Content warning: This chapter contains smooches, confessions, and a sex scene.
Breaking Points
Sora knocked on Matt's door and was invited, in a distracted manner, to enter. Matt was hunched over at his desk, surrounded by bright fliers and crumpled sheets of paper. Amy lay on her stomach on Tai's bed, her dark hair blocking her face, intent on the textbook between her elbows.
Sora approached Matt and looked over his shoulders. "What are you up to?" she asked, glancing at the explosion of paper.
"Lyrics," he grunted. Then he jerked and turned to look at her. "Sora! Sorry, I was so into this, I barely knew what I was saying." He seized a sheet of paper, and it did not escape Sora's notice that he was covering his work. Confusion and hurt began to build.
Eager for distraction, she picked up a flier. "What's all this?" Matt relaxed, and he smiled and swiveled his chair to face her.
"Fliers for bands who need a bassist. I've been eliminating options based on sound clips from their sites. I don't have time to meet with so many in person."
Delight pulsed through Sora. "You started looking! That's great!" She held his shoulders- for support, of course, not to surreptitiously enjoy their width and firmness.
His left hand rested against hers, and she felt the hard pads of calluses on his fingertips. She shivered a little at the strange, ticklish sensation. "I thought so, too, until I actually got into it. It's a mess. No one has the sound I'm looking for. Ideally, I could start my own band again…"
"Don't give up!" Sora encouraged. "I want to hear your music!" The fangirl within her was squealing with adolescent excitement. When she caught herself, she colored and tried to reign herself in.
"Sora…" Matt's hand went from touching hers to holding it. "Thanks." Then he cleared his throat and turned back to the desk. "But I had better finish writing some new songs first. Amy, what do you make of what I've got so far?"
Sora's pleased smile vanished. Amy acknowledged Matt with a dreamy humming sound, extending her hand to him with her gaze still on her book. He slid a paper between her fingers, and she pulled it under her hair curtain, like an animal scuttling into its den with a meal. Sora knew there was nothing romantic between them, and that Amy found that concept unpalatable, but she couldn't help wondering if she would ever be as close to Matt as Amy was. They were so aware of each other- able to respond without listening, able to reach without looking. And, what, was she incapable of judging lyrics? She began to pick at her fingernails.
Amy brushed her hair back as she examined Matt's lyrics. Sora watched, confused, as her dark brown eyes slid from the paper to her, and then to Matt, and then back to the paper. An arched brow rose, then furrowed. "Matt," Amy said at last, her tone an odd mix of playful and scolding, "if you're using Sora as inspiration, then your lyrics should be better."
"W-what?!" Sora and Matt chorused. They both reached for the paper in Amy's hands, but Matt was closer, and less shy about ripping it away, so he was the victor.
Amy observed Matt's pale, drawn face, then chewed her lower lip. "I'm sorry," she muttered, averting her eyes. "Was I not supposed to- I, I just thought it was so obvious, you wouldn't mind my pointing it out."
Matt produced an indistinct sound deep in his throat, and Amy sat up. "Should I- Yeah, I'll just… My mistake! See you!" With that, she grabbed her textbook, launched off Tai's bed, and half ran, half slid out the door, abandoning her shoes.
There was a long, strained silence, then Matt dropped his forehead into his hand and quietly groaned. "You could have denied it," Sora murmured, brushing his shaking shoulder with her fingertips. Never, not once in her wildest teenage fantasies, did she imagine that Matt would one day write lyrics about her. The dorm room seemed indistinct and blurry, as if she had wandered into a dream.
"Please," Matt muttered, not looking up from his palm. "You know when I'm lying."
"I would have let you get away with this one." Her hands closed around Matt's shoulders for purchase. He was either the most or least real thing in the room, but which was it? Words tumbled from her mouth, filling space as she tried to make sense of this impossible moment. "I know romantic feelings are difficult. Well, at least, I think I do. I don't have much experience with-"
Matt cut her off by sharply raising a hand. "Sora. I've had enough."
