Parallel lines (for the act that has ruled my heart for three years)
author's notes: I did try my best to write about pre-marital sex but it's been months since I ever did engage in such actions so my feelings, writing and senses towards this topic is a bit dulled. There are three versions of this story, the actual one where I just write freely about the topic and the alternate one is more planned in my head where Sho is asexual, some of the lines I reused in both stories because the English is too much for me, I'm facing the music that I cannot write that well in a male p.o.v but I am trying. Also in the first story they do have an age gap while in the second they don't. The third part is where you have your usual the girl is prude about sex. I basically made this story into every ending and opening I can think of.
According to the website, Asexuality Visibility and Education Network, "an asexual person is a person who does not experience sexual attraction." To me (and most logical humans, I hope), I don't think they are incapable of forming romantic relationship. The resulting second story is how I imagined such a relationship would form between Joana and Sho, had the latter been asexual. I fully recognize that there is a spectrum to asexuality, and that their experiences do not speak for the whole community.
Please note that I myself am not an asexual person, so if I have represented asexuality here in an inaccurate manner, please do feel free to correct me.
There is a boy who starts out with a silver spoon wedged between his small mouth, with people ready for his beck and call. He is a lion heart, doing all the things the adults should have been doing.
And there is a girl born into a power hungry household, avarice flowing in her veins indirectly, it flows like blue lightning, ready to make her a marionette of paper and gold.
They meet in a huge mansion, amidst masks of blues, gowns of white, pearls of gray, hearts of red. Faces lost in the crowd.
And he did find her, her and gloved hands, hair in an elegant waterfall of curls, and held it in his. And just like that, bolts and fire fuse together, and they turn into a foundation.
- Excerpt from Segismundo (Sho and Joana)
I.
They take things slow and Sho is surprised on how much he enjoys it.
And it amazes how much Joana warms his heart. The way she hides her bare face when she washes it with the many skincare products he can't even pronounce, the way her hands lift to her hair and tucks them behind her hair whenever she feels nervous, or when he tells her she's beautiful. The way her cheeks flush when she sees him in early mornings. The way, she always orders chocolate cake and hates the taste of wine. How the dimples in her cheeks appear when she plays with children.
They hold hands during their walks towards the theater, under café tables, two palms used to indifference, lashes and paper, two palms used to being so alone; two palms finally finding warmth within the other. And he notices how much smaller her hand is; less calloused and dainty; he feels the urge to always hold it, and when he kisses her knuckles and hears her little contented sigh, he doesn't really have the heart to let it go.
They kiss and he makes sure it's close mouthed and chaste, soft as butterfly wings, he leaves trails of them on her face; lingering on the tops of her eyelids, the apple of her cheeks, the line of her jaw; he's never pressured to her to go further than she likes, never made to feel as if she has to repay dinner or gifts with sex, never has to worry that he wants her for her looks alone, never has to feel not as pretty, not as smart, not enough, because he never compares her to anybody else.
It's easy. Being with her. Liking her. Loving her.
He's the one who says "I love you" first, when he zips her black gown and she faces him, and unexpectedly bury her face against his neck to hide the unexpected sting of tears when he kisses her forehead, reassuring her so, because nobody's ever been the one to say it to her first. She feels like she's spent her whole life chasing after love, after happiness, and he offers it to her so, so easily.
And it scares him, because despite of his more mature disposition in life, how he was exposed so much to these ordeals, nights spent groomed by his father, nights of musk and red lipsticks, there is still the surge of desire that runs through his veins and although he wants to kiss lower, to the valley of her neck, to her collarbones, and he wants to nip behind her ears; she is still someone he will respect and treat carefully.
If it means he gets to be with her, if it means she will stay and love him, he'll give up sex. He'll touch himself furtively in the bathroom where she can't see or hear him, he'll fight back the urge to press her against the wall and kiss her breathless, he'll ignore the tightness of his pants, the way his body betrays him and demands friction. Instead he walks her home, kisses her cheek and murmurs into her hair how much he is lucky to have her; how much she is his foundation.
She pulls lightly at his polo and she's kissing him just the way he leads them, close-mouthed but firm, no tongues, just heated lips and sure movements, and it's better than he ever imagined.
Because he knows one wrong move, one wrong touch and even one wrong longing look, everything that they have suffered and worked for will vanish.
Moans and groans echo off the walls and were swallowed and muffled by the rich fabrics that decorated the space. The scrape of fabric on fabric as bodies mingled added to the capriccio of sounds, but was easily drowned out by the sound of kissing.
Lips tasted lips and then neck and collar and breasts.
Sho inwardly cursed at himself. So much for fucking self-control.
Joana spread her legs to accommodate him and her nightgown had been hiked up so that he could nestle his legs between hers and she arched her back when he pressed his hips against her.
He growled when he heard his name on her lips. It rang sweet, mingled with a moan, in his ears.
Joana was exquisite, his eyes roamed over her form, she panted lightly, and her eyes glistened with desire and hesitation. Her hair was tousled and loose, splayed in wild kinks and waves, draping over her shoulders. The straps of her silk nightgown had fallen to her shoulders.
And she looked at him with glassy eyes, and it takes everything in him not to pin her down the mattress.
Sho inhaled a deep breath, to calm himself, and pressed a light kiss to her lips, cupping her face, lightly and she moaned. It was a cruel sound and his body stirred. They quickly fell back into their pattern of kissing, only this time, Sho made no further move to undress her.
Joana pushed into him and he hissed at the closeness of their groins. Too much cloth and fabric sat between them and he growled and gripped her hips tightly, pulling her roughly against him, hoping she could feel his desire.
She did, and moaned and his frustration mounted.
The moment, he felt her lips against his stubble, and her fingers traced the length of his arms, he stopped abruptly. The silence between them thickens, and Joana, stubborn and needy, tried again, her hands went under his shirt, tracing his abdomen and then Sho felt her nails scratching across his back, and he now he was the one letting out a groan.
"I want this," she whispered softly as she kissed behind his ears, "I want this" she said again as she kisses along his jaw, slowly, enough to tease, "I want you,"
Her fingers graze lightly to the band of his boxers when he thankfully caught them, and he firmly said "No," that little world seemed to make her eyes tear up and looked at him,
"Am I not good enough for you? Am I not experienced enough to handle you?"
