The Dramatic Spiel of Arthur and Chardonnay~ (7,125 views)

Arthur’s shirt/blck jeans

-x-

Professor Lockwood was generally a good professor. Arthur had liked him, aside from the whole spiel with Chardonnay his freshman year, and had taken a few classes with him since. Part of the reason was that he knew the professor was good but the biggest reason was because he knew Chardonnay would specifically avoid him after what happened that year. She was selfish like that – no, selfish wasn’t the right word. She was stubborn like that. Even though their project was an A+, the highest score in the class, she was still so stubborn as to actually avoid the professor when part of the reason (aside from their own competence) was that Arthur had used a lot of the techniques that he’d learned in that class for his portion. But anyway. He had taken more classes with Lockwood and his work always came out wonderful. He hadn’t gotten anything less than a 3.5 in any of his classes, and the only reason he’d slacked off that semester was because that was his sophomore year, the one he moved into his own apartment in. It was also the most stressful year of college he’d ever had, period.

So when he signed up for one of his last business courses, an Honors seminar, he was mortified when again walked in Chardonnay, looking as out of place as ever among tired college students in her full face of makeup and fancy not-even-a-day-old clothes. God. And, of course, one look over at Professor Lockwood’s surprised face and Arthur knew what was going to happen to him for the end-of-semester project listed on the syllabus.

As much as he’d developed as a businessman, and as much as he excelled in mathematics, he’d always had a weak spot for English. He saw a person in the seminar he’d worked with before, who was an amazing writer but lacked in mathematics, and was hoping they’d be his partner. But, of course, when the assignments were given, he didn’t even have to move out of his seat to see that the person with the same color string thrown on their desk by Lockwood was Chardonnay.

The project involved the strings, it was a marketing assignment. They had to think of something that involved string in its production, design the item, and market it to the class. It was simple enough, and most of the preliminary notes were taken during the class over the course of the semester. So he knew what they were doing and here he sat, on his living room couch, pouring over the notes in his notebook with his head held in his hands and his elbow on his knees. Even though Chardonnay’s grades were, apparently, good enough to get her into the honors class she was still so frustrating to work with. It wasn’t so much that she was dumb or ignorant, but that she lacked any sort of respect for what he was saying and she drove him up the wall. He’d deleted her number from his phone in his sophomore year, and hoped it’d never pop up again. But at the end of their last class, they realized they had to meet outside of class to finish up the presentation. They only had a few more things to go over, but knowing them, it would take forever.

It was pouring outside and Arthur expected her not to show up. They could have met in the library, but after what happened last time, the librarians still gave him paranoid looks. Though he’d calmed down since freshman year when he was with Chardonnay, one look at the two together and the librarians would probably ban him until he graduated. So… reluctantly… he’d offered for her to come to his apartment.

Of course she’d make fun of it-- the place that he’d literally busted his ass to save up enough money to afford and decorate. It was modest, with pretty bare walls except for one random picture of fruit Susan had given him as a ‘housewarming’ gift, before she cried about how her baby brother was growing up and getting his own place. It was touching, but kind of weird, especially when a picture of a bowl of grapes was hovering above his dining room table. He didn’t even like grapes that much… well, he supposed it went with the purple throw pillows and small rug underneath the coffee table.

He glanced at his phone again, but it didn’t light up with a call or text from her. Well, if she did show up, then he’d at least have to give her props for lugging her spoiled ass here. Outside the rain was pouring, creating a melody against his window as he looked over their notes. Professor Lockwood would be expecting the best from them, again. Arthur did like having high expectations, because he loved to meet them, but he was nervous about her not cooperating or dragging him down in some way.

He heard a knock at his door and got up, though the knocking was anything but pleasant to hear. It sounded like she was trying to break down his door. He purposefully took a little longer than he could have, because even though he had matured slightly, he still felt like doing something that petty. Who could blame him when she was banging his poor door?

He finally opened the door, regarding Chardonnay with a deadpan. She was scowling and, even though she looked like she’d put herself together to look as perfect as she always did, she was still wet. He looked at her shirt, which was splattered with water and slightly see through in places. He rolled his eyes and moved out of the way to let her in.

