26-Aug-2004

continued revision of The Worst Thing...

Title: Nothing Like the Sun
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: R
Pairings: 1+R, 1+2, 2+3, 3+4... oh, and 4+OC
Archived: gwaddiction & sweetlysour Warnings: Quatre cusses, gets laid, beats people up
Disclaimer: not mine. I know this. don't sue, it's all for practice.
Note: thanks to those reading & reviewing

Nothing Like The Sun by Sol 1056

Part Nine

The apartment was dark, the mid-afternoon rainy gray seeping in through the white metal blinds. I stared at the art supplies, feeling too numb to unpack them. I dumped my coat on the floor, kicked off my boots, and didn't move from my spot by the door.

I just couldn't seem to do more than breathe.

Eventually I woke up from my stupor long enough to reach over my head, flip on the light, and take a good long look at my apartment. My books lined a set of low shelves, organized by subject, and perched on top was the small stereo I'd bough, flanked by two little speakers. The two dozen CDs were stacked on top. I still had the card table, broken chairs, and old dresser, which I'd been meaning to replace. My walls were covered with drafts for my abstracts. The countertops held four hooks, holding mugs printed with amusing sayings. There was a bathmat in the bathroom, and four towels. I'd picked it all out, all by myself, and damned if I hadn't been proud of myself for every choice.

But everything I'd been so proud of... seemed less impressive, in the stark light of the overhead florescent. And it really didn't mean anything. It was never a risk. At any point, I could've called up Iria or Allayah or even Duo or Wufei, handed them a credit card, and they would've done a far better job. I doubted any of them would've spent thirty minutes deliberating which kind of towel to buy, in which size.

I sighed, and didn't move from my spot by the door.

Lola dressed herself in cheap polyester, passing itself off as silk. I could believe in the illusion, as much as the illusion of my apartment being something worth my pride. But I'd grown up with silk, and linen, and the best of everything. And here I'd pretended ignorance of all that...

Not a new thing, really. I pretended to be something I wasn't, during the war. Until my father's death, my background was only an impediment, and I couldn't rely on it, so no reason to mention it. And through the whole war, admitting my position as a Gundam pilot would've meant certain death if I revealed it to the wrong people. I'd kept secrets, then. I was still keeping secrets.

But my life was not on the line anymore, I told myself. Just my stupid sense of pride. Wanting people to know me for me... like that was ever going to happen. I was Quatre Raberba Winner, scion of the Winner family, former Gundam pilot. At least one I could've admitted, without risking repercussions. I may have been right when I implied that Lola would not have talked to me if she knew my real name, but Felicia had been right, too. Once we became friends, I should've told them.

I leaned my head against the wall, and closed my eyes, thinking about my options. I'd planned two semesters in school. I had asked for it, and gotten it; a sabbatical for the year. I'd left explanations for my absence in Alayah's hands, which had been perhaps one of the only things I hadn't planned out to the final detail. What I hadn't expected was to find school so fascinating, entrancing, that I'd want to stay. I certainly hadn't expected to find so many possibilities in this new life that I'd want more time to explore them. I'd figured a year of school, a year of normality, and then I'd willingly come back to my own life, refreshed and invigorated by my hiatus among the little people.

Little people.

God, Duo would clock me one if he ever heard me say that.

I ran through the numbers in my head: tuition, rent, utilities, food. I didn't need a ledger or pen and paper. I could do such simple bookkeeping blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back; it was almost as much second nature as rebuilding a vernier engine. I wanted to dry heave. Just the act of accounting itself was a resentful, hated thing: I am no more than what I was taught, am I.

I'm a cold-hearted, ruthless person, I chanted silently. Look at Zero – there's proof enough! Kill on the battlefield or the conference room. That's what you are, what you were raised to be. Pacifism is an empty catchphrase, if it's okay to destroy lives in business, just so long as you don't kill them, yourself. The same ruthlessness that my sisters condemned was what they encouraged when I worked for them.

Oh, well. Whatever.

It was done.

