"I'm not really into that "carve your initials into a tree trunk" type of teen-drama love," Peyton Sawyer said, throwing herself back on Nathan's bed as the sappy movie they'd rented (and only god knew why they'd chosen that one) ended. A part of her subconscious wanted to add "with you" to that, but she silenced it immediately. Yeah, maybe there was a romantic girl hidden under these layers, but Peyton wasn't about to let her out. Love hurt too much already. Letting her guard down could only make it worse.
Nathan wasn't about to let the moment go to waste. He clicked off the television with the remote and rolled on top of her, and grinned, "What kind of love are you into, then?"
As always, a million thoughts flew through her mind at once. Nathan wasn't perfect, by any stretch. He "forgot" to call and he was often late, and even when he was there, it wasn't like he was bringing her flowers and chocolates. However, he was her drug, her addiction, and she wasn't sure she was ready for the withdrawals.
It wasn't as though they hadn't broken up before. They'd said the words, meaninglessly, "I'm through," more times than either of them could count. It never stuck. In fact, it rarely lasted more than a few hours, or a day at most. "Maybe we're just fucked up in the same way," Peyton often thought (or was it justified) to herself.
She blinked and brought herself back to the reality of her life.
She met his eyes and smiled, "I think we're both very clear on that one."
In one rapid movement she rolled him over, forcing her way on top. It was always a power struggle with them, in every element of their relationship. She moved her lips to his neck and kissed softly (at first), and then whispered into his ear, "I'm into the type of love where I get to go home and crash after the movie."
She smiled playfully, feeling as if she had won, and leapt off the bed, and started to collect her stuff.
Nathan, however, wasn't quite ready to lose the game.
In a second he was behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close to his body. He touched her neck with his lips.
She tried to pull away, for a minute. She hated giving up her power to him. All she really had going for her, one of her best ways to justify this relationship was her belief that she could always have the power, that she could always be in control. If Nathan decided to play basketball instead of showing up for some date they had planned, she'd ignore his calls for a couple days and avoid him at school. She didn't take his bullshit, or at least, not the amount he wanted her to.
He held onto her firmly. He was stronger and he knew that this was just another game to her. It only took a moment for her body to relax in his arms. "Nathan." she said, as though it was a complete thought. She knew that she could never explain to him how she could want him so much while at the same time wanting to get in her car, pull away, and be done with him, if only for tonight.
He didn't respond. He was already unbuttoning her pants and unhooking her bra. They worked like clockwork, but somehow, it was never boring.
She slept over.
Slept, however, was the wrong term. Nathan often fell asleep afterwards, but she would like awake in his bed in this big beautiful house and wonder if the path she was on led to where she wanted to go, and, for that matter, wondered where the hell she wanted to go.
She woke up in his arms and wondered how she got there. Sometimes Nathan surprised her with how sweet he really could be. He smiled at her, wordlessly, when he woke up, and for a minute she wished they could stay here forever. Perhaps nobody else would associate Nathan Scott with the word innocent, but sometimes, he really seemed that way to her.
