A/N: Here's chapter two. My main goal for this series is just to have these two do the dirty in every chapter. Sound good? Good.
Disclaimer: Still don't own a single thing in regards to this.
Warning: MOAR GAY SEX OM NOM NOM~
Crossfire Chapter Two:
You get home and you're really not sure what to do.
Your mom asks what happened to your lip and you realize that it's bleeding again, but you're too distracted to care.
And so is she. The vaguely maternal figure in your life shrugs it off and continues with her work as you head to your room.
You close the door behind you and your fingers idly press against the bruises that litter your neck, and you still have no idea what to do.
Should you call him?
Would he even realize that he could technically call you?
Would he even care?
You're going to need your phone back, that's for sure, but you can't bring yourself to actually call despite the fact that it is your phone and everything.
And then you realize, this is the absolute perfect opportunity.
You want there to be more with this person, you still want this person.
This person that you know absolutely nothing about need you remind yourself.
You pace around your plain organized room until you've reasoned yourself the courage to just fucking call, because really, what was there to lose?
So you grab the landline, staring with determination down at the wireless phone before punching in your own cell number.
It rings.
And rings.
And your stomach sinks as you're sent to voicemail.
You hang up a little harsher than you need to, a pout on your still-bruised lips.
A hundred things are running through your head, a thousand reasons why he didn't answer and you manage to somehow get yourself to thinking that you should try again.
So you do.
You hit redial and hold the device up to your year, heart racing with anticipation.
One, two, three rings later and you're sent to voicemail. Again.
You want to throw the phone across the room, because really why was this so fucked up?
Why couldn't you have remembered or even realized that you had dropped your phone sooner, so that you wouldn't be in this situation and you could continue on with your measly existence and try to forget about everything that had happened today?
Because that would be all too convenient, that's why.
You take in a deep breath, staring at the numbers on the phone before you nod once in determination.
It is your goddamn phone after all, you have every right to call it however many times you want.
The phone's ringing is so loud in your ears that you practically yelp when it's answered.
"THE FUCK IS THIS?" His voice yells into the receiver and you're almost too busy freaking out over the fact that he actually answered to comprehend the clearly displeased tone of his voice.
"I...I left my phone in your car," You manage to get out, and Jesus Christ talking really shouldn't be this difficult.
There's a pause before his voice is streaming into your ear again, "Who 'r you?"
Your heart nearly breaks at that because holy shit you had sex with this man not three hours ago and he can't even recognize your voice.
"It's...it's me," Because how else are you supposed to make him realize who it is if he doesn't remember himself?
"I dun' know any 'Me's kid, sorry," He says and you can tell he's being totally serious and oh so unhelpful and you have the undying urge to punch him again.
"I'M NOT A KID!," You yell back instead and apparently that's your golden ticket because there's this spark of realization in his menacing laugh.
"Ah, th' li'tle fagboy, wha' 're ye doin' with m' number?"
"That's my phone you're using dammit, and I'm not a fagboy, my name's Conrad." You grumble at him, and you feel so stupid, it's a little late for introductions.
" 's tha' right? I mus've missed tha' tid bit when I was fuck'n yer ass," And your ears and cheeks are a flaming red color and you have to change the subject right the fuck now because you're much too paranoid about his voice being so loud that your Mom can hear every word from downstairs and is about to barge into your room any moment now and you really really don't want to have to deal with that.
"Uhm...yeah, anyways, I need to get my phone back...," You're not entirely sure how to pose the question exactly, but you push on through despite your trepidation, "So I was hoping that maybeyoucouldmeetmesomewhere?"
He laughs at your feeble attempt to sound nonchalant, to sound grown up, and you just sit and listen as that laughter eventually evens out into silence.
"I s'ppose," He finally iterates, and there's lingering humor in his tone that makes you clench your teeth together. " 'm free t'morrow, is tha' good 'nough fer you?"
You're nodding and you realize that, oh right he can't see your affirmation, "That's fine, where and when?" And you give yourself a major pat on the back because you managed to say that so naturally that you should get a goddamn Academy Award for it.
"Same place, 'aybe 'round five?" His tone says that he could really care less.
"Sounds good," Though your voice kinda squeaks at the end because hot damn this is actually happening. "See you tomorrow at five then?"
"T'morrow a'five Princess,"
"My name's CONRAD-" But he's already hung up and the dial-tone is blaring in your ear instead.
You frown and place the phone back in it's cradle.
"Now what?" You ask yourself, as you look around your blank room. You're restless and you don't know what to do with all this pent up energy.
You feel so enlivened, and you can't believe how absolutely giddy the prospect of seeing him again makes you.
You hear your mother's scratchy voice calling from down the stairs, indicating that dinner is ready, but you're not the least bit hungry because, fucking shit balls you're going to see him tomorrow.
