AN: So...I wrote some fluff...For this ship...where normally there is only angst or sex or angsty sex. It's kinda cute, if I do say so myself. This ship NEEDS more fluff. They can be cute! I swear! -gestures wildly- Please review. My fluff skills are a bit worse for lack of use and I want to know I did well. Or failed horribly, if that's your opinion.
AN2: Five reviews in one day equals same day update!
Warnings: Language, FLUFF
Disclaimer: I don't own "Skins".
Chapter Twelve
Say When
She's sitting calmly on the merry-go-round where they had their first date when he finds her. He's not sure why he thought she'd be there, but he did and she is. His first instinct is to say something witty and slightly sarcastic, but that's probably not the best way to go about it this time round. He doesn't want to start another fight or spark another battle of wits. Not this time. So instead, he just sits down beside her, offers her a cigarette and the use of his lighter, and lights up one of his own.
They smoke in comfortable silence, for once content with things just as they are instead of how they wish them to be. The stars glow in the dark sky, beautiful and radiant. It's the perfect atmosphere for life altering confessions and declarations of love, but neither of them has ever been the type for such things. He thinks about it though, about suddenly staring into her eyes and professing his undying love.
A dark chuckle bursts unexpectedly from his lips because in his mind's eye he can see the look of absolute terror on her face followed by her wicked right hook before she storms away from him and never looks back. And it's not like he would have meant it anyways. He thinks she's hot and interesting, and he definitely feels something for her, but love? He's pretty sure it's just a fucking myth anyways. Tea quirks her eyebrow in curiosity, but he couldn't explain it without scaring off this quiet truce they seem to have going on right now, so he doesn't try.
The red embers of their cigarettes burn gently, smoke drifts upwards lazily and is scattered by the wind. And it's peaceful, this moment, between the two of them. They're always at war with each other, words and schemes and sex are just the tools of the trade. Who's going to end up on top; who's going to win it all in the end? Fight, fight, fight, fight, fight and it never ends because it's battle after battle after battle and no one ever wins.
But tonight there is peace. Because tonight, they both lost.
"We really fucked up, didn't we?" He asks with a small laugh that lacks humor in any form. He was a king once, a god among men, and tonight he acted impulsively and irrationally and he threw away the kingdom he had made.
"Yeah, I guess we really did." Tea shrugs, takes another drag. She could blame him. She knows it. He knows it. It's his fault for chasing when she ran, for seeking when she hid, for just refusing to let it be a night of drunken fun for them to forget about. It's his fault. His fault. His fault. His fault.
But she doesn't blame him. Not really. And they both know that too.
He could blame her too, if he wanted. Blame her for starting it all. For kissing him, for going to the couch knowing he would follow, for not saying no when he stopped to ask, for not hiding well enough or running hard enough, for giving in when he asked her to stay. It's her fault too.
But he doesn't blame her either. Not even a little bit, not anymore.
"Should have brought vodka. Be just like old times, yeah?" He smiles, a real smile, and pushes lightly off the ground. They only spin for half a turn but it makes her laugh, once, so it's enough. And when it stops spinning and her laughter dies out, his smile fades into his crocodile mask, half sincere. But half for Tea is far more than he's ever let through for anyone else.
"Hey, you found me." She admonishes. "If you wanted to get liquored up, you should have brought your own." As if to highlight this fact, she pulls out her handy dandy mini bottle. Travel-sized for all the illicit fun a stupid teenager can get into these days.
Tony's response is to tackle her for the bottle, smile back full force as they wrestle and Tea's comes into play. He's got one hand wrapped around hers around the vodka; the other is tight on her wrist and pinning it to the smooth metal of the marry-go-round. He's lying on top of her as he struggles to retrieve the bottle, but he's not trying all that hard, and she flips them. Now she's straddling him, bottle clenched tight in her fist, high above her head. And she's wearing the most dazzling smile he's ever seen.
He reaches half-heartedly for the bottle, but she just stretches, hoisting it further from his disadvantaged reach.
"That's cheating." He laughs, reaching for it once more.
"Is not." She feigns outrage at his accusation.
"Is too." He challenges, reversing their positions again. "Share, Tay. It's what friends are for."
"Don't wanna." Tea teases, and he's never seen her tease anyone this way, childish and free of scorn. And he feels fucking special.
"Share, or so help me God, I'll tickle you." He threatens. He's not sure where the words come from, but they slip out and he doesn't even know if she is ticklish. They've never had that kind of relationship, always too busy silently fighting to play such childish games. Now, he wishes they'd played them sooner.