It was no better or worse than anything else I'd done, but I couldn't go back and fix anything. I could only promise myself not to do it again, and learn to live with the burden of guilt.

I put those thoughts aside and focused on the realities of my options. The list of numbers, expenses, needs... I tallied it all up. Setting them against the income from my job, it was stark in the darkness of my eyelids. I couldn't afford school. But more importantly, I had to decide whether I wanted to stay in school. If I had just lost all my friends, was it worth it? Would it really be half as entrancing if I knew I'd just made myself a pariah in the eyes of the only people who'd befriended me without a care as to my social standing?

I got up from the floor, and began pacing the studio apartment. I ended up standing over the phone. Before I knew it, I had the phone card out of my wallet and had fallen to my knees, shaking fingers dialing a number I hadn't called in months.

The phone rang six times, seven, then eight. What time was it there? Did it matter?

"Tyll speaking, who the fuck is this and why—"

"Duo," I interrupted. "I need to talk to Duo."

"He's crashed," Tyll said.

"Wake him up. Tell him it's Quatre," I insisted.

Tyll muttered something, and the phone clattered. Several minutes later I heard the phone being picked up, even as I counted the time and tried to calculate how long I could speak with the money on the card.

"Quatre," Duo said, and yawned. "Where's the fuckin' fire? It's six in the morning."

"I... " I opened my mouth and closed it. I couldn't say anything. He'd been right all along, and I was just proving it. I wanted to try life on the other side, and I got it. I just couldn't fight past my pride to admit it. Felicia's words, Victoria's, Lola's... the different accusations and incriminations bounced around in my head, and I couldn't thresh out which to tackle first. I opened my mouth, and said the first thing that came to my mind. "Duo... do you... "

"Do I what," he prompted, hoarse but not unkindly. He yawned again.

"Do you ever... do I ever make you feel like... like you're not good enough, or something?"

"Uh." Duo was quiet, and I could practically hear him scratching his head as he puzzled it out. "Good enough at what, I guess, I'd have to ask."

"Anything," I whispered. "Like... manners, or how you... how you dress, or maybe act, or something?"

"Quatre... "

I tensed.

"What... " Duo sounded irritated, but worried. "What's brought this on?"

"Just... just answer the question, please."

"Hunh." Duo grunted, and I figured he was settling onto the old sofa in his living room, getting comfortable while he considered the question. "Well... sometimes. You can be real particular when we're out eating. And you do get bossy about my grammar an' pronunciation." He chuckled. "I say something, and you'll use the same word inside a' five minutes, but say it properly." He drew out the last word, gently mocking.

"Yeah," I said. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, man, that's just the way you are. We all know that. You were... " He sighed, and I knew he was waving his hand around, the gesture he made when words failed him. "Y'know, raised with a different set of expectations. So we just kinda ignore it. I mean, Heero gets cranky if someone corrects his ideas about mechanics, and I—"

"But you've never made me feel like I wasn't good enough," I told him.

"You don't, either," Duo said, a bit sharply. "Well, not in the way you think. I mean, fuck, Quatre, it's too early in the morning to be asking me shit like this. Look, you do stuff, and that's just you, and we're cool with it. What's going on, anyway?"

I checked my watch. A minute before I'd run out. Earthside-to-colony calls were damned expensive. "Nothing, just... just been thinking about stuff."

"Quatre... "

"It's cool, I just was wondering." I forced a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. "Look, you get back to sleep. I'm just being melancholy. Sorry I woke you."

"You can wake me anytime," Duo rumbled, and yawned again. "But it's still a bizarre question. Want me to call you back? We can talk. I've got the minutes saved, I was going to—"

He was saving his money to call Trowa. I knew it, I could feel it, and suddenly I realized just what an imposition it was to call with stupid insecurities when he probably had class in three hours and had been up half the night studying. I was an idiot, and that meant I had to solve my own idiocy. I couldn't go moaning to friends who'd just reassure me, when the hard truth was that it was not okay. The way I behaved around people was not okay.