”Why the fuck did you wear white?” He asked, but he really shouldn’t have said anything because he didn’t want her to go on some fashion spiel. ”Actually, doesn’t matter. Leave your umbrella in the bucket by the door. Don’t get rainwater all over my carpet. Let’s get this over with.”

Two seconds she’d been here. Two seconds and she was already making him roll his eyes. Has she not checked the weather?! Didn’t she know that white clothes became see through when wet?! God, even he knew that! He decided not to comment even though he wanted to bitch her out for the sole purpose that she would probably just brand him a pervert. He was glad to have been away from her for the majority of his college career, except for that stupid video of his first kiss that went circulating and the rumors that followed. Even when they were distanced from each other they always wound up forced together. There were the rumors in High School about the gym closet, which died down after they entered their upperclass years. But then when he thought he was free in college, that party happened… and now he thought he was free, so what was going to happen now?! He was just glad his damn apartment wasn’t bugged so that Amy's creepy ass couldn't take a picture and try to pass it off as something it wasn't.

He glared back at her, though, when she insulted his shirt.

”What the hell is it with you and plaid?! At least this shirt isn’t going to become see-through in the rain!” He snapped back. Oh. There went holding back his comment about her shirt. Whatever. Let her know, for all he cared.

When she shoved the umbrella at him he swore and scrambled to hold it before it dripped onto his carpet an got his shirt too wet. Though he managed to save the carpet, his shirt was not so lucky. The teal material was sticking to him slightly, even as he shoved the umbrella into the pot. He made a ”tch” noise under his breath as he pulled his shirt up and waved it out, trying to dry it off as best he could. It wasn’t really working, and he didn’t have time (or energy) to change at 7 PM, when the only person who’d be seeing him was Chardonnay. Although she always made him feel underdressed, he was used to it by now, and her states of overdress were more comical than intimidating.

As she began to judge his apartment he rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother defending it to her. It wasn’t like he bought the place for her. He thought it looked fine, and so did his sister and Adelaide. Still, having his place judged so bluntly was really getting under his skin. He knew better than to bitch at her about it – that would not only prolong her visit, but it’d let her know that he actually cared about this place. So he just listened to her complain as he grabbed his own laptop and put it on the coffee table next to his notes. His PC was an improvement over the one he had three years ago, the brand logo surrounded by stickers. He hit the power button and waited for it to load, and then he noticed her Mac. What a shitty computer brand. When his computer opened he clicked the internet and pulled up the slides from class on it, so they could reference it.

”Oh shut up, Princess. I wouldn’t have taken so long if you didn’t shove the damn umbrella on me.” He spat. When she said she had ideas he looked over at her with raised eyebrows and a bored expression.

”So by that, you mean you’re willing to listen to what I have to say about them?” His tone was completely sarcastic – he knew how her ‘ideas’ worked, and he wasn’t going to put up with the same bullshit he’d suffered through freshman year. They didn’t need a babysitter this time.

He already felt his blood pressure beginning to rise as he listened to Chardonnay complain, and belittle him. He didn’t have time for this. He groaned at her words, pressing his fingers to his forehead as he rubbed it, his elbow resting on his knee. Of course she had ideas about this. That was how she worked, she showed up with ideas and expected everyone to just accept it and go along with it. He wondered if she had been paired up with some other poor saps in her other business classes. He imagined very few people would want to stir up conflict with her of all people. It was more trouble than it was worth. That was what he told himself to try and calm himself down but the more she badmouthed his work the more frustrated he grew. Stale popcorn? Flimsy tickets? A run down theater?!

”Just because I don’t work at a five star restaurant doesn’t mean my theater’s shitty. You wouldn’t know anything about it, so stop talking.” He spat. He could go on a tangent here, about how only recently they’d renovated the carpets and changed the food provider, about all of the work that went into pricing and marketing and handling the repercussions, both negative and positive, that came with change. He hadn’t made any of the choices himself, they’d all been his boss’ choices, but he was usually the one who had to market the changes to customers – explain the benefits, explain what was good, and hopefully win them over from their preset belief that the former provider was better. It helped their popcorn was actually better than it was before, though.