"You are good enough but Jo-"
She angrily pounded her free hand into his chest "You hesitated! I am not good enough for you, you know that."
Sho gripped her wrist and pulled her towards him roughly. She had spiked his anger.
"I get to decide what is and isn't good enough for me and I would have you."
Joana tried to free herself from his grasps but he did not release her so easily. When she spoke, he saw the look of panic in her eyes.
"So you would hurt me?"
"Never!" Sho's grip released instantly and he watched as Joana pulled away, cradling and stroking her wrists. Standing from the bed and smoothing out her wrinkled nightgown, tears have now streaked her face. He regretted how he had restrained her, how he had let his anger get the better of him.
Perhaps it was he that was not good enough for her.
He caught her lightly in his arms and he swiped at the tears threatening to fall down her face. "You know that." he said softly, however, Joana was not content with his answer and he could not fault her for that.
"Then why are you stopping me?" Her question was laced with such sadness and anger and although Sho tried to suppress his frustration, she had been the one to instigate this, to act upon the hidden desires he never knew she had because he's been trying too hard to convince himself that she does not feel the lust too.
"I do want you!" he said in desperation.
When he said that Joana began to tremble in his arms and he began to realize the complex emotions that swam through her and their lust for each other only complicated the situation.
"Tell me your fears, Sho" she implores "All of them." Joana carefully placed her hands on his fact to make him look at her.
Sho leaned his forehead against hers and he sighed deeply, the lines of his forehead appearing slightly, his hands nervous and he can only grip the small ribbon that is against Jo's waist, because he needs to control himself. "My father, you knew how he was,"
"He groomed you," she said softly "Groomed you and then left you alone."
Sho remembers it all, the suffocation, the expectations, a little kid stumbling and etching crayons on office halls, a teenager memorizing staff members, a young adult handling a company who was used to a cold and calculating head and not an idealist; not to a lion heart doing the things adults should have been doing.
He tells her everything, he remembers everything, how vivid yet so empty the sunlight is always pressed against the windows, soft mattresses, how he learned to swallow moans, how to please, Over the years, he's learnt how to cater personally for the clients he sees regularly. Finding out from Apple, the same age as him, with enchanting eyes and thick hair that he loves to run his fingers through, that he likes it when he's got her wrists tied to the bedpost above her head. He decorates Ella, entering college and loves to talk, with constellations of hickeys across her stomach. Samantha, young and new to all of this, likes being called sweetheart, and he pays extra when she swallows.
He smooths the ribbon in his hand and he just can't afford to look at Joana anymore as he tells her of the times that he feels that release, how the women under him grasp the sheets, bringing their hands to the "o" of their mouths. He remembers tight corsets and red lips, names blur in his mind, sometimes he calls them by another, on the nights of pure insatiable lust, he doesn't even get their name nor does he even bother giving his.
Joana, interlocks her fingers with his that were holding the ribbon of her nightdress; and Sho take it as a way to continue.
There's no vulgarity with her. No whips or hot wax or anything that makes him catch his ouch between his teeth and he tries to imagine fucking Joana like that. He tries to figure if Jo would like it if he tucked his head between her legs, if she'd wrap her legs around his waist as he pushed his hips into her, the sweet whisper of her breath on his cheek, moaning in his ear—
When he gets to that point, he has to close his eyes and put his head in his hands.
Sho's sex life did not belong to him. He lost his virginity when he was fourteen in some penthouse suite, and came back smelling like perfume and sweat. Sex was something he did to keep his father's approval. When it came down to it sometimes, he wondered why people even did it at all. It wasn't like it was that enjoyable.
But he does tell of Angela, with her perfectly shaped eyebrows and quick remarks, the way she only wears black lingerie.
Angela is different. He chooses Angela. And he didn't really think that it could make such a difference, but it does. He likes it. He likes her.
And he loves the rebellion of it.
It makes him smile fondly, when he's dressing himself and Angela is sweeping her hair into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. He looks down at his bare chest and sees the marks blossoming in her wake; thin, red lines marring his skin, light purple shadows cradling his hips. Usually, he minds when he's marked like this, because they feel like battle scars more than anything else, but right now, they feel like freedom. They're a fuck-you to his father, from both him and Angela, because right under Cheng Mendoza's nose, Sho Mendoza is having consensual sex and making choices and his father does not own him.
And he even admits to Joana, when he does try to do anything remotely sexual in nature, he fights to groan out the right name.
When he finishes, the young woman is frustrated with herself, and all the pent up thoughts and feelings swim and tear her apart. Joana doesn't think she is the prettiest girl her lover has laid his eyes upon, she doesn't even think she's the smartest he has discoursed with, she's been trying so hard, to be more, to be better, to know his side, to know him, to relish the trail of his rough, calloused fingers, but when he finishes, she is terrified that even in sex, Sho has expectations,
"I love you," he whispered, searching her eyes for any shift in her emotions. "Please," he continued, "I may not make love to you now, but you must know how much I love you. I have always loved you."
Joana sobbed now, falling into his arms and he hugs her close, trying to soothe her; and although, through choking sobs, she tried her best to string together sentences and apologize, and he could hear broken words of "I'm sorry", "not doing this again" "please don't leave me" and his heart breaks;
It doesn't surprise him that much when she isn't with him anymore and the room filled with the empty scent of roses.
After that night, they seem to not recover fast, for Sho's taste, Joana is an easy woman to please, and to irritate, so when she kisses him lightly on his cheek, simple hugs and light kisses and that are the only things they do, he knows something is wrong.
He messed up, he fucked up. Like he invented a new kind of stupid. A damage he can never undo type of stupid.
He drives out to the night life and finds Gia, his ex and still his best friend despite the messy typing up of loose ends, and when she spots him, she gestured to the seat beside her and orders tequila.
"Did you call her Angela too?" she says fighting back a small laugh.
"Fuck you," he replied curtly as he drank a shot.
