Little Things Ch. 04 of 04

"No, we do." A pang of regret striking at my temple. "We did, anyway. Lately, he's just...he's braindead. Crazy. Or I guess really he's always been, but I didn't realize before now..." Awareness flashing, my mouth clamps shut. Why the hell am I telling him anything about this?

But Eric just laughs. "Well, I can't deny the kid's always seemed like a bit of a freak. Actually saw him crying over roadkill once. Not even a pet - just a raccoon, or some damned thing." A smirk tugging upward at one side of his lips, ready with confident derision now that David's left. "Maybe he should be wearing that helmet of his off the field, huh?"

"Watch your fucking mouth." I'm almost startled at the strength of my response, at the snarl that leaps so readily to my lips. The fury boiling in my blood, that he would dare...instincts from an early lifetime as David's protector, stepping forth as second nature. Righteous wrath rising in my breast, fixing a violent glare into my gaze. Even when thought and reflection does come around to give its opinion, it only joins the chorus. Even if I don't quite know what to do about David right now, this guy has no god-damned right to talk about his tenderness like it's a character flaw, like his sensitivity makes him retarded. "He's got a heart, that's all. I wish everyone did."

"Right..." Eric's cheer thins with a visible cracking of irritation, quickly concealed. "Well, he is your brother; I suppose you'd know best. Sorry I mentioned it." A smooth insincerity in the apology, plastic in his smile. "You ready to go?"

Second thoughts. I'm already reminded in half a dozen ways of why I never felt any enduring connection with the guy, of the myriad of minor irritations and conflicts that came between us. But...damn it. This was my plan. My hope. The only way I could think of to knock some sense back into my skull. I don't need him to be Prince Charming. I just need him not to be my brother.

Outside, past the increasing howl of the wind, I can hear the familiar rumble of our truck as it drives away, and I know it's too late to reconsider. After everything I said to him, all the barbed words and venom I cast at David's face...I couldn't just turn around and call for him to come pick me back up. So I smile thinly back at Eric, nod. "I'll let you pick the place." Only one way out. Forward.

---

And forward it is. Storm clouds roll in overhead grey and dismal while we scurry about, sliding towards the unspoken inevitable. Lunch at a burger place, a movie, drinks at the bar...time passes quick and forgettable, like a play put on for the hundredth time. The lines of our conversation spoken as though by rote, easy and meaningless. Eric's polite. Nice enough, insisting despite my protests that he'll pay for my food, my drinks...maybe because he's expecting something back, but so what if he is? That's how these things work. I was counting on it anyway.

Late, now. Pushing eleven. I'm expecting him to drive us back to his place - instead, we're out cruising along narrow county roads, winding between fields and small clusters of trees in his old Mustang, fixed up now to a semblance of serviceability. The car speakers humming with a slow, electronic beat. I don't realize our destination until we're nearly there, the little promontory looking out across undeveloped woodland. Logs and branches arrayed at the edge of the hilltop, laying out a makeshift parking lot. The overlook. Empty right now, save for the two of us; I remember sometimes there'd be half a dozen cars out here, but I guess it's not so popular a destination in the middle of winter.

"Thought you might appreciate coming out here," Eric offers low and smooth over the engine's purr, pulling up to the edge before turning off the car. "Some good memories, I hope." In the sudden stillness, his hand slips over casually from the gearshift to rest on my knee.

"Some." Half-agreement, quiet. From the corner of my eye, I can tell he's looking at me. I don't look back, not yet. Staring out into the darkness, the beam of his still-active headlights vanishing into infinity; the trees below us barely distinguishable from imagination, a faint tinge of green on the blackness, cresting and crashing like ocean waves in the wind. "Kinda funny, you know, that we come out here for this."

"Yeah?" An affected interest in his voice as his hand slides up, squeezing demandingly at the side of my thigh. "How's that?"

"Well, think about it." I glance briefly over at his face, at the flicker of impatience in his expression. "The woods down there have been around for centuries. This...that storm out there, it's part of some vast, horribly complex weather system. If it were a little clearer, we'd be seeing the stars, billions of miles away. It's all so...big. Bigger than we are. More important than we are, than all our little diversions. But people just come out here to fool around, to fuck, because their body says it feels good. Listening to the tiniest, deepest voice we have." A quiet snort of bittersweet humor. "Seems almost silly, doesn't it? Trivial?"

