Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
----------------
Your bedroom is dark when we stumble backwards into it. Our hands are too busy to turn on the overhead light or the small lamp on your desk. The backs of my knees run into the edge of your mattress and I freeze as if I’m only just now aware of what’s happening.
This is wrong. All wrong.
But I’m still half drunk and half in love and you’re still eager so I kiss you again. You taste like olives and beer when you open your mouth against mine.
Then I’m falling onto the bed, bending at my knees and lying there with my feet dangling above the ground. You’re hovering over me and I grip your shoulders hard, trying to pull your body against mine.
Suddenly you’re a silhouette and really nothing but sound: Your breath, your mouth, your hands along fabric, the rustling of sheets. Your mouth is on my neck now and I’m trying to ground myself because I’m far too dizzy to even move right now and my head is floating off like a child’s balloon into the sun. Meanwhile, your hands are frantically trying to undress me.
The buttons on my shirt pop open easily after years of buttoning and unbuttoning. And your hand is on my bare stomach and it’s brand new and I’m suddenly sober. I’m muttering desperately against your ear, my lips brushing against your skin, that my zipper is, “On the side. The side. Right there on the side.” And how you have to, “Unhook that little thing first. And then-” Oh.
I hadn’t meant to go home with you. No. But we were standing in the parking lot and your eyes were- And I was drunk. (Or was I? At this point, it just seems like an excuse to justify all of this.) And I knew Roy wouldn’t be home until later and I was swaying and leaning and your eyes were-
So I told Angela you’d give me a ride after all. She nodded, but not without a look of disapproval.
Then there was the car ride and how I said at a stoplight that, “I can’t go home. I don’t want to go home and be alone.” You understood, because you always understand. I think I could’ve just looked at you at that stoplight and you would’ve understood.
So you didn’t make the right hand turn onto the street that would take you to my street. Instead you went straight and we were pulling into your driveway, my hand on your thigh and your jaw clenching tightly because I’m not supposed to touch you. But I did and when you opened the door for me and I stood up, you kissed me.
The truth is, I’ve imagined this before. How it would be the first time. The truth is, all of the things I had pushed down so far down to where they hardly existed anymore were coming back up. And this made my hands shake and my stomach do something strange that wasn’t quite nausea, but something warmer, maybe better.
On our way to the front door (which took longer than it should, because of the things you were doing to me, because I kept tripping and having to stop and let your tongue run along my teeth), you kept saying that, “This shouldn’t be happening.” Like it would stop us. Like anything save the end of the world (if even that) would stop us now.
It was happening and it is happening and now I’m lying here on your bed with my bra off, but my underwear still on and you’re just looking at me with eyes that look like they might be on the verge of tears. Or like they’ve never seen something like this. I blush and twist a little because now I’m so aware of my skin and how your stomach is almost touching mine.
So I start pulling your shirt out of your pants and tearing at the buttons which don’t come undone as easily as mine because I think maybe this shirt is new. Your birthday was recently and maybe it was a present from your mom. A thought that oddly makes me moan a little as the last button successfully comes undone. Then it’s your belt, sliding smoothly out of its loops. You look at me, smirking because I’m practically tearing your clothes off. And your skin is now grazing gently against mine.
We slow down and you lie next to me on the bed in your boxers. And we breathe.
You turn on your side and look at me. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”
This makes me want to cry. Because I’m embarrassed and I’m pretty much naked and you’re so close to me. And I’ve never felt anything so close to love as this and that’s a horrible thought because I’ve been engaged for three years.
I kiss you hard on the mouth. I want to change your mind. I find myself on top of you, my hips settling against yours. You groan slightly and turn your head away.
“Pam. I-”
I roll off of you, plopping dejectedly back onto the bed next to you. Your hand is lying close to my thigh, on my thigh even, so I move over, breaking contact completely.
“No, I understand. Not like this, right?” I say the words to your ceiling and they come out sounding colder than I had intended.
You shake your head, sitting up. “No, not like this. Not with you drunk and still engaged.”
“I’m not drunk,” I say defensively, because what right do you have. And, anyway, I’m not so drunk that I have no idea what’s going on. I’m not some drunken slut who would have slept with anyone tonight. I’m just me. I’m Pam, but maybe not so reserved or inhibited. I’m just me, finally doing what I want for once.
“Come on, Pam.”
“I want you to kiss me again,” I say with my eyes closed. I can feel you above me, the cotton of your boxers touching the bare skin of my leg. “Just kiss me for a while. We don’t have to-” I open my eyes and you’re staring intently at me, “I’ll put my bra back on. If that’ll- Please.”
Your nod is almost imperceptible in the dark, but your answer comes when I feel your mouth on mine. It’s slow, soft. Delicate. I like it this way. The way you hold it for a little longer than normal, just keeping your mouth against mine as if we could absorb each other this way.
Your kiss my mouth, my cheeks, my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, the tops of my breasts. And then you stop and just hold me and you say something about being “so completely and entirely fucking in love” with me.
We fall asleep at some point and I wake up again at three in the morning with your mouth resting against my shoulder. I gently push you off of me. I get dressed in the dark. I move so slowly and quietly that it takes me almost ten minutes. But you don’t wake up and I slip out the door undetected.
You come into work that morning, carrying something in a plastic bag. You drop it on the floor behind my desk and next to my legs. You barely look at me or even smile. You just sort of glance quickly at me with unreadable eyes and say, “You left your sweater under my bed.”
Author's Chapter Notes:
Just posting a couple of things I only ever posted on livejournal for archiving purposes. So you've probably read this already.
unfold is the author of 102 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 27 members. Members who liked Silhouettes also liked 1547 other stories.