"Naw," I said, and laughed softly. It sounded bitter in my ears. "Save your minutes to call him. Tell him I say hey, too."

"Quatre?" Duo's voice was baffled. "Wait a minute, it's cool, that's not—"

"Gotta go," I told him. Thirty seconds. "Out of time on the card. Sorry. I'll send you email or something, okay?"

"Yeah," but his reply didn't hold much conviction. "Quatre, are you—"

"Take care, I'll... I'll talk to you later," I said, and hung up.

I stared at the phone for several minutes before picking it up again. Reaching over, I grabbed the crate holding my bills, and dug out the number for the phone company. My deposit had been five hundred credits. If I waited the six months, I'd get that back, but I'd have to pay for the line in the meantime. To hell with it; not like the people I knew were going to be doing much calling, anyway, not with the way I'd treated them. Time to make some practical choices, but this one was relatively simple.

"Central Bell," a woman's voice said. "Billing department."

"Hello," I said, trying to sound professional. "I'd like to disconnect my number."

The shuttle's low-slung silhouette is remarkably similar to a fighter jet, but on a large enough scale to fit four small seats in the body of the shuttle. There's not room for much else, and Quatre stows his suitcase in the bin running down the belly of the small guest area. Checking over the seats, he doesn't find anything out of the ordinary. Any surprise must be in the cockpit.

Go incognito!

Bone doesn't say anything. Quatre just laughs, realizes the glasses are still on his face, and laughs some more.

I stared up at the row of windows over the shops, noting the flickering light in Jamie's front window. Steeling myself, I opened the door and trudged up the steps. When I knocked, it was several minutes before he answered, and by then I'd run through sixteen different things to say and discarded all of them.

"Cat," he said, looking surprised. "This is—" He stopped, looking at me closer. "Uh, how about you come on in."

I nodded, and he took my coat from me, but I didn't really pay attention. I was looking at the old wooden table, the scratches across its surface. The chairs were mismatched but sturdy, the mugs drying on the countertop chipped but colorful. It wasn't silk and linen, either, but it didn't look like my place. It all looked like...

It looked like a home.

"Cat," Jamie said, putting his hands on my shoulders and pushing me forward. I resisted, and he backed away, his hands still up in surrender.

"I'm not Cat," I managed to force out. My throat felt tight, and I couldn't look him in the eyes. I stared at the table, memorizing the marks of years, indecipherable graffiti of a person's life. "My name is Quatre Raberba Winner. I'm the youngest son of Achmed Winner, and the lucky bastard who's supposed to be running Winner International Conglomerate."

A chair scraped against the floor, and in the corner of my vision, Jamie sank into the chair. His expression was inscrutable, and when he spoke, it was nearly a whisper. "I see. Any reason you're not there, now, then? You've not exactly looked like you've—"

"I'm in school," I snapped. "I'm not running—"

"Yeah, you are," he said, and sighed. I raised my head, and he waved a hand. "Never mind. So you're some rich kid pretending at—"

"I'm not pretending anymore," I said. "I really am—"

"I believe you're who you say you are," he interrupted. "I've seen the news vids, y'know. But that's not what I meant. I meant... if that's what you're supposed to be doing, why aren't you?"

I shrugged. "I don't want to," I admitted. "I... I want to do something different."

"Or be something..?"

"Yeah," I whispered.

"Cat... " Jamie got up, and I backed up a step. "Quatre... " He laughed, softly. "That's going to take some getting used to. I appreciate you being honest, but I have to ask... why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I... " I shrugged, crossing my arms defensively over my chest. "I should have, before now."

"I don't blame you for not," Jamie said. He put his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me towards the sofa, then shoved me downwards. I collapsed onto the sofa and he knelt before me, taking my face in his hands. "Cat... Sorry. Quatre. Look at me, would ya?"

I frowned, and took a deep breath, raising my gaze to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"Shit, kid," Jamie said, and dropped his hands to cover mine. "I'm not sure I'd tell people who I was, if I had that kinda money, either."

