Faythe sat on Danté's stomach, her hands on his shoulders, and his hands up her shirt. They were on his bed, neither of his parents (or Vincent) home yet. He sat up, kissing her rougher than before. The two carried on, lust hazing over their thoughts. Danté picked her up off of him, the both of them sitting on their knees; his hands flew to the buttons on her sweater; Faythe's hands set to making quick work of his belt, and then his pants.
"Danté?" she asked, pulling away, Danté attaching his mouth to her clavicle.
"Mm?"
"I love you." He looked up at her, a slight flush to his face.
"I love you too, Faythe." He answered quietly, honestly. They slowed down, eyes locked and kissing languidly…
Danté watched the steady rise and fall of her chest as she slept. She snored quietly, snuggling closer to him under the comforter. He held her to his chest, kissing her forehead. His heart did funny things around her, but never had it behaved as erratically as it did then.
Ava slammed the back door, storming off to the living room. Vincent followed into the house after her, shutting the door much quieter than she had. Immediately he went to the kitchen, dropping his bag in a chair and pouring himself a glass of OJ. When he walked into the living room, she was sitting upside-down on the couch, going through music videos On-Demand. Vincent took a seat on the couch next to her, right-side-up, watching her pick a random video.
"I am on the verge of murder." She said simply, scowling at the TV. Vincent didn't speak, knowing she wasn't finished with her venting. "I mean, honestly, who does that? What a hypocrite!"
"I understand that, baby." Vincent said, training his fingers up and down her thigh.
"Vincent, I don't think you do; Sheree Richards just called me a whore, when she's the one that can't keep her pants on? I don't think so."
"Yes, Ava, I know what happened: I was there."
"And you didn't even defend me!" she wailed, putting her arms across her eyes.
"Baby, I can't fight her; she may be a hypocritical, walking back hole, but she is still a girl. And on top of that, did you see the look that everyone within earshot gave her? No one thinks you're a whore." Vincent assured, playing with the button and zipper of her jeans.
She peeked out between her fingers, "Are you sure?"
"Positive." He said, putting his orange juice aside and undoing her jeans.
"No; I'm not in the mood, Vincent… maybe later." She sighed, playing with his glasses and sitting up properly. He sighed, agitated then, and resumed watching the TV, not touching her again.