"You know, when I knew of the whole brothel thing, I didn't really think less of you, you're still Sho, still scarily good at debates, has never had a sweet tooth in his life and you have determination in your eyes," and at that the man smiled at least "But since this happened with you and Joana, who mind you her parents –"
"Her parents only taught her to be greedy and pick gold, I know who Joana is, and she doesn't have to touch me to be gold, she was already golden,"
"Sure we both know that, but does she? You have to remember to take things slow again, she's a good two years younger than you, and although that doesn't look like a huge age gap, you're finished with college and maintaining a company, she's in her second year and still grasping."
"I know,"
"I'm just putting your thoughts on airplay," Gia plays with her cup and drawls at the dj skipping the song " You know the right steps and choices, you just have to kiss her gently again, hold her hands firmer, tell her that no, you don't have expectations in sex, that, - "
"I know, I need to reassure that I do love her, it's just I wish I could find the right time, the right place, because this is confusing me to no end Gia,"
"You know what I say? Coax her, take her to her favorite café, order her cake and talk it out, love should always be sure Sho, sure in your words, your actions. If she is not sure, if she is not sound on this matter, you both will fall apart,"
Sho rarely takes Gia's advice, he doesn't listen when she tells him to fix his tie, to visit the grave of his father nor does he listen to Gia saying that she doesn't want him to leave, so here he is waiting in Jo's beloved coffee shop, with a bouquet of sunflowers at his side, and rushed monologues in his head because, if there is anything he is going to lose today, it's definitely not Joana. He is not going to lose her laugh or her love
"I shouldn't have walked away the other day." Joanna started not quite looking into his eyes just yet, "I shouldn't have, but I did, I was afraid." she sat down in front of him, smiling small as she saw the chocolate cake in front of her, and just like that the words that were stuck in her throat, and releasing as a jumbled mess,
"It's hard for me to just be someone not worthy of your status, of your stature and I , and I" she stuttered "Felt as if you had expectations in everything else, in looks, in wealth, and that night even in sex, I already feel the weight of our age gap, and I feel just so insecure about everything now, but I love you, "
Joanna started fumbling out her words and felt Sho hands on hers, just like the way she does it to him when he's the one nervous, "I love you, I-I-I love you, I do! And I have been trying not to say it, I have been trying so hard to mash it down and ignore it and not say it... but it was never gonna work out because I love you. I am so in love with you. You're in me. It's like you're a disease, it's like I'm infected by Sho Mendoza." She laughs a bit crudely "I can't think about anything or anybody, I can't sleep, I can't breathe, I can't eat. And I love you, just all the time and every minute of every day, and - "
"And I love you too," Sho finished for her, and well he is the one now trying to piece his own words, and refraining himself from showing Jo that he's just as nervous and scared of rejection, of ending this, as she is. "I wanted to say sorry first and foremost," that made Joana look at him, "Because I made you uneasy, it made me seem selfish, that I only care about myself, and that maybe I was looking for validation in all of this, I want to say sorry because I made you cry again."
"And I want to say that no, I choose you not because of your looks, or your family, I chose you because you are Joana, and I love it when you laugh at my crappy drawings because you draw so well, I love it when you hum little kid commercials when we walk together, and I love you despite the way you say you aren't pretty but I just see you as perfect, and I love you in a way a that a broken man loves broken things, and I understand that I can't fix you as whole, but I just can't leave your pieces, so I just had to, put all my love in the cracks." With those last words Sho fished out his hander kerchief and carefully dabbed at Joana's stray tears.
"And we'll get to that point okay?" He reassures and Joana nods, moved and convinced that everything will be better, and now, is picking at the almost left cake and, she smiled happily. "I promise, I just don't want to hurt you, nor do I want you to suffer the consequences,"
"Because after all, you may not be my first, but you're always going to be my last,"
II.
She isn't sure when she first noticed him that way— and she is so sure that it's not that night where they met at that masquerade ball. And although yes, he has a voice that makes her heart want to take flight, and yes he is handsome, and yes, he is kind.
She thinks it may have been after one of his speeches at his debates, when he'd talked so passionately about the need for change, how unruly the government has become. Then after the end of the rally at their university and the clean-up, she'd noticed him helping an older, homeless woman into his car, plastic bags full of her belongings, clothes threadbare if cleaner than others' she'd seen on the streets. The old woman probably didn't notice the bags of groceries at the back of the vehicle.
She had asked Charles who she was.
"Oh, Stella? She's one of the homeless people Sho is friends with—she used to be a professor at the local university before the lay-offs, then her husband got cardiac arrest and the medical bills were too high to pay. She's a quiet, enduring ember —if you treat her like a charity case, she'll just laugh at you, and roll her eyes, but she'll take help if you let her help you back. Sho usually drives her to the shelter in exchange for her opinion on his speeches."
It isn't a side she'd thought the marble man could exhibit, an understanding of the people he's trying to help and a recognition that they've got as much to offer him as he does them.
And after that, it's a dozen little moments piled together: how he downs three cups of black coffee, how he runs his hands through his hair when he's stressed, how he forgets to shave his stubble, his endearing love for all the children in the orphanage nearby. How he is 27 and he still doesn't know how to properly tie a tie.
Soon, Joana realizes that her heart—which used to only feel so cold, beating for her parents greed and misfortune, —her heart warms at the sight of him.
It's not excitement, it's not even infatuation, they are too old for silly crushes, it's a quiet, steady thing that creeps up on her and nevertheless changes everything.
So one day, in the middle of a debate on the justice system, she takes one of his strong hands in hers, leads him to the dimly lit corner of the room, leans forward, and presses her lips to his.
And, oh, how the warmth in her heart blooms into heated passion.
There's a problem, though.
He doesn't kiss her back.
The moment she realizes this, the warmth disappears as if it had never been there. She pulls back, cursing herself for being all kinds of a stupid idiot, and opens her mouth to apologize, to say forget it, to ask him to pretend her momentary lapse of judgment never occurred—
"You like me," he says, his words parting halfway between a statement and a question.
She swallows the lump in her throat heavily. "Yes."
Unexpectedly, he blushes red and looks down, looking oh so terribly young, despite the eye bags and the forming wrinkles, and unsure of himself. "I—you—I'm not sure this is a good thing," he stutters.