And you still don't know his fucking name.
You're already waiting at the designated spot just outside of the mall, and you're thankful that it's starting to cool down a bit around you as the August heat wanes away with the day, though it'll still be awhile before night fall.
You glance at your watch impatiently, frowning as the seconds tick by and all of the sudden it's 5:17 and he's still not here yet, and fuck what if he stood you up?
But you're persistent, and stand there stubbornly, you've got your black jacket on and it's the only security you can find in the situation.
Your ears perk up as you hear the unmistakable sputtering of an automobile that you've only heard once before.
There's that piece of shit car slowly pulling up to the curb, the engine nearly exploding in an effort to shut off and you're not sure whether or not you should approach the vehicle or wait for him to get out.
He does the latter, and you're thankful that he's ended you agonizing internal monologue of miserable uncertainty. Those thin hands bring a lit cigarette to his lips as he slams the driver's side door shut with his foot.
A huge puff of smoke is released before he turns and walks over to where you're standing quietly.
You fidget under his gaze as another tell-tale blush stains your cheeks. He smirks, cig still held by his lips, before he uncaringly tosses something at you.
You catch the object and look down at it, it's your phone and it's shining merrily in your palm. But when you look back up, a timid "Thank you," falling from your lips, he's already heading back to his car.
"That's it?" You call after him, desperation clear in your voice.
He takes a quick drag, "Tha's it."
Before he even has the key in the ignition you're standing in front of the car's rusted hood, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
That same condescending curl of lips fills your vision as you stare at him through the windshield.
What the hell are you supposed to do now? You're grasping at straws, trying to get your mind and mouth to correlate when a solution finally hits you.
"I-It must've been a huge hassle for you to come out here like this..." You start, not daring to look him in the eyes, your pupils darting anywhere but.
He gives you a quizzical look, one that clearly says that he's listening and you continue.
"So I'd...I'd really like to pay you back for it."
You can hear his laugh and it makes you scowl, this was hard enough without him scoffing at you.
"Yer a'stubborn one aren'ya, kid?"
Your eyebrows furrow together, not sure whether or not what he said was meant as a compliment or an insult, "My name's Conrad dammit."
He waves his hand dismissively as he gets out and stands by the door. "Sure, sure." The cigarette bud is flicked to the ground and he promptly stomps on it. "Wha' d'ya 'ave 'n mind?"
You look around, because you're not really sure what you have in mind, you just know you better think of something quick. You spot a building in the distance and you feel like it's a beckon sent from the heavens.
"Do you have time for a movie?"
His eyes convey a message of: "Why the fuck would I?" and you're kinda sorta hoping the ground will just open up and eat you whole.
But it won't because since when does the world ever do what you want?
"Y'payin?" He ask and you feel your heart leap into your throat and you just can't believe this could possibly be happening.
"O-of course!" You say and you grimace and how elated you sound and you know that it must come off as completely lame.
"Then s'fine."
And you just want to jump and clap and squeal with all the grace of a retarded seal.
He gestures for you to get in the car, and you do, still as naive as ever, still so goddamn trusting. He could be shipping you off to the black market for organ harvesting and you probably wouldn't have even minded.
Your actions are obviously amusing to him because that smirk is practically caked onto his lips as he shifts into drive and you're heading across the street towards the theatre.
You fidget in your seat, berated with overactive memories of what exactly happened the last time you were in this car and you almost feel like you're suffocating from it during the duration of your at most eight minute ride.
He senses your mood, you'd have to be blind, deaf, and brain dead to not be able to sense it, but that's besides the point.
"Calm th'fuck down, 's not like m'gonna rape yer sorry ass'." His self-assured laugh following quickly after the statement.
You're almost positive it's his own hybrid way of offering comfort and you take it as it is.
You breathe out a single 'sorry' as he twirls his keys around his index finger, getting out because wow news flash you're already there and it's time to put your brilliant scheme of monopolizing this STILL NAMELESS man's time.
It's never crossed your mind to simply ask him for it, because that would mess with the overall generic principle of things...or something like that.
You finally catch up to him and he's at the front of the line, scanning the movie times, he's yelling at the half-asleep employee for tickets and you fork over the correct amount of money without even really registering it because you're too busy thanking every God you can think of that he picked an action flick. You know you would've died if you had to make the decision yourself and accidently picked something of the more romantic genre.
"Y'comin' Confag?" He asks, standing by the entrance and your eyes widen as you realize you've been standing around like an idiot.
"It's Conrad," You try to emphasize under your breath, quickly handing the tickets over to the employee who rips off the end, gruffly states something about "Theater 17" and hands the ticket-stubs back to you.
It doesn't seem like he heard you and he walks over to the concession stand, and you quietly follow behind him.