When Chardonnay challenged his skillset, he scoffed.

”I’m in an honors business class, I think I know how to market! You’re not the only one who knows what you’re doing! Jesus Christ, could you stop stroking your own ego for five minutes?! I have ideas for this project, too!” He snapped, this time looking over at her. As he’d noted before the rainwater from outside had splashed her shirt and he really regretted keeping her waiting outside. Not because he felt like an asshole, but because now he could see through the thin fabric of her shirt and see the outline of her shoulder and collarbone as the fabric clung to it. He closed his eyes before he could linger and groaned, again. She was so condescending. He wanted to kick her out of his apartment. ”This is freshman year all fucking over again. Just tell me your idea so I can tell you why it sucks.”

His eyes rolled back when she said he hadn’t changed and he flopped the back of his neck against the couch, groaning. What right did she have to bitch about him for not changing?! She was the exact same person as she was when he met her! Okay, maybe she was different, a little bit. She might look older, but the brain in her head had to be an overgrown child’s. He grit his teeth together as she talked. She was so self-centered, she was so convinced that he needed her for this project. What bullshit. He could pass this perfectly fine on his own, Lockwood and Chardonnay be damned!

But then, of course, he remembered how they’d actually worked together when Susan was babysitting them. They’d come out with the best project in the class, because as loathe as he was to admit it, she was smart. Really smart. And when she actually listened to him, and bounced ideas off of him instead of crushing his with hers, the end result was much… better than he could have done alone. Not that he was bad, but…

Reluctantly, he looked back over at her as she huffed and finished trying to adjust her shirt. She was bent over her laptop. It was odd to see hair sticking up at odd angles – a few strands she couldn’t have fixed without a mirror – but then she shifted and he found himself wondering how fucking wet was her shirt?! He looked away, at his own laptop, Lockwood’s slides staring him in the face. That professor was expecting a lot from them. He’d told them as much at the beginning of the class when they were paired up. He told them when they put their differences aside they could create something amazing – but the problem was actually putting them aside for long enough to focus.

Her comment about him needing her made him growl in anger. Especially when she followed it up with a whole spiel about how she didn’t need this class. If she didn’t need this class, this project, why was she here? And he sure as hell didn't need her. He was fine on his own. Except, apparently, when Lockwood saw how they worked so well together and decided they were destined to be business project partners.

”Bullshit. If you didn’t need this class you sure as hell wouldn’t have stuck around when you saw I was in it. Go ahead. Walk away and force us to fail. You’ll just prove how spoiled you are.” He snapped, making eye contact with her, giving her a challenging look of his own, almost daring her to make an excuse for why she stuck around when she saw him and didn’t’ just red carded out of the class the first day. And the feeling was mutual – he needed this class. And his degree was more important that Chardonnay would ever be to him. With this degree he could finally start taking over the theater and finally, officially, work there full time hours. He tore his eyes away from her and stared at the notes in front of him. ”We’re both adults – “ debatable in Chardonnay’s case, he thought, but he decided not to say that out loud, ”we don’t need to call Susan over. Just tell me what your idea is. And don’t try to shit on me while you do, because the more bitching you do the longer you're stuck here.”

He gestured towards his notebook, which sat between the two laptops, a small sketch of the object the string would become and some notes beside it. At her serious look, he rose his eyebrows at her, as though waiting for her to go off on him.

He was maybe a little too satisfied with the fact that he’d called Chardonnay out on her crap, and, judging by the furious flush that spread across her cheeks, he was right. They were both focused on their respective futures. Even though they didn’t understand each other, they were both dead serious about passing the class. And, of course, passing it well. Arthur would be damned if he got anything less than perfect on this assignment simply because he knew they had the capacity to do it. He could tell that Chardonnay wanted to scream and bitch but she didn’t and he was somewhat impressed, because she scoffed and began to focus on their assignment. Her utterance of his nickname didn’t actually insult him, in fact, it made his lips twitch up into a smirk. That bitter attitude meant he’d won. He’d been the bigger person here.