Sora frowned. She was going to scold him, but then he stood, pulled her in, and tipped her chin up. He caressed her face, and Sora shivered. She knew what was coming- what naturally had to come next- and the thought alone froze her. She had to be gaping at him like an idiot.
With great effort, she rearranged her expression into something less embarrassing, then placed her hands on his chest. She hadn't noticed it before, but Matt was so much bigger than her. Taller, yes, but also broader all around. As his free arm surrounded her, a sense of safety and belonging overwhelmed her, even as her heart sputtered. His smell washed over her, a mix of aftershave and subtle cologne, a compelling combination of earthy and spicy scents. She wanted to bury her nose in his neck and inhale, but he was holding her chin.
She realized that she was avoiding his eyes- or was unable to look at them, more accurately. She glanced up, and her breath caught at the passionate intensity of his gaze. His eyes seemed to cycle through shades of blue, now like the sky, now like the sea, now like a sapphire. Her legs trembled- really, what was she supposed to do?!- and his hand found the small of her back, supporting her.
He came closer, but never fully bridged the gap. Sora's nerves began to fray with a mixture of anticipation, fear, and excitement. Muscles tightened in his face, hints of fear and anxiety. And suddenly, Sora understood. He was waiting for a sign that she wanted this.
This boy is impossible… Sora closed her eyes and, taking her courage in both hands, managed a tiny nod. Permission, acceptance. She felt a tremor run through Matt.
And then he was on her, surrounding her, and in the inscrutable darkness, the whole world could have been him. His lips fluttered against hers, uncertain, testing the waters. Impossibly, frustration erupted, and Sora stood on her toes and squished their mouths together. You made me wait this long. Now kiss me, damn you!
Matt's chuckle rumbled into her- then abruptly spiraled into a groan. Sora brushed her tongue against his lips, and finally, finally (although they had only been kissing for a few seconds; her perception of time was discombobulated) he surrendered. He squished her even closer, molding her to him. His hands ran over her, exploring, desiring. She had no language to describe what was happening with their mouths. It was as if he were tasting her, drinking her, which sounded gross or obscene- but it most definitely was not.
On the whole, she later reflected, it was fortunate that he held her up the whole time.
When they finally parted, her lips felt swollen, and there were traces of cologne on her hands and face. She was disoriented and breathing like she just finished a tennis match, but Matt was focused on her face. He embraced her hard, and Sora found her nose smushed into his shoulder. He leaned over and pressed his cheek against hers. "Sora- be my girlfriend."
His voice was lower and huskier than ever, with a finality that bordered on demanding. He had not, she noticed, actually asked. Somehow, that cockiness yanked her back to the normal, rational world.
She eased away from him, tipped her head, and glanced off to the side. "Well…" Tension flooded Matt, and his eyes went wide, with pupils dilated. Sora placed a hand on her heart, drawn by its strange swelling sensation. She didn't expect her teasing to cause so extreme a response. Sora rested her forehead against his collarbone and embraced him. "That sounds nice."
Matt slumped until his butt was propped on his desk. Papers crinkled beneath him, but he didn't seem to care. "Sora," he groaned as his head fell back. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"
"I'm sorry!" Sora kissed his exposed neck. "I was just teasing you, like-"
"Like the first time I asked you out," Matt finished. He rubbed circles against the small of her back, nudging her into him. They were too close for Sora to see his face, but she felt his smile when he rested his cheek on her head.
Sora drew back and fixed Matt with a scolding expression. "You kept me waiting."
"I'm sorry." Matt cupped her face with both hands and smiled, a bit sheepishly. "It was too important to rush. I hope it was worth the wait." His grin faltered as he colored and looked away. "It was for me."
Sora tried to respond, but intelligible words were not forthcoming. This seemed to bolster him; a smirk formed, but faded when he pressed his lips to hers.
