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So, a few weeks back, I tried to write Spubba a happy HxP PWP. This is what came out instead. It ain't happy, it's mostly not HxP. But hey, I'm good for one of the three, because there's no plot in sight! Sigh.
Title: Meant to Be
************* It seemed as though there was a straight road before him, ready for him to walk, leading to a happily ever after -- the kind of real happily ever after that involved wondering why it seemed Someone never seemed to manage to get his dirty clothes into the hamper, or why Someone thought the kitchen table was an appropriate place to disassemble an engine and leave the scattered, greasy parts while waiting for the needed piece to arrive in oh, 6-8 weeks or so, or what you ever did to deserve Someone so wonderful. The thing about "meant to be", though, was that it didn't leave a lot of room for "could be". There's just that one road and a lifetime of questions that might never be answered. They talked about that, too, and agreed quietly, soberly, and with some tears on both sides, that being where you're supposed to be doesn't necessarily make up for never having been anywhere else. Strange, truly strange, where you could end up if you stepped off the wide, straight road. ******** "Hey! Arus to Pidge! Get in bed before your feet get all cold," Lance groused peevishly from under the mound of blankets. Pidge blinked and turned from where he'd stacked his folded clothes, where he'd lost himself momentarily in thought. He grinned widely and scooted under the covers, planting icy feet at the small of Lance's back. Lance yelped and leaped away before twisting around and pouncing, hands quickly finding Pidge's wrists and holding them down above his head, using his body to pin Pidge's to the bed and prevent any further chilly mischief. Pidge's laughter quickly became a touch breathless, amusement at the reaction he provoked tinged with the turn-on of Lance's lithe reflexes and awareness of his own distinctly compromised position. Lance bared his teeth in a sharp-edged grin, eyes glinting dangerously. "Oh, you are going to pay for that!" Pidge squirmed suggestively. "Promises, prom-", his grumble cut off into a shriek as Lance shifted so both Pidge's wrists were trapped under one hand while the other went straight for his way-too-ticklish ribs. But even with Pidge half-convulsed with helpless laughter, Lance's hands weren't big enough to hold him trapped that way for long. /Unlike…/ The bed erupted into a flurry of questing fingers, flying pillows and playful wrestling for position that didn't end until they were both panting for breath amidst twisted, entangling bedding and warm, damp air. "It worked," Pidge gasped smugly, "My feet aren't cold anymore." Lance snorted. "Brat." He reached over and flicked a nipple, hard. "Ow! Hey!" Pidge glared, only to be met by the lazy, sexy smirk that completely undid him. They'd established that this was purely a fuck-buddy sort of thing; and it was. He could walk away tomorrow and there would be no broken hearts or hard feelings. But Pidge had somehow expected that the arrangement would grant him an...immunity. That because they didn't love each other, he wouldn't feel the intimacy of an expression worn only in bed. That because it was casual, his body wouldn't react with such urgency. That because they weren't building something together, he could remain separate. It didn't take long to find out how wrong he was. He tugged free of the hopelessly tangled blankets and slid closer until their bodies were flush together. Lance made an appreciative half-hum, half-sighing sound at the contact as he slid his hand down Pidge's side and bent to kiss his neck. ******** Maybe it was because of the energy expended earlier, but the foreplay was a lovely haze. Pidge hadn't known it was possible to be so relaxed and so turned on at the same time. Time drifted in languid, liquid touches. He was lazily kissing his way across Lance's chest as he mumbled the words, barely aware of having spoken them until Lance stopped moving, stopped breathing in a hesitation so profound it gaped all out of proportion. Fingers under his chin, then, making him look up and meet Lance's eyes. "Are you sure?" He'd brought it up once before. Lance had told him to think about it, ask again later if he was sure. He thought about it, as requested, and had decided it was probably Lance projecting his own issues. After all, it wasn't as if Pidge was a virgin in any other sense of the word anymore. He really didn't see what the deal was. So he had no trouble meeting Lance's eyes now, but knew better than to be flippant. "I'm sure." He saw Lance's pupils contract sharply in a split-second surge of desire, and it was a heady thrill. None of this was new to Lance, after all. He hadn't divulged specific numbers, just a wide grin and a "probably more than my fair share." So there was a rush in seeing an involuntary reaction like that, proof that this wasn't something mundane for his more experienced partner, that Lance wasn't just going through the motions for his benefit. It made him even more certain that he wanted to experience this last unknown. Lance was careful with him, starting with a massage that turned already relaxed muscles into something about the consistency of warm pudding. Pidge felt like he couldn't move even if he wanted to -- and didn't see any reason whatsoever to bother wanting to anyway -- by the time he felt a warm, slick finger teasing at his anus. It felt strange entering him, if not completely unprecedented. He'd done this to himself a few times, but it wasn't the same. A little uncomfortable, but more just…foreign. The new sensations quickened his breath and cut away some of the relaxing haze that had enveloped him. He experimented, contracting and releasing the muscle around that finger as it