Her heart cracks a little. Is she so, that, unlovable? He's the man who gives everyone a chance, and she'd thought that maybe—no. It doesn't matter what she thought. Joanna knows when not to be selfish. "It's okay," she replies woodenly. "I'm not going to go after you if you don't like me back—"
"But I do!" he blurts out.
She blinks, once, twice. "Wait, what?" her eyebrows scrunches.
He traces nervous patterns on the table surface, tugs on his I.D, and this hesitation isn't like him at all. "I like you romantically," he states.
The warmth is splendidly spreading in her chest. She smiles at him, bright and happy.
He smiles back hesitantly before continuing, "It's just—are you aware that I'm asexual?"
Her brows lift in surprise and she's slightly too shocked to say anything in reply.
He gives out a little huff. "I'm guessing that's a no, then. I've never really kept it a secret, so I thought Carl or Bobby or one of the others may have told you…" He peers at her underneath his eyelashes.
"Well," she says slowly, "they told me you weren't interested in relationships right now, and Mark mentioned that you used to date Gia, but that you'd also gone out with one or two more girls in high school, so I figured I at least had a chance."
Fuck. She's not quite sure how much of a chance now. She's perfectly aware that her sex appeal is one of the strongest things she's got going for her—and all her ex-boyfriends and her father's groping cronies had made that clear. She's not sure how that would work with a person who isn't really interested in sex.
He smiles wryly. "Trust me; it's more than a chance. But..." He looks her firmly in the eye, and declares, "I'm never going to be what society classifies as normal. I'm never going to want sex with you, and I'm fine with holding hands or kissing, but frankly I find sexual intercourse itself to be mildly uncomfortable. So I would understand if you would rather not pursue a relationship with me."
She tilts her head and looks at him closely. "All…right. Let me get this straight—you like me, but you don't want to have sex with me."
"In a nutshell," he replies.
"But you would be okay with dating me?" she presses.
He nods, but holds himself stiffly, as if bracing himself for rejection. "Yes. But I'm not certain you would be content with—"
"You let me worry about that," she says firmly reassures. "Let's date and just…see where this goes, okay?" She takes his hand in hers and raises a brow in question.
"Okay," he says, looking surprised. "Okay."
They take things slow, and Joana is surprised at how much she likes it.
They hold hands, fingers linked under the tables during formal dinners, when they're walking down the street, after he cooks her dinner at her apartment.
They cuddle, her body fitting snugly against his on her ratty old couch as they binge watch Grey's Anatomy, on his leather love seat as they argue about politics, about conspiracy theories, about whether or not Lang Leav is a great poet or not.
They kiss, close-mouthed, chaste kisses where he brushes his lips against hers, gentle as butterfly wings. He peppers her face with them, lingering on her eyelids, her cheekbones, the line of her jaw. He murmurs how smart she is, how beautiful, how strong, how lucky he is to be with her.
With Sho, she's never pressured to go further than she likes, never made to feel as if she has to repay dinner or gifts with sex, never has to worry that he wants her for her looks alone, never has to feel not as pretty, not as sexy, not enough, because he never compares her to anybody else.
Instead, it's easy. Being with him. Liking him. Loving him.
After all, he's the one who says "I love you" first, and she has to bury her face against his neck to hide the unexpected sting of tears when he does so, because nobody's ever been the one to say it to her first. She feels like she's spent her whole life chasing after love, after happiness, and he offers it to her so, so easily.
So when he asks, hesitantly, haltingly, if maybe she would like to go and try things further…? She shakes her head firmly, presses another close-mouthed kiss to his beloved lips, and tells him no, thank you, she'd rather not if that was okay with him.
And the look of pleased surprise on his face is more than enough to keep her satisfied.
It's true—if it means she can get to keep him, if it means he will stay and love her, then she'll give up sex. She'll touch herself furtively in the bathroom where he can't see or hear her, she'll fight back the urge to press him against the wall and kiss him breathless, and she'll ignore the ache in her belly that accompanies the warmth in her heart whenever she catches sight of him.
She's had always been an expert at being what people want, and if what he wants is her to not want him, she can do that. She can be that.
She won't ever, ever, ever risk losing him.
…
To be honest, he's always noticed her—it's impossible not to, who in the hell does mental anti-differentiation? And has time for volleyball and makeup.
But still, he remembers the first glimpse he had of her: yellow ball gown, white mask and a charming smile.
He'd seen her, in the auditorium or in the quadrangle, and he'd wanted to know more about her, know why exactly it was that her gaze seemed so lost when her feet moved with such indignant purpose.
It takes a few months and more than a few moments spent gazing after her and finally an intervention staged by Charles to realize he's fallen in love with her.
It's a horrible realization for a lot of reasons, including the fact that he doesn't have time for a relationship, with the death of his father and earning the rights to multinational company, thesis and graduation, and the gut-deep knowledge that he'd have absolutely no chances with her.
"I don't see why you can't just ask her out," Charles says reasonably.
"Can't you?" Sho spits out, taking his frustration out on his best friend. "She's got men lined up for streets, going after her. She has a lot going on too. She's not going to look twice at somebody like me."
Charles merely gives him a patiently exasperated look and shakes his head, not saying anything in reply.
What else is there to say, after all?
: :
Two weeks later, he's sitting in a quiet café and she's kissing him just the way he prefers, close-mouthed but firm, no tongues, just heated lips and sure movements, and it's better than he ever imagined.
The next fifteen minutes are even better than that.
The next six months are even better than that.
Almost before he knows it, they're moving in together, her embroidery laminated and he uses them as bookmarks on his books, her training clothes in the drawers next to his, her bubblegum-flavored toothpaste sitting by his contact solution.
It's the pieces of a life together, and sometimes he has to stop and take a breath because he always figured he was going to be alone—but now he's not.
Now he's with Jo, and he doesn't think there are words for this kind of happiness.
: :
Surprisingly, she's the most accommodating partner he's ever had.
In the first few months of their dating, he'll admit to being afraid that their relationship would end at any second—either because she made him too uncomfortable or because he couldn't give her what she needed.