"D'ya want somethin?" He asks indifferently, gesturing towards the counter and you shake your head dumbly. "Y'sure?"
"Uh, yeah, I don't really...eat much," You try to elaborate, but he's ordering and the cashier tallies up the total so you go to grab your wallet.
"I got 't," He quickly brushes off your hand and you can feel a blush coming to your cheeks.
"But I said I would-"
"Yeah, yeah," He interrupts, grabbing the pop-corn and soda, heading in the direction of the previously specified theater. "Y'can always pay m'back some other way Princess."
You're too busy trying to figure out what he could mean by 'other way' to pay attention to the fact that the two of you are already sitting in a remote corner of the theater, and the lights are dimming as previews are being shown on the massive screen in front of you.
You're too busy fidgeting and trying not to make a complete and utter arse of yourself, because this is just really really awkward now that you think about it.
'At least you're spending time with him,' your mind helpfully supplies and it's a major comfort.
Because you are with him, and everything becomes relatively okay in your eyes.
So you sit through the opening credits, the major and minor character introductions, look over towards your new-found companion every time he laughs at something that you're pretty sure wasn't meant to be laughed at...like the main character's love interest being diagnosed with cancer thirty minutes in.
And eventually this seemingly uncomfortable situation becomes thoroughly enjoyable and you find yourself laughing too through the crapily written script, the semi-predictable outcomes of the fight scenes as well as every time someone gets brutally stabbed right in the jugular, which was a reoccurring theme throughout the film.
The plot was that ridiculous.
But then, and much to your distraught dismay, the tone of the movie drastically changes, and it's the Hero and his Soon-to-die-of-a-malignant-tumor-lover all alone, the music that fills the theater turns into something distinctly 'bow-chicka-bow-wow'-esque and you have this nagging feeling that some higher being must be out to get you.
The last thing you want to do is sit through a goddamn sex scene with the man who took your virginity yesterday.
Your body freezes as he leans over, his warm breath ghosting across your ear.
"Tha' could b'yer ass he's enter'n." He whispers, head tilting towards the screen to indicate the scenario he was referring too.
You bring a hand to your ear, trying to cover it and you look at him with wide eyes.
He laughs because you're blushing so hard that despite the theater's darkness he can still see it.
Because he got a rise out of you.
You tense up even more when you feel one of his hands on the top of your thigh, his palm slowly drifting up to more intimate regions and you gasp as silently as possible when he firmly grips your groin in one fluid movement.
"What're you doing?" Because, really, sex in a car is one thing, but this, this was a completely different bag of oranges all together.
"Wha's it look like m'doin'?" He returns as his lips nuzzle your neck, leaving teasing licks that are doing the most amazing thing to your circulatory system.
"S-somethng that you shouldn't in a public place," You hiss out, eyes widening even more as your zipper is pulled down, your hands grabbing at his because he really should stop.
"Dun' be such'a prude," His voice is practically a purr as he bites your neck and you're body instantly remembers how much you like it when he does that, his groping hand slipping past your clothes so it's just skin on skin.
It takes all your strength to stay quiet and you bite the back of your left hand to silence the moans. "I'm not- ah-...a prude," You whisper back and his teeth dig in deeper.
You can't believe how completely fortunate and unfortunate you are at the same time, because good God you've only just had your first real sexual experience yesterday and here you are for round two, and flying shit-cakes why is he doing this right the fuck now?
You're hyper aware of everything that's going on at this very moment, of his hands on you, and the way his fingers are toying with your balls- which makes you want to throw yourself at him, roll into his touch and go seven different kinds of crazy- and you do to the best of your abilities.
You find that now is as good a time as any to try and scope your surroundings, find out who the potential audience was for the show that you and he are putting on right now, and you let out a grateful sigh.
The closest person to you is two rows down and across the room, there were only about five other people in total occupying various other seats, all to immersed in the scene currently flittering onto the screen.
"See Princess, nothin' t'worry about." And you absently nod, eyes glazing over with pure pleasure as he continues to pump you hard and fast, his fingers gripping tighter at the base with every stroke and god dammit you would give anything to just be able to let out a scream right now.
You wonder why you can't go a good two hours without doing something sexual with this person, like everyone else. You wonder what makes him so special.
But you find relief from the pent up screams and thoughts when his mouth is on yours and he's able to muffle every groan and whine with his lips which he greedily takes in.
And fuck if he keeps this up for much longer you don't know if your voice will be able to stay quiet enough with just his mouth muffling yours, your tongues viciously sliding against one another as his teeth start to tug at your bottom lip.
"Mmn, I...I can't," You try to get out, but he won't have it and he pulls you on top of him, in that remote area of that practically empty theater and you've never been more thankful in your life for the fact that the room was square because squares meant corners and corners meant the perfect hiding spot for a quick shag evidently.
