For blaue-banane, someWhereinRoma and Greys has become my life. Thank you so much for your continued support and feedback! Knowing you're reading motivates me to always try to better myself! Also fortraceit, whose advice was invaluable in constructing this chapter.
Please skip this chapter if you're offended by, or too young to read, graphic adult content.
16
Bowling alleys are horrible places to attempt to think deeply about anything. There's so much laughter and noise and activity, everything bright and swirling and fun like some kind of carnival, and all of that makes it so difficult to focus. I managed it somehow, however, forced myself to seriously consider the situation I found myself in. Will was bowling, and I was watching, and just the line of his body as he moved stirred something inside me, and I thought… This is not good. This is not possible. And then I watched him interact with the kids, watched him smiling and laughing with them and it was worse than watching him teach because suddenly I could picture him with a child of his own and that was getting way too close to something I was never ever ever going to think about. So I thought, panicked, that I had to do something, anything, to end this. Everything about him was just anathema to me, or should be, and I didn't want it. I wanted all the doors inside of me to remain closed and locked, to keep whatever I was within contained, safe, and I didn't want him using his smile as the skeleton key that would grant him entry and leave whatever I was, everything I was, at his mercy. The risk was too great, and I was not strong enough to bear it, I knew.
And yet knowing that didn't prevent the unbelievable stupidity that was to follow, I suppose because there was no way to prevent it. Once more I was compelled, once more I had no choice, and when he opened his passenger door for me and kissed me softly in front of both Kurt and Mercedes I allowed it because I had to. When he laced his fingers with mine and drove both his students home single-handed, it was the same. But it wasn't until we were walking from his car parked on the street to the front door of my mother's house that everything really became clear to me. It was chilly, and as we made our way up the path, I shivered. There were only a few more feet to go, but Will paused, removed his coat and draped it over my shoulders, caressing me gently in the process
And that was it. That was all it took, his coat, still warm from his body heat, saturated with his scent, cocooned around me, and I realized that nothing was going to close those doors he'd opened inside me, nothing could keep him out, because he was the key. Not his goodness, sweetness, dedication or smile, just him, all of him, and there was no point fighting it because it had happened already, happened despite everything, happened in spite of myself. I want to be very clear: I did not let this happen. It just… Happened to me. Past tense. It was done.
For a split second, I wanted to laugh at the irony. I thought of all the men who had wanted me throughout the years: rich men, handsome men, powerful men, famous men. Some had been all four. They had showered me with gifts, paraded me on their arms, introduced me to foreign heads of state, written me songs. But none of their gifts had ever affected me the way Will's gesture had, none of them had ever affected me the way he had, period. I didn't understand why, still don't completely. All I know is that his simple act undid something within me, made me feel… Cherished, I suppose, in a way no extravagant piece of jewelry or dramatic gesture ever had. And when we were alone together in the guest bedroom in my mother's house and he turned to me, touched his mouth carefully to mine and began to strip me slowly, there was no protest, no struggle, not with him and not with myself. There was no other way for me.
He removed his coat from around my shoulders first, letting it drop to the floor, and he pulled me close, stroking my back and arms.
"Are you cold?" he murmured against my ear before placing a kiss on my cheek, on my neck.
And I just shook my head because I wasn't, and I could feel his lips smiling against my skin, and then he was unbuttoning his shirt, which I'd made my own throughout the week. He slid each button from its buttonhole very deliberately, pausing to brush his finger across the bare skin each opened button revealed, pausing to brush his mouth across it too. When the shirt finally dropped to the floor, I was already aching with want, with need. But he just smiled at me, knelt on the ground, removed each of my shoes, caressed each foot which should have been weird but wasn't somehow. I tried to help him, tried to unbutton my jeans for him, but he stopped me with a hand on mine.
"Let me," he said, and I remembered the way he'd undressed me after our first encounter, the way I'd thought it was some kind of mild kink. Now I realized that it was his way of revealing me, of seeing me, no different from watching my face as I came, no different from wanting to know me. So I let him, and he pushed my jeans to the floor, helped me step out of them. He trailed his fingers up my calves, stroking slightly behind my knees, following with his lips, up and up and up. I'd never known that my inner thighs were almost as sensitive as what was between them, but he did somehow, and I gave myself to the swells of warm pleasure that were washing over me.
After some amount of time had passed, I have no idea how much, he stood and looked at me, absorbing the sight of my skin contrasting with my lingerie, silk and lace, before reaching out and unhooking my bra. Cupping my breasts, he kissed my neck and chest, leaned down to tease my nipples with his lips and tongue and teeth. His warm mouth sucking each sensitive point wrung soft cries from my throat, which only encouraged him. Distracted as I was by his efforts, I barely noticed when he skimmed one hand down my side and tugged my panties to the floor, though I dimly realized this would mark the first time I was completely naked for sex with him. This fragment of a thought was driven out of my head by his continued gentle assault on my bare flesh, and finally it got to the point where my knees were weak and I had to rest against him to stay standing, and he pulled away to take my hands and guide me to the bed.