She never did respond, although of course her answer was yes. Kissing him was much more interesting.
XXX
Mimi was painting her nails and chatting on the phone when someone knocked timidly on her dorm room's door. "It's open!" she called, pressing her cheek into her shoulder to hold the phone in place. Joe entered, smiling in a stiff, hesitant way. Mimi blinked, promised to call her friend back later, and sat the phone down, being careful of her wet nails.
"Howdy, stranger. Long time, no see. Did you forget me?" Mimi's pout was playful, but she genuinelymissed him during his studying frenzy- much more than she cared to admit. She filled her time with friends, parties, dancing, karaoke, shopping... But somehow, the constant noise and flutter of people wasn't as sparkling and exciting as usual. She longed for a little quiet here and there, for Joe to openly admire her while she spoke, absorbing more than he let on.
Joe stared, then produced a winded laugh. "Now that's unlikely." He spoke offhandedly, as if no one were listening, and sat on her desk chair. Mimi leaned closer, struggling to process. Compliments were usually delivered deliberately, with solid eye contact, so that the complimenter could judge her reaction. In contrast, Joe didn't seem to realize he was being sweet, or that she heard him. He sounded almost… unhappy?
Maybe he didn't enjoy their time apart, either.
A wicked smile creased Mimi's face. "Joe," she began, lifting a foot. "I'm going to paint my toenails. Will you give me a hand?" She wiggled her tiny, cute toes, and he blinked at them.
"S-sure, I guess. I've, uh, never painted nails before, though. I'm not sure if you want-"
"Of course I don't want you to paint them." Mimi rolled her eyes playfully. "I have high standards! I want you to hold me steady." She aimed her foot towards his lap, tilting it at an advantageous angle, showcasing the curves of her leg and subtly inching up her skirt.
Joe instantly colored, and delight burst in Mimi chest. She was tired of receiving self-satisfied smirks when she flirted, and of boys raising eyebrows suggestively, as if they had received an invitation that she hadn't given. The laughers and gawkers were bores, too. Joe's nervous response, mixed with obvious admiration and disbelief that she was giving him attention, was a new and welcome experience. He has the cutest reactions ever!
Yet he made no move to touch her. He could use some confidence, though, but no matter. Thankfully, Mimi wasn't shy about getting what she wanted. She poked his hand with her foot, then planted it on his thigh. Joe made a choking sound, then slowly moved his hand towards her, as if her foot were a dog that might bite.
Finally, he closed a palm above her ankle, then eased her lower leg against his lap, testing her balance. "You're steady?" he asked, even though he had already checked that. Touched, Mimi smiled and leaned towards him.
"I'm good. Could you spread my toes while I paint them? Careful not to tickle me." She winked, picked up her nail polish, and tilted her upper body over her leg, so she was very much in his personal space. Joe made an indistinct noise and obeyed, his touch feather-light.
His eyebrows flew up. "You're really soft," he muttered, sounding shocked, almost suspicious.
Mimi laughed. "You act like you've never touched a girl before!" A muscle twitched in Joe's face, and Mimi tipped her head, unable to believe what he was implying. "Haven't you had a girlfriend?" His fingers tightened around her foot, and Mimi busied herself with opening the nail polish, unwilling to watch the discomfort she inadvertently caused.
"N-No," he said at last. Then he cleared his throat and ran his fingers over her foot and ankle. Nerves, Mimi realized. But it wasn't just a tick- Joe's hands applied pressure, stimulating areas that made her muscles relax. She sat the bottle of nail polish down. This was much more interesting.
Mimi closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing herself not to react, not to give a signal that would make Joe realize what he was doing. "I'm surprised. You're a sweet, cute guy." Then, realizing that she had set herself up for the perfect chance, she caught his gaze and smiled, probably more fiercely than she should have. "But I guess that's what happens when you never step up to the base."
Joe blanched, laughed nervously, and increased the speed of his massage. "Plate," he muttered, fixing his eyes on some random point on the wall.