"Shh," He breathes against you, bringing the hand that's not occupied with stroking your dick around to grip your ass and you feel your whole stomach clench at the contact.
You start to moan into his mouth again for the umpteenth time when his index finger somehow manages to locate your entrance and starts to circle the puckered hole.
Your eyes clench tight and you idly feel your glasses being shoved rather uncomfortably against your forehead, but then they're suddenly wide, wide open as his finger manages to wiggle its way inside of you and you're taken by surprise when you start to come.
Your moan is broken and contained by his shoulder as you shudder and writhe as that finger continues to slide in and out of you, your orgasm finally hitting its peak and you slowly fall back to earth.
You're panting, desperate for air because, holy fuck you might be inexperienced, but you still hoped you would've been able to last a little longer.
He buries his nose in your slightly sweat dampened hair and breathes you in.
You find it oddly endearing as he slips his hands out of your pants and your skin could practically be jello for all you cared at this point and you sort of lay limply in his lap and his hands run up your arms and gently readjusts your glasses.
And he's smiling and it's the most wonderful thing you've ever seen, but you have a feeling that it was a complete accident, because he's instantly shoving you off of him, back into your seat and you're left to wonder what the fuck did you do wrong?
Then he's getting up and you can't seem to understand why, but then you look towards the screen, which is now black with scrolling credits and your mind happily fills with, 'Oh well duh' before you're following after him, his rigid back, his long steps.
And you know that you must've really screwed something up because he is radiating pissed.
The moment you step out into the parking lot, the sky completely dark now, you finally man up and decide to say something, "Hey, I didn't-"
"Y'need a ride home?" He asks, ignoring your sad attempt to reconcile with him over something that you couldn't even really explain, and you're momentarily baffled by the question.
"Uh...do I...do I what?" Because he really can't just be offering you a ride home like it's no big deal after what had transpired in the theater.
"Need a ride?" He restates, and he is giving you that look again where it's obvious that he thinks you're a looney.
You're not sure what to say, because somehow you want to say everything and nothing at the same time, so your mind picks up what your body dropped off and takes the recently-forgotten reigns. "Yes!" And you internally cringe at the shrill tone of your voice.
"F'gured as much," He remarks snarkily, already getting into his garbage-heap-graduate of a vehicle.
Again you're at a loss and you can't tell if he's angry or completely indifferent to you, but you know that neither option is the least bit appealing.
But you quickly hop into the car, because it was pretty nice of him to offer, and if he completely despised you wouldn't he have dumped you on the curb and gone along on his merry way?
You hope that's the case.
He asks where you live and you give him directions along the way.
The roads are lit with the orange glow of street lamps and you find some sort of odd comfort in the passenger's seat.
"Dun' go n'fall asleep on me kid." You hear him say, but your eyes are already drooping and you shift your shoulders in an effort to get more comfortable.
"My name's Conrad, it's not that hard to remember..." You mumble sleepily, the words almost slurred they're so quiet.
And right before you drift off you hear him chuckle, "A'right Conrad, a'right."
" 'ey, Peaches, wake the 'ell up." Are the first words you hear as your mind slowly comes awake, your eyes blinking blearily as you rub them from behind your glasses.
"Are we here already?" You ask and your voice sounds so disheartened by the prospect that it makes him laugh once again at you, and hopefully for the last time that day.
"Tha's right, now get yerself out'a the car."
You frown at his words, but do as he says, you don't have the right to protest, and you turn to look at him before closing the door.
"I...," You swallow, "I know this might seem kinda weird, but..." And you blame your sleep-clogged mind for the next words that spill from your mouth, "I'd like to see you again."
You say it so clearly, because they're from the heart, because you're still naive and so willing to let people in and experience life that you don't even think of the consequences, because you're not bogged down with all those adult obligations to the world around you yet.
"Ya sure r'n odd one." He comments, running a hand through his short blond hair.
"Well you're one to talk."
And there's that wild tone of his laughter, but you can't even bring yourself to get angry over it, sensing that it's not mocking in the least. Because what you said is the truth, and there's nothing funnier than that.
You hands curl tightly around the doorframe, and you take in a deep breath.
"So, because I think we went about this incorrectly..." You're trying to be casual, trying to calm the beating of your heart as you stretch out your hand towards him, a light hue of red coming to your cheeks despite yourself, "It's nice to meet you. I'm Conrad."
He looks at your hand appraisingly, a sharp quirk to his lips. "Definitely n'odd one." But then his hand is in yours, and his grip is surprisingly gentle.
"Jus' call me Worth."
A/N: Did ya like it? Awkward!Connie just rocks so hard amIright?
Reviews make the world go round~ (hint hint NUDGE NUDGE!)