I lay down and watched him undress himself, reveling in each new swath of flesh his actions exposed, feeling a sense of awe at the power and beauty of his body. His lean chest was well-toned, lightly dusted with hair, and its broadness tapered perfectly down to his slim hips, his long legs. It wasn't a surprise to me that he was beautiful; I'd always known it, seen it briefly, felt it beneath my fingers. But this was the first time I'd been able to just observe him, just watch him, just see him move without anything, even the touch of his skin, to distract me. And I wanted him as much as I'd wanted him the first time I'd seen him, because nothing we had done so far had assuaged the longing I'd felt then. Possibly nothing ever would, but like every other thought I never wanted to think, I pushed that possibility away.
Approaching the bed, he held out his hands to me, and I grasped them, pulling him close, sighing at the feel of all the golden skin I'd been staring at pressed against mine. It was insistent as hunger, this need to be touched by him, and all my life until now I had been starving and I know how ridiculous this is, it's like a goddamn greeting card or 80's pop ballad or something, but it's just… True, that's how I felt. Our lips met in a deep kiss, tongues rubbing against each other sensually, mimicking the movement of our bodies, and I tried to define the taste of him but couldn't. I'd only ever tasted him desperate before, but now he was something else, something softer, just as intense but less urgent, some word I didn't know.
His hands were moving softly over my body, stroking and caressing my sensitized flesh, and I touched him in return, feeling the steel of his muscles somehow hard beneath the incredible smoothness of his skin, and his cock was the same, hard and smooth and hot in my hand. He gasped against my mouth as I moved my fingers idly up and down his length, and suddenly my motions became like my piano playing had once been, "idly" morphing into "with intent", and I increased the pressure just slightly, and then he was moaning into the crook of my neck and shoulder. It felt good to make him feel good, and it felt better when he returned the favor, sliding his hand very deliberately between my legs and finding me wet and ready.
Gently, he slid two fingers inside of me, and I cried out at the sensation. Even as his fingers stroked me, he began to slowly move down my body, detouring for several long minutes at my breasts, licking and kissing a path down my belly. Then he dropped lower, pressing his mouth softly to my inner thighs, sucking slightly, teasing me until I was an incoherent mess, gasping and begging. I almost sobbed when I finally felt his lips between my legs, felt his tongue darting out to taste me, skimming across my slick flesh. His two fingers were still deep inside me, moving in a steady rhythm, and every delicate sweep of his tongue fit that rhythm perfectly. And then he placed his mouth fully against me, applying a small amount of suction, flicking his tongue against my clit until I hovered at the edge of ecstasy, my back arched, hips raised, fingers flexing convulsively in his hair. He held me suspended like this for what felt like hours, and I was soclose, thisclose, until he carefully eased me back down again.
I dropped my hands to his shoulders, pulling at him urgently, and he rose above me until I pulled his face to mine, meeting him in a fervent kiss, wanting to taste myself on his lips. There was a hint of sweetness to his mouth, something that wasn't quite him, and something about it made me want him inside me with a desperation I can't even describe. He shifted against me until he was almost as close as he could be; I guided him into me because it wasn't close enough. Feeling the blunt pressure of him entering, I gasped his name until, groaning, he buried himself hilt deep. My body was already so sensitive from the torture he'd subjected me to that this single thrust filled me with a searing jolt of pleasure and a profound sense of completion, and I wrapped my arms around him, cradling him and kissing him, and all of this done so tenderly I could hardly believe I was the one doing it. His arms held me just the same, warm and safe to his chest as he moved inside me, never fully withdrawing but rocking gently against me, maintaining contact with my clit, stoking the embers of my desire, fanning them into flame until my entire body burned for him.
And it didn't feel like sex, really, nothing he was doing felt like sex, and I refused to think about what it felt like, it was just different from every other time he'd been inside me. He kissed my cheeks and throat, smiled down at me, tucked my hair behind my ear and laced his fingers with mine and it didn't feel like sex at all, even when I came in his arms. There was no sudden explosion of sensation, there were just the heart-stopping feelings he'd created, building them higher and higher until the next step was ecstasy and I took it, melted into it, my entire body filled with a deep, warm glow, and I'd once thought that pleasure with pain was transcendent but this was painless, a flood of pure joy that left me gasping for breath, gasping his name.
Then he pressed his lips to mine, moved deeper, harder, and opened himself to all the joy I could possibly offer, which was more than I'd ever imagined I possessed or was capable of sharing. He whispered my name over and over and I felt vulnerable again, but somehow his embrace made vulnerability seem safe, and if I thought about it that was horrifying but I decided not to think about it at all.
TBC