks on his front door loudly, the four bangs against it reverberating around the third floor.
But he doesn't answer.
She scoffs and groans out loud when the sounds grow in pitch and frequency and she's able to hear them (though a bit low) from outside his door and knocks again, six times, now hammering against it annoyed at being ignored. And he still doesn't answer.
"Really?!" She lets out in frustration, rolling her eyes and stomping back to her flat when no one opens the door, hoping him and model number forty five would stop soon enough.
And they do, they finish somewhere around eleven thirty.
And though annoyed and yes, a little bit jealous (she is after all trying to study for her Cellular & Molecular Immunology test instead of getting blissfully and thoroughly fucked by her hot British neighbor) Regina still manages to sigh in relief at the stillness and quietness in the atmosphere.
Finally!
For forty minutes she's able to review the molecular structure of MHC and is about to delve into lymphocytes development when it starts again.
The slight slow bump bump bump against her bedroom wall.
The incessant moaning of long-legged Miss Playboy.
Jesus Christ, haven't they had enough? Because she has!
This time she doesn't wait a second before she's rushing past her front door again, incessantly knocking on his apartment door, annoyed and incredibly frustrated, feeling the rage in her growing. She's about to call his name, loudly, when someone taps her shoulder and she jumps in surprise, quickly turning around to look at the intruder. Only to be shocked again at the fact that the five feet nine inches of pure perfection named Robin Locksley stands in front of her.
"Paper thin walls?" He asks in that accent of his, signaling to the door behind her.
Wait, wait, wait, there's clearly been a mistake. No, five feet nine inches dude should be the one behind the door, banging the blonde, grunting and howling. It should be him, it's him.
It's not him?
"I thought you were—" she stops herself mid sentence, realizing way too late of how it sounds —clearly not as good as it did in her head. But before she can open her mouth again to say another thing (clear off any implications that she's heard this every few nights per week and has come to the most logical conclusion in her head) Robin's laughing loudly at her words, eyes lightening up, amused. She's suddenly frozen in place, no words able to come out of her, is only able to stare at him as he laughs at her, the heat rising to her cheeks.
Nice Regina, not embarrassing at all.
Not at all.
But it's amusing really, his laughter, so she she cracks a smile at him until she's chuckling too and staring down at the hardwood floors. Mistake, for, she realizes then how attractive she must look with mismatched fluffy socks (one with monkeys on them and the other with clouds), worn down sweatpants of her alma mater, a thin camisole (well he won't actually complain about that, that is, if he enjoys small tits at all), and the fucking eyeglasses she uses to read. God, a truly magnificent creature.
Regina rolls her eyes at herself, damning the fact that he gets to see her like this when he's looking all attractive.
Just then a low moan can be heard coming from his apartment door and Robin groans in front of her and shakes his head.
"I've told John to be quiet over and over again," Robin says, grimacing at the annoyed look Regina suddenly throws his way. "I'm sorry."
She sighs and then nods at him with a roll of her eyes. Of course, it's John, John, his roommate, John the incredibly tall shy guy that barely talks, just smiles at everything and everyone—
No, not sweet kind shy John!
Has she actually gotten off to the sounds of him?
No. No? Right? It can't, she can't.
"It's not your fault," she whispers at him, tentatively, lost to her own thoughts. Has she come to the wrong conclusions in the past three months she's lived here?
"Still," he shrugs and embarrassedly scratches the back of his head. "Let me make this right for you."
Oh
Oh?
Is he actually going to—
"Mind going out for one drink?"
God, how long has it been since she's been asked out?
"I don't drink on weekdays," she says apologetically and then bites the inside of her cheek, suddenly annoyed at herself. She shouldn't be playing hard to get, not when she looks so unkept and probably has that vein creasing on her forehead because of stress, dark circles under her eyes and fucking mismatched socks while he's looking like a four course meal with legs. But she's honestly thrown back by it and maybe even nervous by the fact that five feet nine inches of perfection is actually asking her out for a drink.
But he merely nods, and gives her a lopsided smile, the dimples ever present before giving her a determined look. "Okay well, mind going out for a bite?"
She cracks a smile at that, her stomach fluttering, and bites her lower lip before she's looking up at him again, sheepishly.
Damn his kind blue eyes, his handsome self. Damn him.
"I have to study," she whispers. She doesn't actually, well, she does, her test is two days from now but she can spare a few hours tonight and then make a maximum effort tomorrow, right?
"Oh yeah, that darn immunology course." He grimaces, recalling the conversation they had yesterday on their way here. The man nods and swallows hard, and Regina feels bad for turning him down a second time in less than a minute.
But instead of uttering an actual apology, she gives him an apologetic smile.
It goes quiet for a few seconds and Regina's sure, so so sure he'll wave her off and wish her good luck and that's it. But instead—
"Well," he smirks and shrugs, clears his throat before he's nodding to the door behind her once again. "Mind going somewhere quiet then? To study?"
Regina offers him a small deep laugh, the kind that she hates but can't stop herself from doing so, and he takes that as a green light.
"You also have to eat a little something if you want to stay up till morning studying," he finishes, matter of factly, offering her an amused smile.
And his smile is contagious, his amusement too and Regina finds herself chuckling at him, shaking her head before nodding.
"Let me get my things."