began to slowly stroke, figuring out the differences in sensation. He tried lifting his hips a little, pushing back in encouragement, and gasped. That had felt…right. Instinctive, sort of, like the rhythm he'd found just before he came that first, uncertain time with Lance beneath him. Without quite noticing the transition, he became aware that Lance's finger was now moving inside him more easily, no longer gripped by muscles unaccustomed to intrusion. Then it rubbed against his prostate, sending a jolt up his spine and a flood of heat to his balls, more stimulation than he was prepared for, and he bit out a cry and shoved his hips back, suddenly urgently, mindlessly wanting more than just a finger. "Enough!" he choked out. "I'm ready." "Pidge..." Oh, and what a thrill that Lance's voice, even while trying to counsel restraint, was low with the same suppressed need that he felt. "I'm ready," he repeated in a frustrated growl. He lifted his hips. "Please..." For a second he saw himself, ass in the air, begging for it. Then he was past caring. No point in pretending that "please" had just been politeness. He wanted more with an urgency rapidly approaching desperation he could hear in his own voice. He'd beg in earnest if he had to. But judging by that groan Lance just gave, he wouldn't have to. It was with an almost dizzying anticipation that he felt Lance fumble again for the lube before letting his finger slide out. "Get on your knees," he breathed gruffly. Arms shaking, Pidge lifted himself to his hands and knees, fervently wishing Lance would just hurry. Then a hand curved around his hip and he felt the blunt, slippery head of Lance's cock pressing against his ass. For a moment it seemed impossible, like his body wouldn't open to this intrusion, it couldn't possibly. A rush of determined denial, and he was breached. And it hurt. "Wait!" he gasped. Lance froze behind him, not moving, barely seeming to breathe with what little focus Pidge could afford him. Pidge clenched his hands in the sheets. "Just...wait a second...." It wasn't that bad. He'd taken much worse without even flinching in the lions. He knew what real pain was, and this wasn't it, but that didn't stop his body from trying an almost panicky rejection of this hurt. It was different. This wasn't a familiar pain, but at the same time it was. It was the pain of fingers digging too sharply into flesh; it was the alarmed pain of a body feeling its own vulnerability. Pidge forced himself to breathe around it. He wanted this, he reminded himself. He wanted this so much he was ready to beg for it, was still trembling with desire for it. "Okay," he said shakily, but still Lance didn't move, except to start stroking his hip gently. Pidge bit his lip and slowly, infinitesimally, shifted his weight back. That pressure again, the feeling that this wasn't possible, that his body wasn't meant for this, but then Lance's cock slid within him and he pushed until he felt the flare of the head pass through. That's when he realized he'd held his breath. He sucked in a lungful of air and became aware of Lance murmuring above him. He wasn't sure what he was saying, but it sounded soothing, as was the hand still stroking his hip and lower back. He could feel his body adjusting, nerves sending confused and urgent messages. The discomfort was still there, but it was diminished, making way for new sensations impossible to categorize. He continued to press back, slow and inexorable, with his head spinning and his heart pounding in his chest. Harsh, rapid, adrenaline-fueled breaths through dry, parted lips /This is…it feels…god, this is…/ and then he was there, felt Lance's thighs against his own, the soft skin and coarse hair of his pelvis against Pidge's ass, and the strange, strange knowledge that Pidge had the entire length of Lance's cock buried inside him. Lance uttered a choked groan that Pidge knew he'd tried to hold back, letting Pidge take this at his own pace, be the one in control. "Okay," Pidge whispered to himself, trying to adjust to everything, trying to realign, find himself in this new space, and failing. "Okay… just," his voice broke, "don't… I... just let me…" He slid forward a tiny amount, then back, hitching a quick, shallow breath as he tested these new waters. This was nothing like a finger or two. This was nothing like anything else. He moved again, more boldly this time, and gasped at the indescribable, dull intensity of it. His arms quavered and he dropped to his elbows, lowering his forehead to rest against the mattress, feeling the tug and shift of this changed angle and the momentary tightening of Lance's fingers. Part of him wanted to just stop here, to give himself time to come to terms with the flood of sensation and emotion that threatened to drown him. But the greater part was determinedly demanding that he let go, stop fighting and let it carry him away. Shaking, he forced himself to move, arching his hips and starting a slow, smooth rhythm, awareness wholly constrained to his own body, a longer stroke each time, feeling his way, a blind man in an unfamiliar place. It wasn't enough. Thoroughly ambiguous, pressing need choked him, and he faltered, nearly sobbing in frustration and uncertainty. He pushed back, needing the solid contact of Lance's body, the straining muscles of his thighs tight under his skin. "Please," he managed, struggling for coherence, "I need…I need you to…" Unable to get any other words out, his simply ground his ass against Lance, hard, to convey his point. "Okay. Ssshhh, okay." Lance's voice was ragged, sending another jolt through him as Lance finally started to move, taking the control Pidge was too overwhelmed to maintain. And, oh, this was better. This was what he wanted, what he hadn't known he'd wanted. It had shape now, and direction, and an intensity that curled through him and built