"I don't," I said, feeling utterly miserable. I thought of kissing him, and pushed that away, focusing on his tanned, work-roughened hands around mine. "I don't have the money. I... I've been disinherited." I sighed. "And disowned, too, I guess."

"You guess?" Jamie let go of my hands and sat back on his heels. "You don't know?"

I shook my head. "We... we argued. And I told her I didn't want to be part of the family anymore... I don't want to—"

"You what?" Jamie stood up, utter shock all over his bold features. "What the fuck kind of thing is that to say?"

"Hunh?" I stared up at him. "I just—"

"Cat—Quatre, it's your family." Jamie rolled his eyes, and stalked off to the kitchen. He yanked the fridge open and brought out two beers, opening them with sharp jerks of a can opener. "Family... man, you can't ditch family. Rich or poor, that's not what matters. What matters is that they're... sometimes, they're all you've got."

"Yeah, well, I've got too much of them," I muttered.

"Bullshit," Jamie barked, and suddenly he was at my side, putting the beer in my hand. "You need all the family you can get. Always."

"No," I insisted. "I don't need them. All they want me to do is sit behind some goddamn desk and sign papers and wear suits and—"

"I doubt it," Jamie said. "Yeah, family can have some crazy ideas about who you should be, but they're not going to throw you away like garbage if you don't—"

"There's a will!" I burst out. The beer spilled a little as I shook. "If I don't play the part, I don't get anything. And I don't want to play the part!"

Jamie sighed, and took a long drink from his beer. I just stared at mine.

"I want... " I shrugged, not really sure how to finish the sentence. "I don't know."

"Come on," Jamie said, putting his beer down. He took mine, and set it next to his. "Let's go to bed."

"Wait, no," I protested. "There's something else. That girl—"

Jamie was still, his eyebrows raised.

"She dumped me," I said, my shoulders slumping. "I guess that makes me twice an asshole, because the real reason for telling you who I am is because I don't want you to ditch me, too."

"I don't work that way," Jamie said, gently. He took my hands in his, and tugged on them, pulling me upright in a smooth motion. "We all have stuff in our past that we're not proud of. It may be news to you now, but you might be surprised how many shameful secrets you have aren't that bad, once you say them out loud."

Yeah, but I doubt your shameful secret involves destroying an entire colony of civilians, I thought darkly.

"Come on," Jamie repeated, and steered me through the living room, into the small hallway. We took a left into a small bedroom. "Sit down," he ordered.

I landed on the bed in the dark room, unable to even fight back. Jamie turned on a lamp, and I just stared down at my hands.

"Quatre," Jamie whispered. "Shut up, and just let it go for a bit. You'll figure it out, but right now I think you're just going in circles. You haven't heard a thing I've said, have you... "

"Hunh?"

Jamie laughed, and took my shirt by the hem, pulling it over my head. I let him, unable to resist or to find the strength to even say anything. He undid my boots, slipping them off and setting them aside, and then removed my socks. Then he sat back and gave me a crooked grin.

"Jeans, too, Quatre," he said. "You can sleep in your boxers."

"Oh." I stood up, numb, and undid my jeans, dropping them without thinking.

"Ah," Jamie said, wryly. "I see the lack of underwear is a regular thing."

I blinked, embarrassed, and reached for my jeans but Jamie stopped me. He stood up and I had to raise my chin to look up at him. It was an odd feeling. He pulled off his shirt and stepped closer to me, the heat from his body almost intoxicating against the emptiness in my head.

"Less laundry to do," I breathed, unwilling to move for fear he'd change his mind, leave, back away...

"Lazy," he said, and leaned over, his breath ghosting across my shoulder. "But I'm not complaining," he added, a finger coming up to trail along my chest and tug at a nipple ring. "I like these."

I gasped. The sensation shot down into my gut. I wanted to touch him, but something held me back. It was his touch, or the look in his eyes, or the tone in his voice. His finger trailed down across my stomach, and I held my breath as he scratched lightly at the blond curls around my growing erection.

