You wake up late in the morning and decide to have a lie-in. Eventually the day doesn’t involve that much lying, you do move a lot, except when he orders food, and insists to pay for it, chauvinistic pig, and when you try to watch telly. Watchmen is quite a long film, but you manage to stretch it for ten hours, pausing, getting distracted, then going back to it. Three times you don’t even have time to pause it, one of you already biting and kissing some sensitive part of the other one. You fall back into the sheets, and one of you rasps, “Bloody hell, we have to rewind again.” You have never shagged that much in one day in your life.
You’re lying on his chest, and he’s staring at the ceiling, his fingers playing with your hair.
“One last thing.”
“Are you kicking me out?” You yawn.
“What?! Bloody hell, you and your jokes.”
“You love my jokes.” He tenses for a second, weirdly silent.
“Yeah, I do.” You lift your face not quite understanding his mood. He’s not looking at you.
“Phil, is something wrong?” He blinks and the strange expression is gone.
“No, of course not.” He smiles to you and strokes your cheek with his fingers. “Sorry, sweet, got lost in my thoughts.” You kiss his palm, and he frowns.
“About my uncle…” You freeze. “Will it be weird when we go home, and he’s there? Because I want to go visit Mum with you. She’ll be super excited.”
You sit up pressing a sheet to your chest.
“It won’t be weird. Like I said, it just was sort of an… impulsive weird thing.” That is the shittiest bullshit ever, Wren. “I hid in his tent, and we mostly just slept…”
“You did what?” His eyebrows hike up.
“I went to pee, and… Do we really need to talk about it?”
“I’d like to have no surprises later.”
Then you are bloody dating the wrong girl.
You sigh and stare at your hands. “I went to pee, freaked out when something grabbed me, it was a bloody root as it turned out, and I hid in his tent. We made out a bit, and… that’s it.” He’s looking at your attentively.
“And that’s it?”
“Yeah…” At least that is all that is important. Whom are you fucking kidding, Wren…
You exhale, and hating yourself you proceed digging your grave. You intertwine your fingers with his and, leaning in, you kiss him.
“You said it yourself, he’s not interested in anything serious.” You slide down his torso. “And it won’t be weird, he might not even remember me…” Curse you, Wren.
You lick his stomach, and he sighs. His cock jerks under the covers. The conversation’s over. Yes, inner voice Wren, shut your gob and suck it up. Ew, this pun did not go where it was supposed to… You give him a long lick, and he exhales sharply. You cup his testicles and slide him into your mouth. That’s a new low for your, Wren.
He falls asleep, wrapped around you, and you are staring at the ceiling this time. You feel funny. There is no other word for it. You know you should feel bloody miserable and hate yourself, after all you lied to him about John, and then used your impressive “verbal” skills – his phrase not yours, you are not responsible at least for this daft pun – to distract him.
But you don’t. You feel justified. You made a decision, and now you protect what’s yours. Phil is what you want here and now. The past doesn’t matter, hypotheticals can go and bugger off. You feel territorial, like momma lioness defending her golden cub. No, that analogy just went really in the wrong direction, with the whole Oedipus thing… Yuck. You shake your head and nest in his arms. He pulls you closer in his sleep, and murmurs in your neck. You close your eyes and feel absolutely content.
You are dreaming, and it’s one of those dreams when you know it’s not real, but it is so good that you are desperately clawing at it, trying to stay in the bliss for just a bit longer.
It is Summer, you are lying on the grass, and you know it’s the Durinson mansion. It smells like those merry blue flowers in Deandre’s garden, and you are spread on a soft blanket. The sun’s caressing your nose, and it feels impossible to open your eyes. At the same time, you see yourself from outside, relaxed and spread like a starfish, some light dress bunched up mid thigh, and your hair is splayed like a nimbus around your face. It is peace… His fingers touch your wrist, and your hand curls up. You hear a low chuckle, and a pair of hot lips is pressed on the tender skin there. You twitch your fingers, and then promptly grab the long nose. He chuckles again and twist out of your grip.
His hot palm slides across your stomach, and he is kissing your shoulder. The hair tickles your neck, and you lazily batter it away. The lips are now on your clavicles.
“I am sleeping here…”
“No, you are not, you are talking…” The low velvet voice is full of laughter, and then his lips are on yours. The beard is scratching, familiar but still exciting feeling, and you wrap your arms around his neck. You open your eyes and stare into the blue irises. The mischief in them is glinting, and the crow’s feet make him look somehow younger. The thick black lashes flutter, and he leans in for another kiss.
You tread you fingers into the glorious silky mane, and his weight is on you.
“Should we be snogging like teenagers in your sister’s garden?”
“It’s just you and I here…” He smiles, and you have never seen him so beautiful before, careless and content, white teeth gleaming and eyes hidden behind the lashes.
You wake up with a jerk in Phil’s bedroom and grab handfuls of your hair. Fuck.
Wrennie and the men of her life will come back in Strike the Cord, the second story in Dr. T Series.