upon itself. He could hear Lance talking, telling him how good he felt against his own inarticulate cries of encouragement and pleasure. Then Lance's hand slid forward to stroke his cock, and for a moment it was too much. Too intense, once again threatening to drown him and he almost batted the hand away, until it closed firmly around him. He buckled, shooting spurts of come harder than he thought he ever had before, his cries muffled by the mattress as Lance thrust into him harder and faster, his own orgasm hitting him just as Pidge's ended. Pidge sucked in lungfuls of air as he felt Lance's cock pulse, felt awareness coming back to the rest of his body. Lance stilled behind him. Pidge was gripped by a sudden, inexplicable dread of Lance leaving his body. "Don't!" he whispered urgently. He could feel Lance waiting. "I mean…" he swallowed, tried to rein in his heartbeat, "lie down." He eased himself lower and was gratified to feel Lance moving with him until he was flat on his stomach, Lance's body a reassuring weight against his own. Both of their chests heaving somewhat, hearts thudding, Lance's breath loud and hot and comforting against his neck. Pidge could do no more than savor the feel of their joining, the strange intimacy of feeling Lance's anatomy begin to soften while still inside him. Finally Pidge regained some composure, enough to offer a slightly embarrassed huff of laughter. "Okay, you can move now." He'd half-expected a quicker retreat, not the slow, careful withdrawal as Lance deliberately maintained body contact before propping himself up on one elbow, lifting some of his weight. A warm sigh gusted across Pidge's shoulder blade, followed by a brief touch of lips. Pidge's throat tightened. "You want the bathroom first?" Lance sounded normal again, and it was all Pidge could do to answer in the same tone. "No, I don't think I can move yet. Go ahead." "'Kay." Lance scrambled out of the bed, and Pidge wasn't sure if he'd imagined a last, fleeting touch. Then footsteps faded and the bathroom door closed. Pidge rolled onto his side, stomach and chest cool and sticky from where he'd laid in his own come. He wrapped his arms around himself, but it wasn't enough. Experimentally, he tightened the muscles so recently invaded. It felt a little different, but not much. There wasn't any discomfort, just a strange sensation of…hollowness. Slowly he drew his legs up to his chest, hugging his knees tightly. The air was starting to feel cold, and he was trembling. God, what was wrong with him? It wasn't like this was a huge deal. Not that much different from what they'd done before, and he'd never had this kind of reaction. /It's just adrenaline,/ he thought, /endorphins. It's just a physical reaction. It's just…/ Tears ran thick and hot and silent over the bridge of his nose, into his hairline, slid into his ear. He breathed carefully in through his nose, out through his mouth. Deep breaths, evenly spaced, don't let a sob catch in your throat because then you might start crying in earnest, and the last thing he wanted was for Lance to hear him, to know he was huddled pathetically in the fetal position, holding himself together and feeling all kinds of empty. He could hear water running in the bathroom, knew his time was short. Slowly he forced himself to straighten. He sniffled once, pressed his face into the bed to soak up shameful tears. Kept breathing. He rolled back, pretending he hadn't moved, flinching at the cold wetness of the sheets against his stomach. Deep breaths. He allowed himself one moment to imagine big, beefy arms wrapped all the way around him, holding him close against a barrel chest, warm and solid and comfortable, but cut the thought off before tears started again. He heard the bathroom door open and forced his muscles to relax, hoping Lance wouldn't notice anything. Heard Lance pause in the doorway, and cursed himself for forgetting how damn observant Lance was. He could feel, literally feel, the hesitation, the surge of concern. There was no trace of it in Lance's voice, just lazy humor. "You gonna get up and wash or did you stick yourself to the bed?" Pidge mentally thanked Lance and every god he could think of as he raised his head. "You finally done in there? I just about fell asleep you took so damn long." Lance chuckled and waved his arm in the direction of the bathroom. "It's all yours. You could've at least fixed the blankets." Pidge lifted himself out of bed, trying not to look as shaky as he felt, and made for the bathroom as Lance started straightening out his haphazard nest. ********** By the time Pidge was clean and felt in control enough to leave the security of the small, bright room, Lance was back under his heap of blankets, looking ready for sleep. Pidge crossed the room to his pile of clothes and started pulling them on when he felt it again, a hesitation from Lance's side of the room. /Don't. Please, just don't/ he mentally pleaded. Too observant he may be, but Lance apparently wasn't telepathic. "You could…" his voice was quiet, hesitant, "you could stay, if you want." Tears threatened again. Part of him did want. Very much. Wanted to crawl into that warm cocoon and curl up against that slender body, feel arms around him and the comforting embrace of a friend. He knew Lance would offer it for him, on Pidge's terms, just like everything else had been. He finished dressing silently, the offer hanging between them, working up the strength to at least look at Lance, who was now sitting up in bed, watching him, when he answered. "No," he said softly. "I can't." Lance nodded, and Pidge headed for the door. He'd almost made it when Lance stopped him. "Pidge?" He turned reluctantly, wanting nothing more than to escape. "Yeah?" Lance studied him for a moment. "It's okay, y'know." Pidge found he could smile, and that it was mostly real. "Yeah. I know." |