"Jamie," I murmured, and flinched again. My voice sounded loud in my ears.

"Hush," he whispered, and licked my cheek.

I nodded, my fingers curling at my side. I wanted to reach out, but a sudden fear shot through me. What if he changed his mind? What if he woke up in the morning and decided that my secrets were enough reason to not want me as a friend? And underneath it, too, was the fear that I wouldn't be good enough as a lover. I had no idea what to do, though my body was screaming out any number of clues. It was a strange feeling, to be so intimidated.

Jamie kissed me on the forehead, then bent down to kiss me on the mouth, his tongue prying my lips apart. After a second he pulled away, frowning slightly.

"Hey, you... " He sighed, and put his hands on my hips, pulling me against him. His jeans were rough against my groin, but deliciously so, and I groaned under my breath. "It's better if you help."

He kissed me again, and I did my best to kiss him back. When he pulled away, his lids heavy, I tried to follow, to return the kiss. I felt strange, awkward.

We ended up on the bed, Jamie whispering things I couldn't quite catch, and then his jeans were gone and his body was against mine. I wanted so desperately to touch him, to roll him over and press myself against him. His tongue was on my chest, and I arched into his touch and just as quickly pulled back.

I was achingly hard, and I wanted more touch, but... wasn't wanting what got me into all this crap in the first place? His fingers were running down my hips, a leg pressing between mine, and I could feel his erection digging into my stomach as he held himself over me, kissing me deeply. If I had been happy with what I'd had, and been willing to leave it alone, I wouldn't even be here, let alone in Chicago in the first place.

"Quatre," Jamie said, sighing into my ear. "Here."

"Hunh?" I opened my eyes, blinking, and Jamie levered himself off me. I came up on my elbows, then sank back down, uncertain. What was I supposed to do?

"Roll over," he instructed. "On your side."

I nodded, and was startled when he slid into the space behind me. His body spooned neatly up against mine, and he draped a hand across my stomach, pulling me back against him. For several long minutes, we lay there. I was hard as a rock, and he wasn't moving, except for his fingers trailing in small circles across my hip.

"Go to sleep," Jamie whispered in my ear.

"But... "

"Your heart's not in it," he said, and kissed me on the shoulder. "We can try again later, when you're up to it."

I am, I wanted to say. Damn it, do you have any idea how up to this I am? But if I turned over and pressed him against the wall and ran my hands down him and around his cock and put my mouth on his chest and—

No. I sighed, and nodded, and Jamie pulled me even closer. I felt dead, even if my body was shrieking in protest. He'd said it was okay to have my secrets, but Felicia, Lola... I lost two friendships because of secrets. I wasn't sure if not telling Trowa how I felt was also a secret I should've told, but in my fuzzy, tired state, I put it down as one. Against those three, Jamie's assurance didn't seem to hold much water.

"Quatre," Jamie whispered. "Stop thinking. There's smoke coming from your ears."

"I'm not," I mumbled. "I'm just... "

"It's okay," Jamie said, and kissed me on the shoulder again. "Your brain is moving at light speed. Let it wind down, and then distract it with something else."

I opened my mouth, startled by the words that fell out. "Why do you put up with me?"

"Do what?" Jamie chuckled. "Insecurity doesn't look good on you."

"No," I said, staring into the room's darkness. "I'm serious."

"Ah." Jamie was silent a moment, but his fingers continued their gentle drift across my stomach. "You're smart... you're damn brilliant, actually. You make me feel stupid, sometimes, trying to—"

"Sorry," I said.

"Stop apologizing," Jamie replied.

"Sorry," I repeated, and winced.

"Don't apologize for apologizing, either." Jamie sighed, and hugged me with one arm, but I felt like I was falling, and he was only catching me for a second. When his arm relaxed, I could feel that spinning freefall again.

Jamie propped himself up on his elbows, and I could feel him staring at me. "You're handsome, and you've got a wonderfully dry sense of humor. You crack me up sometimes. And you can fight like nobody's business."

