6.

Friday could not have come soon enough for Daria. She found she craved to be free of her house, and her family. There is no cage so unpleasant as one that is unjustly imposed. So naturally, she found it relieving to be at Casa Lane for some good quality Sick Sad World time with her amiga. And naturally, pizza only sweetened the deal.

It was late at night, listening to Jane's husky snoring which usually soothed her, that Daria found she could not sleep. She rolled this way and that in her sleeping bag beside Jane's bed, wishing Orpheus would just bash her with the lyre and skip the lulling. After more than an hour of unsuccessful sleep, Daria freed herself from her cocoon, and headed downstairs for a late night snack. Though the Lane kitchen was not exactly known as a land of bountiful game, perhaps there would be some left over pizza.

Rifling through the kitchen by moonlight, Daria resisted the urge to make like the roaches and run when the kitchen light flipped on. Squinting through the blindingly bright light, Daria made out a tall lanky figure in the doorway, clad only in jeans. It certainly wasn't Jane.

This impromptu late night rendezvous left Trent and Daria to utter the entirely suave greetings of "Hi," and "Hey".

Seeing Daria standing there in his kitchen sent something of a jolt through Trent; something he'd never really felt around her before. He realized, much to his surprise, that he was a little nervous. Is that how she used to feel around him, all the time?

Nervous or not, Trent also felt the urge to cross the floor, press his lips to Daria's and not relent until they'd stumbled up the stairs to his room and locked the door.

"Uh...what are you doing down here in the dark?"

Daria glanced around, as though the answer were written somewhere on one of the walls. "In search of the pizza leftovers, though the expedition has proved fruitless thus far."

"There's pizza?"

"Only the worthy shall find that which is sought..."

Raising an eyebrow, Trent gave an amused smile, walking over to the refrigerator. Three in the morning, and Daria still retained that sense of humor.

Knowing he would find it empty, for she'd already checked, Daria watched Trent try the fridge. She enjoyed watching Trent, watching the way he moved. That wiry torso and long limbs, tattoos across his arms, glittering earrings and tousled hair the color of a raven's wing, and so much more, all fascinated her in a way she couldn't quite describe. She never found herself admiring Tom in quite the same way.

Disappointed, Trent straightened from searching the refrigerator, and tried the freezer. The instant smile upon his face told Daria he'd struck pay dirt, long before he extracted the box and opened it to reveal the two last slices of pepperoni pie. "Split it?" he suggested, eyebrows raised.

"Sure."

Whilst they waited for the microwave to work its magic, Trent crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. "So...how was Saturday?" he asked with a small smile. Not exactly the master of tact, it was foremost on his mind. Besides, it wasn't exactly as though he and Daria had anything to be shy about, at that point.

"It was ok," Daria found herself saying, suddenly very interested in the floor.

Trent cocked his head inquisitively, as though that wasn't exactly what he'd expected to hear. "Just ok?"

"You know. Painful, fumbly, yet unexpectedly sweet."

Trent digested this account of Daria's time with another man, keeping the façade of a blank expression while the heat of jealousy curled ever so slightly in the pit of his stomach. Looking up, Trent found himself under the evaluative gaze of Daria's lively brown eyes. A question was burning there, he could tell, though with Daria one never knew if she would get up the courage to ask.

"You can ask me anything, Daria," he encouraged, wanting anything he could get, just to know a little better what was on her mind.

For a moment Daria's eyes widened with surprise, yet again taken unawares by how well Trent seemed to know her. It seemed to be her thing lately, to take leaping bounds into unfamiliar territory. So she backed up for yet another running start, asking, "Do you feel like I used you?"

It was Trent's turn to seem surprised, as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. "I guess I could ask you the same question," he evaded, dark eyes set upon her. Was that as good as a yes, she wondered? As far as she could tell, it added up to a big fat maybe.

Daria shrugged, feeling as though she were being stripped down to nothing by that piercing gaze. "I enjoyed myself."

"I guess that's better than ok." Daria adjusted her glasses nervously. He knew damn well it was better than ok. What did he want from her? "Are you having regrets?"

"I'm not, actually, which kind of makes me feel like I'm a sociopath..."

Trent laughed; it was no sound of joy, but short, harsh, and bitter. "Then you are having regrets."

"But only of not having regrets. Is that twisted enough to make sense?"

At that moment the microwave emitted an obnoxious beep, announcing pizza was ready to consume. Absently Trent reached out to shush it with the press of a button. Eyes all for Daria, he pushed away from the counter, finding himself moving to stand before her. "It sounds like you're not sure," he said, one slender digit reaching up to trace a feather-light line down her jaw and neck.

"Probably not," agreed Daria, tilting her head back. Hardly more than a week ago, she would have bolted for the door if Trent had touched her in such a way; now, she found herself incapable of any movement that wouldn't bring her closer to him.

Hungrily, Trent watched her response to his touch, fascinated by her skin. What was it about this girl, that drew him in? She was still in high school, and she was a brain...that alone should have been enough to scare him away. But labels are usually more misleading than truly descriptive. The truth of the matter, best he could tell, was that she was simply, or complexly, Daria. He knew he wanted to be apart of her some way, whether or not he really should.

"There's only one way to be sure," he found himself saying.

Quickly losing capability for complex sentences under the spell of Trent's touch, Daria asked, "Which is?"

"Try it again."

Daria drew a deep breath. She'd intended to inhale fresh air, but only succeeded in further engulfing herself in the scent of Trent's skin. Tentatively, as though she were still afraid Trent didn't want her, she reached up to slide fingers across his chest, tracing the bony outline of his collarbone. Why did he let her touch him, when he could have had someone seemingly better suited to his type? Someone like Monique? Someone not so skittish, so skewed, so...virginal. Maybe technically he'd taken care of that, but she still couldn't help but feel the term still applied.

It drew a sigh from Trent's lips; this new found desire surprised him; it took him aback, how very much he wanted her to want him. Maybe he was the elder, supposedly wiser, but in truth, in a way, he did look up to her. He hoped she would size him up with those quick cocoa eyes, and tell him he was worth something.

Trent ducked down to brush lips against Daria's neck and ear, lightly taking the lobe between his teeth. The shudder that wracked her frame took Daria by surprise, causing her knees to tremble. "And if we do?" she asked, unable to achieve a volume any greater than a sigh.

"Same as last time," breathed Trent huskily into her ear. "Tom doesn't have to know."

There's a special circle of hell for this, thought Daria, whilst melting into Trent's arms, plied more than willingly by warm moist kisses. Just for us. Paolo and Francesca would be waiting to keep them company, because Daria found, with a mental apology to Tom, that she just hadn't the will to say no to something that felt so right.

I know you're not mine, mused Trent between kisses, back arching as Daria's nails caressed his spine. I know all this is stolen. Stolen kisses, stolen time. But he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, if she could kiss him like that, then perhaps he the thief should be crowned king at her side.