He already made his peace with that, expected it with a kind of fatalistic resignation.
Instead, their relationship is everything he always wanted—intellectually stimulating and emotionally satisfying without being physically demanding. They talk and argue and debate, and they hold hands and they dance and they walk around arm in arm—
—and she never pushes him further than he likes, never makes him feel inadequate about being her partner, never even indicates that she was the slightest bit unhappy to be with him.
They've got their problems, of course, like the way she never wants to ask for help even when she needs it, and his tendency to resist admitting he's wrong even when he obviously is, and how they're both too stubborn for their own good, but in general their life is wonderful.
The unspoken threats of their parents tucked into the back of their minds, they do not want to apologize for coming out of it alive and loved.
He does get slightly worried, though, when she never takes him up on his offer for sex.
It's not that he wants to have sex, but he does want to make her feel good, and it's one of those things about relationships that he's learned to negotiate, carefully setting the boundaries of how far, how much, how often.
He's most comfortable with kissing and heavy petting, and he likes touching but not being touched, and he's relatively alright with intercourse, though he'll never seek it out and would be quite happy if he never had it again.
This…however, weirdly, doesn't ever appear to come up in conversations with Joana, who seems almost telepathic about what he wants and what he doesn't want. He's lost count of the times he's been one second away from asking her to pull back a little and she does it before he even gets a chance to.
Joana seems remarkably blasé and undemanding about the whole thing; she casually mentions early on that she has a vibrator, and she cuts her fingernails, so there's no need for him to have sex with her, and that seems adequate enough for the both of them.
: :
He wonders if she might not even be that attracted to him, if what she wants from him is exactly what he wants from her—love, companionship, knowing a person so well you didn't even need words to communicate.
After all, if she wanted more, she would have told him, right? Jo is startlingly blunt about what she wants, like a midnight stroll around parks, or cooking instant pasta at 2 A.M., and she's never hesitated to tell him anything else.
He mentions it to Gia, however, and his friend and ex-lover nearly spits out her drink.
"Shit, Sho, you're in trouble," she says.
Sho frowns. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, Joana's definitely got a sex drive, and you definitely don't, but I assumed you two arranged a weekly sort of thing, like with us," she answers. "Compromise and all that."
"Well, I offered, but she didn't seem interested," Sho says.
Gia raised her brow and told the bartender to get her another shot glass and proceeded to pour Sho one, "Well that's even worse. You mean she's gone cold even after you offered it? Because let me tell you, our girl was definitely interested in sex six months ago, and if she's saying she's not interested now, she's definitely lying. And that can't be good for either of you, Sho. Are you sure you explained things to her? Like sat down at the dinner table type? Maybe she thinks you're disgusted by her or something."
"I am not disgusted by Joana," Sho retorts coldly as he downs the alcohol.
"Well, yeah, I know that, but does she?"
"Of course she does. I told her I love her. How could I love somebody I'm disgusted by?"
Gia gives him an exasperated glance. "Look—it's hard for a sexual person to be in a relationship with an asexual person. Vice versa, too, obviously, but one of the reasons being with you was so hard was because for the longest time I thought you not wanting me sexually meant you didn't want me, period."
"I just want you to make sure you're communicating with her properly," the woman said firmly, looking him in the eyes, "And not letting her be a self-sacrificing martyr. You saw how she was with Mark, and that was just infatuation. She's sacrificed, the attention and help from her parents. She loves you—how much more do you think she would do for you if you're not careful?"
: :
The thought sits uncomfortably with Sho, so he does tries talking with Joana about it.
When he opens the doors to the kitchen and his heart warms at the sight of Jo in his t-shirt, a cup of milk by her side and getting bread from the shelf.
"Are you certain you don't want me to have sex with you?" he blurts out anxiously.
She stops in the middle of slathering Peanut Butter on bread to give him an odd look. "Well, I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. I told you I'm fine with it. Why? Do you want to have sex with me?"
She's looking at him suspiciously instead of hopefully, like he had expected, so he answers honestly: "No."
"Okay," she says, shrugging, and she goes back to the fridge and pulling out a left over piece of chocolate cake.
: :
That night, when he's holding her in his arms, he casually tests the waters, and trails his fingers over the waistband of her panties.
She takes his hand and firmly laces his fingers with hers, bringing their joined hands to rest by her head and that seems to be the end of it. He pushes Gia's damned words to the back of his mind.
The two of them are just fine the way they are.
: :
They aren't, as it turns out.
A week later, he gets home (their home now, and God, that never fails to make him grin) from work a few hours early, and he's about to go and find her when he hears a low, almost pained-sounding moan coming from the direction of the bedroom.
He gets there, but the t.v isn't turned on and there is no food waiting on the table, it's empty, and he's beginning to think he imagined it when he hears it again.
It's Joana's voice, and he quickens his steps, running towards the bathroom. What's wrong? Is she hurt? Is she—
He opens the door to the bathroom, more than a little panicked, and stops dead in his tracks.
Joana's lying in the bathtub, knees raised and spread, head thrown back as her hands shift below the surface of the water in confident, easy movements, and he can appreciate the beauty of her desire without being moved to desire himself.
She doesn't notice him—her eyes are closed and she's too lost in her own gratification to hear his entrance. She trails a soapy hand up and down her body, and she moans again, low and heated, and he recognizes the sound as one of pleasure and not pain.
He hears his name on her lips, and oh. Oh, she's imagining—oh.
He closes the door quietly behind him and goes to kneel next to her.
"Joana," he says, and her eyes open and her head whips toward him. He begins to reach out to touch her cheek when she splashes water right into his face.
"Get out!" she shrieks, crossing her arms over her breasts and looking scandalized beyond belief.
"Joana, what—"
"Get out! Get out, get out, get out!"
He does what she says and retreats to the bedroom, sitting on their bed and waiting anxiously for her to come out.
He doesn't understand why she doesn't want him to see her. Did he read things wrong? He's not disgusted by her, but he never took into consideration the fact that she might be disgusted with him, that she finds the thought of having an asexual person touch her repulsive.
But then she was imagining him touching her, wasn't she?
He's so fucking confused.