Being corrected when she was trying to give him a hint infuriated her. "Plate, base, whatever, who cares! The point is that you-"
"Want to ask you on a date," Joe blurted, and his grip on her foot tightened, almost to the point of pain. He lifted her leg without seeming to realize it, and she teetered. Joe exclaimed and grabbed her around the waist, knocking her legs aside. "S-s-sorry!"
Mimi recognized an opportunity when she saw one. Although she was in no danger of falling, she cried out and clung to Joe. Her eyebrows shot up at the broadness of his back. He was no athlete, and certainly no body builder, but he wasn't insubstantial or scrawny. She recalled that he always carried approximately fifty pounds of textbooks and binders, slung over his shoulders and back. Nerd muscles, she thought, fighting down a giggle.
"Finally!" she cried, splaying a hand on his chest. "I'll excuse it this time, but don't keep me waiting again! Understood?"
Joe's face couldn't decide if it wanted to turn white or red. To Mimi's amazement, he ended up blanched with scattered red splotches. "I, I'll try," he managed, "but I'm not good with signals. If you just tell me what you want..."
Mimi couldn't stop herself from laughing. "Oh, believe me, I will." She had a history of complaining, of pointing out when some want or need was not being fulfilled, and of expecting someone else (usually a boy) to take care of it. That trait was rapidly fading, mostly because she didn't like waiting, and she liked results. Being waited on was fun, but being able to rely on herself meant that her future would be bright. But if Joe was asking for her to say what she wanted, well… Why deny him? "We'll see if you can handle me."
Joe slid his face into his palm and groaned, but his other arm was still wrapped tight around her waist. When he lifted his head, his expression was uncharacteristically dreamy. His free arm joined its brother around her. "What am I getting myself into," he breathed, with a low sigh.
"Well, they say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger!" Mimi couldn't contain the bubbly giggle that followed.
"Greeeeeat," Joe drawled. But she caught a glimpse of his smile before she closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder.
Mimi sighed with contentment. "I believe in you, Joe."
"Well, that makes one of us." The words were pessimistic, but his tone was not. It was warm and affectionate, uncommonly positive.
I'm good for him, Mimi realized. He's good for me. This isn't just mutual attraction.
She must have looked at him strangely, because he tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong?" he asked, and his pitch increased with anxiety.
Mimi hastened to soothe. "No, no. I was just thinking, we should decide where we're going on our date!"
He blinked, then nodded and exhaled. "Alright. Let's do that, then."
Mimi smiled, hopped up, and brought him her tiny netbook. She stood and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, causing him to stiffen and laugh nervously. Mimi swallowed a tinkling laugh of her own.
This boy really is too fun.
XXX
Izzy was slowly growing aware of urgency and pleasure building within him, of the warm body beneath him and the lulling voice moaning near his ear. But the sensations were sluggish, as if a thick veil separated his mind from his body.
He tried to gather his thoughts, but it was like running his hand through smoke; the more he struggled, the more they spread. A spike of sweet, thrumming pleasure rolled over him. Izzy gasped, shivered appreciatively, and lowered his face into the curving neck below him. His lips traced kisses over the flushing skin and felt the beat of a fluttering pulse.
"Amy," he breathed, sinking into her with a low sigh. When the name was spoken, he realized that he didn't know where he was, how he got here, or who was accepting his body with hers. Still, he felt too sensual and hazy to be bothered. It had to be Amy. Who else would he lay with? Who else would lay with him?
Still, the need to know was intrinsic, so he struggled to focus. His vision sharpened by degrees, and he gradually discerned a slim, tanned body and a starlet face framed by thick, black hair. Recognition hit, a blow to the mind and spirit. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't even recoil from the bed and free himself.
"What's wrong?" Shauna demanded, her voice coy and decadent. "Come on, Izzy. It was just starting to get good."