A confident smirk curves his lips. "Nothing silly about feeling good." I open my mouth to disagree, and that's when he makes his move - leaning in to cut me off with a kiss, his lips pressing against mine wet and tepid as he clambers across to my seat, and I try to enjoy it, try to reach for that excitement, that satisfaction that I know must be inside me somewhere past the immediate stiffness, the instinctive bristle of discomfort. I should like this. I have to like this. His mouth opening, letting his tongue emerge slimy and rapacious, licking along the line of my lips until I force them to part and grant him passage. Inside, now, exploring methodical as a dentist's probe. One hand clutched at my shoulder, pinching almost painfully, while the other grabs and fondles at my breasts through my sweater. Playing like a child with a new toy.

Triumph glints in his eyes when he finally pulls back. Pleasure at his impending conquest, I guess. "How about we lose these heavy clothes, baby?" Murmuring, with breath heavy and a leer in his grin. "I've got some other ways we could keep warm." And I feel so much like a liar as I nod and shrug and smile back, not trusting my voice to words. Pulling off my sweater, tossing it to the back seat while he does the same with his jacket. Half-heartedly undoing a few of the buttons of my blouse as he stares down with lustful approval.

Then he's on me again, his mouth almost gnawing at mine. A smell of grease and alcohol and cheap cologne stinking in my nostrils. His hands in the valley of my breasts, moving with the smoothness of experience as he undoes the remaining buttons of my blouse, hardly hesitates before sliding around my back, reaching up to the clasp of my bra. So quick. Not so much hunger in his manner as impatience; I can feel it in the fidgeting of his fingers, the careless rapidity of his motion. He hardly seems to notice how little I've done, how I've just lain back in the seat, trying to force myself to take pleasure in his touch. Maybe I don't need to do anything. Maybe he doesn't even want me to. Just wants a body, a form with the right shape and the right number of holes. A slot for his tab. Doesn't matter who I am, what I feel. Hardly matters if I'm alive or dead.

My bra comes loose, fluttering down in the space between us to be snatched away by his ready hand, tossed at my feet. I'm exposed to Eric, the same as I was a handful of times years prior. But different. It all feels so dirty now, so cheap and tawdry. My skin cold where he touches me, my body bitter and uncooperative beneath his gaze, stubbornly resistant to my urging to slide into the moment, to find pleasure in this tryst.

Damn it. What the hell is wrong with me? He wasn't that bad a lover; I need to just relax, let myself get into it. Need to kiss back as his arms slip around my back for a close embrace, as his arms lock like manacles behind my waist. Holding me tightly against him so that I can't get away, trapped there while my skin crawls and body screams in protest against its confinement, and I try to pull away, but he's stronger than me, and I hate it, I HATE IT.

"Let go of me." A quaver in my voice now, upset and uncomfortable, breaking my lips away from his to speak for the first time since we started. My breath coming quick and shallow with stress.

Eric thinks I'm kidding. Or I assume he does, chuckling deep in his throat as his cheek touches to my forehead. "Oh, I'm not about to let you go, baby." The epithet chafing at my mind as he punctuates it with another squeeze around my midsection, firm enough for a moment's pain as my elbows dig into my waist.

I can't stand it. I can't. A frenzy burns in my blood, panic or rage or both at once, and I push suddenly with all my strength, struggling for freedom as though my life were at stake. A gasping ferocity in my voices, "I said fucking LET GO," as I twist in his arms, fighting to push him away, to break free of his grasp.

And then, all at once, I am. Eric retreated to the edge of the seat - still straddling my legs, but space enough that I can think, that I can regain some element of composure. Insult and irritation in his expression, alongside a faint puzzlement, while embarrassment creeps slowly into mine. The strength of my reaction already seeming like madness, even just these few moments later. "Sorry," I mumble vaguely, a flush descending on my cheeks as I scramble for an explanation. "I'm sorry. I just...I've had a really weird couple days, and I'm feeling off, and...and kind of sensitive, you know, about some things." The lameness of this explanation sour sour on my tongue.

"Uh-huh..." An acknowledgement slow and distantly biting. "Well, what, do you want to talk about it?" Politeness forces the question; it's clear from his tone how little the thought appeals to him.