: :
She comes out dressed in his bathrobe, the sash tied tightly around her waist, every inch of her covered. She looks as anxious and uncomfortable as he feels, and he pats the bed next to him in invitation, hoping she'll take it.
She sits down a few feet away from him and hugs her knees to her chest. Her head pressed to her knees
"I didn't want you to see that," she whispers like a child caught in the middle of the night sneaking in cookies.
"Why not?" he asks honestly confused. He's quite aware that she's a sexual being, with all the urges and desires that entails. She's still his Joanna either way.
"You don't want that from me—"She refuses to look at him. "You don't even like it when I touch you too much. How could I expect you to—" She cuts herself off and looks at him beseechingly. "I don't want you to think that I want more from you than you can give. Sho, I would never force you to do something you didn't want. Never."
He can't help himself; he gives a self-exasperated sigh and scoots over to her, leaning his head against the crook of her neck. "Goddammit, I hate it when Gia is right."
Her hand automatically comes up to pet his hair. "What do you mean?" she asks, a little warily. Although she is assured and always will be that Gia is a great friend to her and is too involved with alcohol and charity fund raising to meddle, it just, makes her, scared.
"She told me you'd gotten…the wrong idea about me." He plays with the tie of her—his—bathrobe. "That you think that sex isn't something you can ask me to give you."
She tugs angrily at curls of his hair and forces him to look at her. "Well, Gia doesn't know what the hell she's talking about, then, because I sure as hell wouldn't ever ask you to give me something you aren't comfortable with." Her hands come up to cup his face. "I know you don't want me," she says softly. "I'm fine with that. You're here anyway, aren't you? That's good enough for me."
Fuck. Sho closes his eyes and resists the urge to swear out loud. He'd really, really messed this up.
He pushes her back onto the bed so that she's lying down, then stretches out next to her and pulls her to him so that their bodies touch, the lines of him merging with hers, close enough that he can feel her frantic heartbeat.
"Joana," he says seriously, looking her in the eye so she knows he's telling the truth. "Just because I don't want to have sex with you doesn't mean I don't want you.
"I want you desperately. I want to see you smile and hear you laugh and go masquerade dancing again with you. I want to listen to you talk about life in China, I want to listen to you reciting your Grandmother's Hainanese chicken recipe, about life in about everything you care about. I want to hold hands with you, and kiss you, and spend mornings with cups of coffee. I want you in my house and in my bed and in my life. I want to grow old with you; I want to have a family with you; I want to spend forever with you.
"I want you," he says simply, wiping away the tears at the corner of her eyes. "And I want you to know that that's never going to change, that you shouldn't be afraid to ask me for the things you want, because I want to give them to you."
She clutches him tightly, and says brokenly, "I don't want you to leave me."
He holds her closer, throwing his leg over hers. "Never," he promises, pressing kisses to her eyes, her cheeks, her trembling mouth. "Never, never, never."
When he starts to kiss her lower, moving to her neck and the slope of her chest, she stops him. "Wait, you don't—"
"Joana," he says. "Do you remember when you dragged me out to that awful dance bar?"
She looks perplexed. "Ye-es…" she says cautiously, obviously not sure where he's going with this.
"And do you remember how I told you that I really would have preferred not to go, but I went anyway? And got really drunk, and danced with you, and let Gia draw flowers on my face in glow-in-the-dark paint?"
"Yes," she says again, grinning a little.
"Well, for me, sex is sort of like that. It's not something I want—in fact, it's something I would be perfectly fine never doing again for as long as I live. I never would have gone if I'd been by myself. But you know what? I'm with you now, and if going to dimly lit bars with bad music and not so great mixed shots, makes you happy, then I'll go. Because I love you, and even if I don't love those sorts of places, I do love making you happy and you're happier when I'm there with you."
She giggles and snuggles closer to him. "Did you honestly just compare sex to a techno bar? I'm telling Gia."
He groans and buries his face against her hair. "Don't. Please don't, my reputation has suffered enough thanks to that experience as it is."
She laughs some more, and he laughs with her, and soon she's letting him open the robe and press kisses to her skin, letting him murmur words of love and affection to her, letting him learn the lines of her body the way he's learned the lines of her heart. He touches her softly, reverently, and a little awkwardly, but she doesn't seem to mind if the way she's moaning out his name is any indication.
He brings her to orgasm with his clever fingers, making quick, tight circles around her clit until she's shuddering helplessly against him.
And even though he isn't stirred to arousal himself, the sleepy, content look in her eyes afterwards is satisfaction enough for him.
Joana rubs her hand against the muscles of his stomach. "You sure you don't want me to…?"
"I'm sure," he says, smiling a little at their role reversal. Honestly, this is the way things should have been from the start, and he feels a twinge of regret that he hadn't paid attention to her the way she paid attention to him.
No matter. He's paying attention now.
They fall asleep, pressed together close as close can be, and for them, what they have is more than enough.
III.
So, there they were now: sitting in her room with her while his shirt and coat were in the dryer. Not awkward or embarrassing at all-
"Sorry, but nothing me or mom have will fit you" Joana spoke into the silence, genuinely worried, though she was facing away from him.
"No, it's fine" he assured, though throughout it all, he too was embarrassed; he was shirtless in her own room, even if the reason was entirely explainable. "I'm not cold - if anything, I'm totally sweating over here" he continued, feeling it in the way his heart beat.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Jo glance at him out of the corner of her eye before going back to normal. "Your face is red."
"So is yours" he replied; he'd seen it for himself, not that he had any reason to doubt his own color. She said or did nothing, which he took as a good sign, before he caught sight of her bracelet - it was still a little fragile, but it was alright. "Thanks a lot. For taking care of your bracelet, I mean."
She hunched her shoulders a little, but not from cold, just nervousness. "I'm glad to" she mumbled, but sincere.
He had a little smile, before he reached into the back of his pants, holding one box out in his palm. "Here" he offered, to her little surprise. "These should never break. Go ahead."
Watching as she opened it, he liked how her face very subtly moved with curiosity - when it opened, she breathed out, the redness returning to her cheeks again. "Ah" she whispered her mouth opening in a little smile as she held it up; a light copper-colored pair ring.