You wouldn't say that if you knew Heero or Wufei, I thought, and shrugged.

"And... you're unselfconsciously confident... even a bit brash," he added, softly. "Something happened today that just knocked the ground out from under you... " When I started to shake my head, he raised his eyebrows. "Don't even try to deny it. I don't know you that well, true, but this behavior seems pretty uncharacteristic."

I closed my eyes. "Not really confident," I whispered. "I just always... "

I shrugged, and wished he'd stop looking at me. I'd always known that no matter what happened – school, war, life, death, murder, peace – I had that waiting for me. My role. My place. My money. My family name. Except for that rare time between leaving for Earth and coming back to L4, I was never truly risking anything. I had my safety net, Felicia's advice be damned. It was always there, even when I tried to throw myself off the high wire to see if I could fly. Because the truth is, having money gives you a damn good amount of confidence. No matter what happens, you can just drop that credit card on the table and money will make it all better.

Usually.

"Just always," Jamie prompted.

"I've always felt like I just bought my way." I didn't really earn it. I got everything because of my name, my position, my father's money. I might've gotten my leadership with the pilots of my own accord, but if I hadn't had all that behind me, I never would've gotten the chance in the first place. It was the one thing upon which Duo and I had agreed, years ago. He always felt like no one had ever just given him freely what really mattered to him, what he truly wanted. He had to steal it. Me, I had to buy it. But he couldn't steal Heero's heart, and I couldn't buy Trowa's.

Jamie was quiet, waiting, his fingers resting on my stomach. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to explain the two years of my life, how so much now was rooted in those experiences... and, hell, I was also so goddamn hard, still. I didn't want to think about it anymore. I wanted that distraction he'd mentioned, and I wanted it right then.

I flipped over on my back and scooted upwards at the same time. His hand landed on my cock.

"Cat," Jamie growled, and his hand didn't move for a second. Then it closed abruptly around my cock, pumping a few times. "Let's get one thing straight. You didn't buy your way into my friendship, or my bed."

I nodded emphatically, gasping, my hips jerking a little, not caring as long as he didn't stop. He kissed me then, his tongue pushing into my mouth and I answered eagerly. My hands came up to hold his shoulders. His mouth was hot, wet, tongue pushing in and gliding against mine and I raised a leg, hooking my ankle behind his knee. He slid across to lie over me, his hips thrusting against mine.

"God," he groaned, and thrust again, our cocks pressing together.

I arched under him, my tongue probing, body shaking. One of his hands was on my head, propping him up by the elbow, and the other hand was gone for a minute. I heard something fall off to the floor, and things rattling, something tearing, a snap of a plastic lid. Jamie rose, kneeling above me.

"What do you want," he whispered, and ran a slick finger down my cock from head to base. "You gotta tell me."

"I want... " A million things ran through my head. World peace, but I don't think now is the time to ask... and I wanted to laugh, unexpectedly. Instead I opened my eyes and tried to focus despite the feeling of wet coolness slipping past my balls to run down my ass. "I want," I announced, and gripped the sheets tightly, "for you to fuck me into this mattress until I can't remember my own goddamned name."

Jamie laughed brightly. "Hell, I can hardly remember your name, Cat, or Quatre, or maybe you're really named Herman... " I rolled my eyes, and he stopped laughing, but his grin widened. "Flip over on your stomach... and I'll see what I can do."

I rolled over and was barely on all fours when his finger was in my ass. I arched, moaning, and he pushed roughly, slick and smooth, his free hand gripping my hip. The sensation grew, fuller, more, massaging and pushing and exploring. I rocked backwards, impaling myself with a pleased groan.

I don't know what I said or did but I could hear him chuckling over my incoherent mutterings. My hips were jerking, pushing back on his hand. When he pulled away, I nearly snarled. He came up behind me and I felt his cock sliding against my ass.

"Goddamn it," I growled. "Do it."

"Easy, easy," he said, and ran a hand down my spine. It was sticky, trailing cool wetness, then his cock was pushing into me. Just the head, and I gasped, tensing. "Easy, slow," he soothed.