"You wouldn't fucking dare." She growls, but it's mostly playful so he takes it as an invitation.
"You know me better than that, Tea." He lowers his hands to her ribs and begins to tickle her mercilessly, almost the way he had with Eura when they were both too young to care. She tries to use her free hand to push him away, but she's laughing too hard. She's laughing and threatening him and cursing like a sailor whose been shot, and he's laughing and demanding and grinning like a damned fool.
"Alright! Alright!" Tea shouts after she's run out of swears and breath and her ribs hurt from laughing so much. "Take the damn thing."
His hands retreat from her slowly, and he's starting to realize the position they've ended up in. Him on top of her, nose to nose as he reaches for the vodka and she finally lets he have it. Suddenly, drinking is the last thing on his mind.
He kisses her, and it's different from all the kisses before. It's slow and soft and sweet and everything he never is, instead of demanding and harsh and everything he tries to be. It's...nice. Okay, screw nice, it's actually kind of damn near perfect.
When he pulls away, he sees fear in her eyes again. Always so afraid of feeling anything. He doesn't blame her, not really. He's not such a big fan of emotion either. It controls you, makes you do stupid things, and Tony prides himself on his control, on not doing stupid things ever.
Except he did a stupid thing tonight, for Tea, so he guesses emotion is already in the mix.
"I'm still gay, Tony." She whispers. Why is she whispering?
"I'm still a manipulative bastard." He confirms, just in case she's wondering. And he's whispering too. It just makes sense, regular words just seem too loud.
"So, what the fuck are we doing?"
A whole lot of answers pop into his head at once. Each other, nothing, having fun, falling in love, matching, keeping each other entertained, messing around. But none of the answers feels like the one he should say. One feels kind of true, honest in a way he, personally, never is. It's also the one that would have Tea running for the hills and never looking back.
"I don't know." It feels like the safe choice. Maybe it's the only choice. At the very least, it's not really a lie. He lost control of this situation a long time ago and the answers he's always had don't really seem to apply here. The standard way of going about to make sure he gets exactly what he wants won't work. He could never work Tea over the way he could everyone else. It's like trying to convince your reflection that the smile is real; you can always see the truth in the eyes. Can't lie to yourself, after all. And they're just the same, so he can't lie to her.
He gets off her, suddenly cold everywhere she isn't touching him anymore. He resists the urge to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She'd probably let him, right now in this moment of this temporary calm, but he doesn't want to become accustomed to actions, or feelings, that she'll never let him get away with again.
Silence envelopes them again, comfortable and safe and perfect. It scares him. This easy perfection. The effortlessness it takes. The lack of scheming and plotting and acting. The loss of control of everyone and everything and himself. But he kinda likes it. He's always been in control of everything, it feels...different to just let it go. Slipping through his fingers like water cupped in his palms. Inevitable.
He lights another cigarette, hands another to Tea. They light up and watch the smoke burn. Her head flops down on his shoulder, and it feels like she was made to lean against him, every part of her aligning with every part of him in easy, effortless perfection.
"I've decided then." He says softly, shattering the silence with the harshness of his whisper. She looks up at him, still pressed against his side, so jaded from all the games, the battles, the wars. He kisses her, just as soft as the one before it. And she lets him, doesn't run anyway, doesn't hide from him and his touch and whatever it is that he makes her feel. "I've decided, to let you decide."
Tea laughs. Pulls away from him, suddenly bitter and sarcastic again, "You mean I can make my own decisions, Tony?"
"I mean," And he sounds so damn tired, because he is. They're been dancing around the reality of who they are and what they've been doing, and what exactly this is, and he's just tired. "That I'm not chasing anymore, Tay. You want me to go away? Leave you alone? The gang would probably take you back. You could tell them you were drunk and high and I took advantage or whatever. I could do it, if you wanted."
He gets up, stomps out the remnant of his cigarette. Watches her watching him, trying to read something in her eyes.
"Tony..." She trails off, not quite sure what she was going to say.
"Or, you could decide that this, whatever the fuck it is, is something you want. In whatever shape or form you want it in." He starts backing away from her, steps off the marry-go-round. "All you have to do, Tay, is say when. And I'm there, however you want me."
And he's turning around and walking away from her stunned look, her disbelief. He's Tony fucking Snyder, and he just gave up all the control in this equation, this relationship. He put everything in her hands, left it all up to her.
And then, he walked away.