A little embarrassed now, he turned his gaze. "That's what I was shopping for" he said, despite that, scratching at his nose. "Pair rings."
"You have one too, Sho?" the boy in question flashed his ring finger with a simple silver ring.
She jolted as well, as if she hadn't realized it, before looking down a little guiltily. "I've wanted one for a while now" she admitted, the red deepening.
"You've been hinting on it quite some time" he said, but with a touch of gentleness. "I told you; I wouldn't mind.
She averted her eyes a little. "I- I guess that, I'm just nervous about it" she whispered.
That made him smile; she was cute when nervous. Heck, she was cute overall, and he instinctively started moving closer to her on his knees - she didn't notice until he'd said "Me too", looking up just in time to register his closeness. Just then, he slipped his hands to her cheeks and to the back of her head, gently drawing her against his collarbone. In some vague sense, he felt the towel fall off, but that was far far in the background; nothing else but the two of them mattered right now.
"Sorry" he whispered low, somewhere around her ear, enjoying her warmth. "I just want to stay like this."
Far from being embarrassed though, she just accepted it, stirring her head against him - he heard a little intake of breath before-
"I really like your s-smell."
He gasped, his entire body having gone tense, and his heartbeat went right into his throat.
"Joana!"
He didn't know what he was going to say, or do - all he knew was that in that moment, his passion for this wonderful woman - his wonderful woman - had exploded. He was heating up even more, heart pounding in his eardrums, and his vision blurred once or twice. Just after that, his body realized that he'd moved, and slowly he began to adjust to this as well. He was now on his hands and knees, panting and sweating, while all sense of thinking seemed gone from his mind.
Joana lay below him, on her back with the coat fully open, though stopped by the sleeves. At exactly the same time, he saw the truth of what he'd long since known; her baggy clothes didn't do her body justice, even if he'd never truly seen it beneath them. The curves started at her hips, moving smoothly in bending motions before smoothing out just underneath her arms, one of which was raised from the motion of falling. Her breasts as well; big, but not too big, even restrained/clothed as they were, white straps teasing at this. Still, all that information gathered was not in his primary attention-
She was completely and utterly still, save for the heaving of her stomach, her hair splayed a bit to the sides. Her eyes shone as she stared at him, cheeks red, mouth open as well - whether with love, fear, passion, or some other mixture, he was not sure right now. But he was sure of one thing; even with the suddenness, the shock, if Joana were afraid or wanted to say no to anything like this happening, she would not hesitate to show it. Just being conflicted, confused or other in addition to willing (possibly) would garner the same thing, even if she waited till the last second.
He felt all this somewhere, but it seemed so hollow right now, so unimportant compared to the pulse in his ears, the wonderful woman laying beneath him with curves waiting to be touched, to be explored.
Moving instinctively, he started to lean down, hand reaching right toward her chest-
At that moment, images burst behind his eyes: Bright sheets, night life, Angela against the curtains, Gia crying.
-he stopped, just an inch from her, even as his body went rigid again and he gasped.
His pulse was still pounding, the hormones were raging to let loose and touch her, but something held them fast.
Several long moments passed, and Joana continued to stare at him with wide eyes... she hadn't seemed to notice his hand yet. Slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned his head down while keeping his hand absolutely still. Soon he was inches above her lips, feeling her heavy breathing, just as she was feeling his. "Joana?" he rasped.
Her name brought her out of it, and she briefly glanced down her own body, where her cheeks soon turned the deepest red, but soon back at him. "Y... Y..." she breathed, almost squeaking.
Some part of him wondered if she was trying to say his name, or 'You' as part of a statement, but he pushed that aside. "Jo" he tried again, slowly closing his eyes for a little; that made it easier. "You saw what I was about to do... right?"
"Ah... I-I... mmph."
If he wasn't feeling so hot, literally, he would have smiled. "It's true" he breathed. "I want you right now, Joana (she gasped)... but I can't just touch you without your permission, like I was gonna do, even in the heat of things."
He opened his eyes, and all he could see was her face, which was enough for him. "So I'm saying it now" he whispered gently, despite the pounding. "If you feel ready for anything, no matter how small, just say so, Jo. Same applies for not ready. Small steps, you know?"
It seemed like an eternity while they looked at each other, before he slowly felt her hand come up, touching his cheek.
"Small... steps" she breathed, her eyes half-closed, cheeks still red. She made little motions toward him, but couldn't seem to get closer.
He got it though, and gently touched his lips to hers - the love and warmth of it was slowly pushing the pulse away, and he could think again, if fuzzily. As he kissed her though, he noticed Joana was still quivering nervously, and he started to get why. She jolted when his hands pushed themselves under her back, but she held onto him as he carefully pulled her upright again. He wanted to make sure she would feel safe with him, and if laying on the floor was too fast, then he wouldn't push her. It seemed to work too, as she touched his shoulders as they kissed, though the quiver remained.
So this entire situation was making her nervous - well, he couldn't blame her, as he was in the same boat now that his hormones were dying down to manageable.
Every now and then, there were scattered bits of conversations as they kissed again and again.
"Sho?"
"Hmm?"
"If you hadn't stopped... would you r-really have taken me?"
He'd paused, his heartbeat threatening to return to his throat, but he forced it down. "I think I would have" he admitted faintly, before kissing her, but the same level they had been doing. "If you'd allowed me to, I mean - any sign that you didn't would snap me out of it, or so I really hope."
"Why?"
"I don't want to take advantage of you, Joana" he'd whispered, before deeply kissing her. "I mean it."
"T-Thank you."
It sounded so simple, but from her, it said it all.
At some point, he felt her hand touch his, and he tried to grasp it, but she moved differently than before. It almost seemed to be a guiding grip, and he gasped a little, thinking 'was she really gonna-?'... However, she only held his hand like that; it was unmoving otherwise.
"Sho" Joana whispered her voice weak in volume, but from sheer embarrassment. "I... I think I..."
When she didn't continue, he got a little smile, touching his other hand to her cheek gently. "You're not ready for any of the big stuff?" he breathed as a suggestion. She surprised him though by shaking her head a little-
"Most of it, y-yes, but I-" she whispered, her grip tightening from the effort. "I might like... a-a test run."