Izzy's jaw locked; he was unable to cry out, to demand how this ruin came to pass. His heart hammered, not with desire or exertion, but with shame, horror, and sickening fear. At last, panic punctured whatever mysterious force held him down, and he pulled away, desperately looking anywhere but at the girl underneath him.
Hands closed around his wrists and gently tugged. That surprised Izzy; Shauna was not one to hesitate over what she wanted. But still, he would not falter. He had to get out of here, wherever here was, and the sooner, the better.
"Please, don't go." Somehow, her voice changed from full and low to clear and bright. Izzy couldn't resist peeking at the hands holding him back, and found that they were pale. He steadied himself with a deep breath and looked at her face- and locked eyes with Amy. She released his wrists, wrapped her arms around his upper back, and embraced him. He went without argument.
"Amy," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers, heedless of their sweat. As much for comfort as pleasure, he moved with her again, falling into a reassuring rhythm, establishing a sweet, grounding connection that eased his strain. Amy tipped her head back and produced a sound that was part gasp, part moan, and part dulcet sigh. It was the most arousing thing he had ever heard, and he willed himself to commit it to memory.
Understanding where they were was suddenly unimportant, so long as they were safe and she was happy. And, judging by the rosy hue blossoming beneath her skin and her increasingly desperate moans, she was very happy.
Bright, golden-yellow light poured over them, but the room remained featureless. Izzy's senses blurred, and he clung to Amy, although he wasn't sure if his intention was to ground himself, to protect her, or to decrease the likelihood of their separation. There was an overwhelming sensation of release and fierce pleasure, and he clamped his teeth together, holding back the exclamation clawing up his throat. His thoughts blanked; nothing but sharp, relentless bliss caused by neural signals and hormones registered.
When his faculties returned, he was on his back, and morning light assaulted his eyes, making him squint. Confused and disoriented, he raised himself to his elbows and glanced about. He found that he was in his dorm room, and he had made something of a mess. That serene, post-release repose vanished. The details of the dream replayed in his mind, and he grit his teeth and let fly an impressive stream of mental profanity.
Aren't dreams supposed to be subtle? What am I supposed to do about my underwear? Mercifully, Joe was asleep. Izzy slunk out of bed and to the closet, stripping down. It was earlier than he typically rose, but he couldn't sleep like this. He buried the sticky underwear inside a towel in his hamper. Then he went to the showers, clutching a basket of hygiene supplies with one hand and the towel around his waist with the other.
Izzy took an extended shower, trying to soothe his tense muscles with hot water. He read somewhere that erotic dreaming was sometimes caused by repressed sexual desires. It was atypical behavior for a boy his age, he knew, but until recently, his mind didn't wander towards sex very often. When it did, he usually snuffed the urge without much trouble. At any rate, the pleasure would only be spoiled by memories of disastrous intimacy with Shauna.
But perhaps, if you made new memories... Izzy pounded a fist against the warming tiles. No! I do not want Amy!
He tried to tell himself that the dream wasn't worth paying attention to. At its most symbolic, it was an expression of his body's pent-up sexual frustration. But then he recalled the way dream Amy pulled him in and moaned, rocked with him, and softly asked him to stay, and found himself swallowing a half hysterical exclamation. His brain was divided into two camps: one that scorned the notion that he wanted Amy, romantically, physically, or otherwise, and one insisting that he knew better, and was willfully ignoring evidence.
And that moment with dream Shauna was too dangerous, too infuriating to even dwell upon.
The water was cold by the time Izzy turned it off, but he had only marginally calmed. If only this were a math problem, some logical fallacy to dissect, some program error that he could fix! Then, he could throw his mind at it, work out the trouble, and move on to something- anything!- else. But no, it was emotional, it was highly personal, and, to create the perfect trifecta of awkwardness and irrationality, it was obviously sexual now. Izzy shuddered as he came to that last realization.
He toweled his shivering body dry and reflected upon how lost and uncomfortable he was.