I took a deep breath... and suddenly he was in. It felt like someone was ripping me apart, but without an ounce of pain. It was pleasure, it was fullness, it was a strange rippling sensation that started in my ass and spread out through my body. I was breathing hard, and my arms were shaking.

"Oh, fuck," Jamie said, a low primal groan, and slid into me until I could feel his balls against mine, his thighs pressed up against me.

It was exquisite; sharp flecks of brightness against my eyes with every move he made. Jamie pulled out, just a little, and rolled his hips. I shivered. He slammed into me, pulling me towards him with strong fingers at the same time. Each time, it felt as though he'd gone deeper.

I cried out, and he did it again, and again, and I just let go. I was reduced to fingers and cock and ass and muscles and nerves and the feeling pooling down in my cock. I was full, drowning in the sounds of traffic and groans and gunshots and mattress springs.

In... out...

Deep, so deep, and I cried out, moaning low as he pulled away. He grunted above me, a throbbing sound in time with his thrusts. Sharp, fast, and a slow withdrawal... picking up the pace, slamming, leaning over me, his chest pressed against my spine. I fell to my elbows, and reached for my cock, but he was faster, swatting my hand away and stroking my cock himself. I wanted to thrust into his hand, push back onto his cock. I shuddered, caught between the two.

In... out...

Faster, and I threw my head back: so quick, blunt, ramming into me, piercing me. I could feel his movements in my throat, I swear, and I tightened around another cry. Then unexpectedly slow; gentle, hips swiveling against me, rocking, a sweet singing of muscle and palm and cock and ass and thighs and shoulders.

In... out...

Time stretched out, my hands gripping the bed sheets like piloting throttles, thumb on the trigger: breath thick in my ears, liquid movement, flashes of light and pleasure. We were the deep, dark emptiness of space that envelops everything: reducing and diminishing to a single point of brightness behind the eyelids. His groans, my cries, the shift and draw and heat and thrust and wet and push and slick and clench and—

When I came, I screamed.

"Hey, you," Jamie whispered, and I smiled, sluggishly. He chuckled, and I felt lips against my neck, a tongue along my shoulder. "That's a good look on you."

"Mm," I said, unwilling and unable to move.

"I was thinking," Jamie said. He hooked his leg over mine, pulling me back until it felt like he was wrapped around me. "You're not really a Cat."

I groaned. "You're not going to get all introspective and shit on me now, are you," I muttered into the pillow.

Jamie chuckled; I felt it mostly through the reverberations of his chest against my back. "Naw... just that you aren't really domesticated, though I think you've spent your life trying." He ran a finger around my neck.

I elbowed him, half-heartedly.

He grunted, laughing. "Yeah, yeah, put the claws away."

"Shut up."

The only answer was a bite on my shoulder, but I couldn't be bothered to react, and he chuckled again. That was the last thing I heard before falling into sleep. When I woke, I realized it was the second time I'd slept well in a place not my own, and the first time I'd done it in someone else's arms.

I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

The next day I was on campus, for my first class. I walked through the door, stared down at the desk I usually took, and turned around, walking right out again. I just couldn't do it. I rarely skipped classes, but I just couldn't walk in and pretend like everything was normal. It wasn't, and I was sick of pretending.

Mondays were my afternoon to spend with Lola, and I found myself heading towards the food court before I remembered. Halting abruptly, I spun on my heel and headed to my apartment. Nothing had changed since the afternoon before. I'd come back at a godawful hour just before dawn, when Jamie had to leave for work. No kiss at the door, nothing like that, just get up, get dressed, stumble home, go back to bed. If there was a taxi from the Winner family outside, we missed each other. If they came up and banged on my door, I probably slept right through it.

I decided I didn't care. If that was the way things had fallen out, then there was no changing it. No going back. Deal with the consequences, and live with the guilt.

Just like always.

End Part 9

next chapter, tomorrow, maybe?

(:./sol/nothing9)