She said that last part very quickly, as if to get it over with, and she gasped heavily after she realized she'd said it (face turned redder than a tomato too).
Himself, he was a little confused, but worked to put the pieces together - most of the big stuff was definitely not happening, but she did want him to do something on the small scale. Only question was, what did 'test run' refer to? He had several tentative ideas, but he might need sec-
Jolting, it came to him, where he slowly held Joana against his collarbone again, using his one hand. "By test run, you mean" he breathed slowly, gently, "Just touch you for a minute or so, over your clothes, then stop? Is that right?"
She squirmed under his words, and it was so cute, the way she initially tried to look anywhere but at him because of the embarrassment. "I-I don't know what you mean" she whimpered, the red deepening again. "But t-there is a time limit."
A little smile again; trying to deny it, but admitting it at the same time whether she knew it or not. Cute.
"In your head?" he prodded gently.
She shook her head, and her left hand slowly became a fist, which she held just off to the side. He looked at it for a moment before he glanced at her:
"Sixty seconds, huh?" he breathed softly. It sounded out of nowhere, but he knew that once he started, she might get lost in the pleasure of the sensations; she couldn't only think the seconds through consciously.
The slightest dip of her head, glancing away from him, but simply embarrassed. "S-Starting now" she mumbled.
Well, that was to be expected, he mused - but the first thing he did was kiss her gently, to her surprise. Still, even as they kissed, he started moving his hands from her shoulders to just down her arms. They moved a little as he did so, before he gently touched the backs of his hands to her shirt fabric - even that caused her to jolt. He just smiled, making little circular rubbing motions as she squirmed, even at this little contact. Still, while he kept it up for a few moments, he soon turned his hands around, gently touching the palms to her chest now.
She gasped at the sensation, her eyes snapping open as they shone, while reflexively or otherwise, one finger (her pinky) extended to show that twelve seconds had gone by.
He noted that in his peripheral vision, while still gently moving his hands around, intending to be gentle. Joana made little sounds even at this, but he took his time, waiting till the second finger had extended before he started to squeeze. This boosted sensation made her gasp again, and he wanted to hear it over and over again, but he knew he couldn't, so he tried to enjoy it while it lasted tonight. He felt Joana start to tremble against his lower body, where they were still pressed together, but she held together, and so did he.
Third and fourth fingers went by like this, Joana's cheeks a very deep red as she panted, looking at him sometimes as he worked, and away sometimes when it became too embarrassing, or even just when she was panting/gasping in little bursts.
It was harder work, but he kept count of the last twelve seconds in his mind, hoping he wouldn't be going too far.
With eight seconds to go, he reluctantly removed his hands from her breasts - Joana's gasp of surprise, confusion and (very slight) want made him not want to, but he'd already committed to this. He moved his hands right to her hips, where she jolted first in surprise, then in realization when they began to tease her legs through the skirt, especially her inner thighs. She made several whimpers as a result-
Five seconds-
He kept up the inner thigh stroking, knowing he couldn't go straight to this next step without warning; just let it sink it a little bit more.
Three seconds-
Just then, he slowly moved upward, his fingers trailing onto her pubic area, clothed as it was.
Two seconds-
Joana gasped even louder when this hit her, and she continued to squirm heavily as he worked, panting heavily even if he was only lightly stroking. Still, that light stroking was directed just above/at her most private place, so it was no wonder she was reacting this way. He kept it up at the same level, even as he directed a glance at her mostly-open-now fist.
Zero seconds-
Her thumb remained curled.
A little confused, still unconsciously doing his stroking, he wondered if maybe he'd distracted her too well, or if his sense of time was really that skewed.
Negative two seconds-
Joana gasped, and like a rocket, her thumb extended.
That being his cue, he quickly and utterly pulled back from Joana, suddenly panting and sweating as if he'd run a mile in gym class, though he hadn't done anything of the sort! Across from him, Joana was just the same, though she held an arm across her breasts and the other fist over her stomach (and below). They just stared at each other as the seconds passed, but he only saw the way her eyes shone, the way her lips moved as they panted, and those little beads of sweat. As it wore on, he started to get afraid that maybe he'd done too much at once, and scared her. But her expression started to change, which he noted right away.
While still breathing heavily, her eyes were softening, even as the red deepened, and her mouth was soon set in a little smile. Very shy, heavily embarrassed, but happy even as she glanced away with her eyes.
Joana's happy, he thought, his whole body sagging with relief.
That little smile lasted all of two seconds as something clicked in her head; Joana gasped hard, and her arm/fist combo tightened across her body, even as her lip trembled nervously as the reality of what just happened apparently sank in.
It made him smile; she was so dog-gone cute, and she was all his. Or would be, once they had taken several hundred more steps like this, but he'd work hard to make sure she was beside him every day - especially after the ordeal he'd unwittingly put her through.
Cha-chunk
"I'm home!"
They practically froze.
A little after that
"Joana?" her mother called, before footsteps sounded close at hand, then the door opened (he braced). "Help me get dinner ready! Uhh!?"
He silently gulped to himself, but worked to keep calm; Joana was lying on her bed, currently turned away from him, fully clothed, even if no doubt wishing she could become invisible right now. He sat a respectable distance away on his knees, but shirtless, which was a problem. It looked suspicious, but it wasn't an immediate assumption one, or so he kept telling himself. Slowly, carefully, he turned his head to glance at Joana's mother, who blinked twice at the situation.
He didn't have to try for a sheepish expression, as it came naturally. "Hi, ma'am" he breathed with a similar tone. "I'm sorry to be introduced like this, truly, but it's not what it may look like."
"It could have been though" some part of him felt; if she'd been an hour later and they hadn't been interrupted... if he and Joana had gone further, and hadn't gotten dressed before she walked through the front door... they couldn't have moved fast enough to appear decent, not in this small apartment. Still, the image of Joana lying in her bed under the covers (everything at/below her chest covered), hair splayed and her cheeks deeply red, but eyes shining as she panted happily-
He nearly yelled when he realized what he was doing, and did everything he could to push the image away without Jo's mother noticing.