Not that I want to discuss it any more, myself. "No," my head shakes quickly. "No, let's just...do this." My hand half-heartedly rising to touch encouragingly at his chest. "I need to do this. I need it from you." My throat tight with the words. Protest in the back of my mind.

A breath. He nods, with a bit of the smug in his gaze, and on his face I can see him rebuilding the smooth façade of seduction. "Well," tones suddenly deeper, huskier, "I think maybe I know what you need to feel better." His hand rises up my leg, stroking along my inner thigh. "Could probably use somebody licking clean that honeypot of yours."

Maybe. Maybe it would help. Trying to force a smile at his tired metaphor, I obligingly unbutton my fly, squirm quickly out of the waist of my jeans. There's a feeling almost businesslike, detached as we cooperate in the close confines of the passenger seat to pull them down to my ankles, my panties following after with no more ceremony or comment. An awkward pose, but Eric manages to crouch there in the space beneath the dashboard while I sit slid halfway down the seat, knees spread wide in his hands. Exposed obscenely now to his eyes in the increasing cold of the car. And though I struggle again to stir up excitement in my soul, to call for the thrill of my first night out here, all I can find is resignation.

It's not...horrible. There are flickers of pleasure as his tongue slides roughly upon my entrance, twinges of sensation carried up dutifully by my nerves. I try to cradle them into my mind, to breathe life upon them like the sparks that would ignite a conflagration, but somewhere inside I already feel a sick certainty of how hopeless it is. A sense of wrongness here, of filth and guilt, throbbing painfully in my soul whenever I permit myself a moment of reflection. Poisoning any pleasure I might receive from his touch. Far from being carried off into ecstasy, as minutes begin to pass I'm most aware of the banalities of discomfort, of the awkward position of my back against the seat, the cold air that seeps in from outside the car.

I can't even say what's wrong, exactly. Eric's technique might be growing increasingly repetitive as time drags on, but it was good enough for me once, and there's nothing in particular I could point to making it fall short. No, it's something in the whole, in the totality of the experience, in the personality of his quick and mercenary tongue. Maybe because of cool and casual hookup that brought us to this point, meaningless sex offering now not even bodily satisfaction. Maybe because in truth I don't like this guy, can't stand the smallness of his vision or the coldness of his heart, because when I look down between my legs I have to see his ratty face instead of...

No. God damn it, no. I shove the image from my mind, refusing to think about those sky-blue eyes, those golden curls. I'm not that messed up, I'm not. But this...this isn't working. Eric's attractions no more pleasurable than a pap smear, though he keeps stubbornly at it all the same. A scream of frustration held aching in the back of my throat - can't he tell how little this is doing for me? What the hell do I do now, just tell him to stop, that it's pointless? I know already how well that would go over, how insulted guys get at the suggestion that they can't satisfy you. Adding that kind of awkwardness to the pile is about the last thing I want right now.

I guess the answer's obvious. Fake it. Not usually my style, though it won't be the first time I've had to resort to it. When it's the only way to avoid a conflict...you do what you have to.

"Oh!" I try to put some passion into the sound, feeling, though I'm suddenly unsure of even what I sound like when actually aroused. "Oh, right there." Cringing inside at how ludicrous it sounds in my ears, how cheap and unconvincing. But it seems to fool Eric, as his tongue moves with new eagerness between my legs, his fingers gripping enthused at my skin, while my insides squirm with something like revulsion.

I don't have the heart or the patience for long deception; my ascent towards orgasm must be one of the quickest ever. It's scarcely a minute before I let out a long, wavering cry and force a feeble quiver upon my hips, then lie quiescent, feeling like a liar. Only faint relief as he rises up again, his face smeared with spittle and smugly grinning. "There, what'd I tell ya," he croons triumphantly, wiping his cheeks with his hands. "Bet you feel worlds better now, huh?"

Jesus. A weak smile, lying through clenched teeth. "Absolutely."

"Great." He stands up before me, half-shadowed by the car's meagre overhead lights, and starts to undo his jeans. "Let me tell you baby, I cannot wait to get back inside that sweet pussy of yours."

I swallow silently, looking away as disgust curdles in my nerves. I wanted to do this. I thought I had to do this, it's what I came for. But right now...god, I just can't. I wouldn't get anything out of it, wouldn't be able to bear it. Even just the thought of him touching me is enough to raise a shiver of revulsion. I have to call it off. Shaking my head, softly apologetic, "I think that's a little much, Eric."

