Prompt: "Can you please stop calling me? You're just making it harder for both of us."
Leah Clearwater/Quil Ateara V
A/N: You may recognise this from my one-shot collection - doing a bit of rearranging to find some fics their new home.
He managed to hold off calling for two hours. Two hours of staring at his archaic flip-phone, contemplating dialling the number he'd recently committed to memory. Self-control's overrated, he thought eventually, allowing his fingers to punch in the digits without further hesitation.
She resisted answering the call until the final ring. I shouldn't, she thought, it's a terrible idea. He's a terrible idea. And still, she picked up the phone from the nightstand, clicking the accept button.
"Can you please stop calling me? You're just making it harder for both of us." She tried her best to sound unaffected, bored, as if her brain wasn't currently flooded with tempting thoughts she couldn't contemplate while shifted.
He was quiet for a moment; his soft breathing was the only sound travelling across the distance between them. "It doesn't need to be this hard, Leah. Please...just hear me out."
"This is a bad idea," she said, her voice rising slightly. She hated that she sounded so unconvinced. She knew the truth in the situation, she knew it was wrong wrong wrong, and yet she didn't want to end the call. Not yet, at least.
"It is," he agreed, amicably. "Still. You listening?"
"Yes, Quil," she huffed, flopping back onto the mattress. Her eyes bore into the ceiling above her, tracing the cracks with her eyes. It felt like an eternity until he spoke again.
"You're lonely. I'm lonely. We can be lonely together. It just makes sense."
"Correction, asshole, I'm alone. Not lonely. I'm doing just fine," she said, gritting her teeth. These assholes, always circling back to her and Sam. It just didn't stop.
"You're right. I'm sorry. My point still stands, though. You, me, together, nothing serious. Nobody has to know."
"How many times are you going to pitch this idea, Quil?"
"As many times as it takes for you to give me a clear answer. So tell me, no deflection, no hanging up. Do you want to sleep with me?"
She closed her eyes. Leah Clearwater, you cannot seriously be considering this, she thought, pressing her palms against her eyes. She pressed until she saw stars, big blooming clouds in the blackness, pressing hard until it hurt. It was pointless, anyway - it wasn't distracting, and it really wasn't helping her figure out a reason to reject him. As much as she loathed to admit it to Quil, she was lonely. Shit, it had been months since she'd had more than a hug from her mom, and she still had dreams about him. The only thing worse than sharing a mind with your ex, she thought, was having to do so with a sex dream fresh in your head.
"Leah. I'm going to ask you one more time. Do you, or do you not, want to fuck me?"
Quil was many things. Thoughtful. Patient. Considerate. What he was not: her imprint.
And still, she said yes. She said yes when he asked her to come over that night. She said yes when he asked her to strip down. She said yes countless times that night, until the word seemed to grow and build and intensify in its power, turning into a kind of prayer. Leah wasn't sure how many prayers ended with the neighbours banging on the ceiling with a broom, but it didn't matter to her, and it certainly didn't matter to Quil.
By the time the sun rose, Leah was sure of one thing, and one thing only. If fucking someone else's imprint is wrong, she thought as she stripped again to phase, then I don't want to be right.