He hesitates only briefly, keeping his steady smile as his jeans drop to the floor. "Well, hell. That's okay - I haven't gotten a good blowjob in a while anyway." And he rubs at the bulge in his boxers, looming over me as he inches forward onto the seat.

Awkwardness. He's crowded in now, close and uncomfortable. One hand grasped loosely stroking at the side of my head, presumptuously familiar. The other shoving down the waist of his boxers to retrieve his organ, waving it around so fucking confident in front of my face, like there's no question I'd do anything but dive right on. A faint moldy stink wafting up repellant in my nose, like it's been days since he's washed. I don't want this. The clenching of self-pity and frustration in my gut; I don't want to be here, don't want to deal with this...my lips flicker in a brief, false smile. "No, I mean..." God damn it, I wish he wouldn't keep his cock right there when I'm trying to talk. "I think we've maybe done enough for tonight."

"Aww, baby," a tone of playful protest, but my jaw tightens at the repeated appellation. "I know you're not serious. You got me so hard it'd be torture if I don't get relief." His hand still stroking obscenely along his shaft, a sight normally intriguing that right now just leaves me cold.

"You can take care of that yourself, I think," I mutter, and have to bite my tongue to keep from adding on an unkind comment.

His voice slides closer to wheedling. "Come on now, baby-"

This is once too many. "Could you not fucking call me 'baby?' Please?" A snarl of sarcasm in my throat.

Anger flashes briefly in his eyes, but his smile only tightens. "Fine. Samantha." His tone darkened with bilious condescension. "You just wanna stop right now, is that it? You think that's fair, after you show up outta nowhere all flirty, after I take off early for you, drive you all around town, drop like fifty bucks on your ass?" A snort of indignation. "You let me lick you off just fine, but when it's my turn, suddenly it's time to call it a night?"

"Look," trying to reason with him, trying to be circumspect. "It's not...I'm sorry, okay?" Some truth to that, though he's working hard to destroy what sympathy I have for him. "I am sorry, but I just...it doesn't feel right to me tonight." Trying not to look at his manhood jutting inches from my face. A vague apprehension clawing inside, his hand still kept firm on my shoulder.

"Oh, it doesn't 'feel right.'" Bitter mockery. "That's good. They teach you that one at college? Take whatever you want, then when it's time to pay the piper, just say it doesn't feel right?"

"'Pay the piper?'" My voice rising towards archness, always too eager for a fight. "What, you're saying I owe you a blowjob?"

"I'm saying you owe me something." His smile finally snaps, shattering into an ugly scowl. "I didn't drop by your place making a bunch of promises. I think I deserve a little more here than a god-damned peck on the cheek goodbye."

"Maybe if you didn't whine like a fucking child, I might actually want to give you something more," I snap back hotly.

"Oh, I'm a child now?" Fury burns in his tone, and alarm runs swiftly chilling down my spine as his hand slips over, gripping painfully at the back of my neck. "You little bitch. Maybe I oughta just take what you owe me, huh?" His cock lining up roughly with my tight-closed lips, fear wrapping coldly around my heart. "Maybe teach you not to be such a fucking tease."

Panic like icicles in my quickening pulse, my mind scrabbling frantically for a way out. Would he really...I wouldn't have thought him capable. I've never been in this situation. God, I don't know what to do. A mass of impulses crowding contradictory in my head; struggle, run, scream, fight, beg and plead...but it's an altogether different instinct that steps forward as I sit there paralyzed, that lifts my head to stare steadily into his eyes. That speaks, cool and firm and unflinching. "Eric, you're not going to do this." The rest of me watching terrified from within, wondering what I've just done.

For a moment, it just seems to provoke him further. "I'm not, huh?" A snarl, and I fear that I've made an awful mistake. But then I see the inward flicker of his eyes, the slowing of doubt and of reflection. Looking away from me, down into himself, the furious quickness of his breath abating. When he finally moves again, long seconds later, it's to lift his hand from my neck, releasing me. "No, I'm not." A look in his eye not so far from apology, though it hardens quickly back into anger as he moves to crawl clumsily back to the driver's seat, limbs stiff with brooding. Staring at the windshield as he settles in, looking out into the night. Bitterness in his voice. "I tell you what, though, I am done giving out free rides."