Fuck yeah. His entire existence of knowing Chardonnay was her whining. He felt confident even as she explained her ideas to him, so he held back from snapping insults at her, because her ideas in general were actually, as he’d already expected, well thought out. He thought of ways to combine their ideas, and merge their notes. Though some of their parts and ideas had to be excluded through time constraints. Every time he suggested they get rid of one of her points he could hear that little squeak she made and shot a challenging look over at her, the temptation to pick a fight growing when she didn’t realize why they couldn’t include it. He’d roll his eyes and clack away at his laptop, change the slide on the screen, and pull up some more statistics.

The relative calmness with which they worked was driving him crazier than when they were at each other’s throats. He could hear the ticking of the clock in the calm interludes, a sound he usually masked with music playing. But here he couldn’t play any music. First of all they were working on a project and, second of all, Chardonnay would probably complain about it, and he didn’t want to make her complain. But the silence was driving him insane, between the civilized chatter that they had between the two of them. This wasn’t mediated by Susan and Addy, this was pure choice, on both their parts. He was conscious of how stiff his shirt felt against his chest, and of how unusually warm he felt his hands getting. Being with her in a calmer setting actually succeeded in making him nervous. Especially when he glanced over beside him and saw her with a serious face, not lit up with anger or rage, as she clacked away on their PowerPoint. Her wet shirt had dried and now wrinkled, and he was at least thankful that he couldn’t see through it anymore.

He looked away whenever he felt her head even turning remotely towards him, rarely looking at her when he spoke up, instead focusing on his notebook and their laptop screens. It was easier that way when he could just hear her voice and not have to look at her face. He was confident if they made eye contact the venom would return and they’d get nothing accomplished. He was conscious of the way their thighs were almost touching on the couch – almost, but not quite, because like hell Chardonnay would ever let herself get that close. He rolled his eyes, grumbling something unintelligible under his breath.

And, finally, the project was done! He sighed of relief and flopped his head backwards. Their presentation was Monday, and with the idea they had, he was confident it’d go off without a hitch. Though of course the second they were done she was back to bitching and the nervousness began to dissipate, as he watched her lean back against his couch and pinch her nose. Fucking really? He frowned, eyes focused on her wrinkled shirt before they moved up to her lips again.

”I didn’t buy the fucking couch for you.” He spat, All he had to do tomorrow was go over his notes and make sure that he didn’t choke up in front of the class. He wasn’t usually bad at giving presentations – in fact, he was usually great with them, he memorized the notes he had like they were a character’s lines in a skit. That made it way easier to remove himself from the situation. He rolled his eyes at her and rested his elbow on the back of the couch. He looked over her once – she looked like she was itching to leave. Of course. He didn’t let his eyes hover on the hem of her skirt, which had risen a few inches when she had leaned her head back. ”After this stupid project’s over, we’ll never have to deal with each other again. So get over it, Princess!”

That was true. After they graduated, there'd really be no reason for them to ever interact again. He wanted to roll his eyes at the thought, but for some reason he couldn't take them away from her, so they fixated on her face again, his expression irritated.

The him from years ago would have been happier about the fact they weren’t going to have to deal with each other after this. When he first met her there was nothing but hatred for her, and yeah sure, he might have found her attractive. But that didn’t matter because there was no way he wanted to make any sort of moves on her, the person who hated his ass and drove him insane. She was just as stubborn as he was, and knew just what to say to ruin his entire day.

He blamed the party their freshman year for this lingering feeling of… dissatisfaction? He didn’t like to admit it, but he did remember what it felt like to kiss her. In his head, there were all sorts of reasons he justified that weird, almost electric tingle he felt when it happened. He blamed it on the fact that it was his first kiss (or, more accurate, series of kisses) and most people remembered that, right? They remembered how the other set of lips felt against their own and how her body felt against his… didn’t they? After tonight he wouldn’t have to deal with this. He couldn’t have to deal with her driving him up a wall or the attraction he knew he couldn’t deny feeling for her. After this, she’d be gone, devoted to her five star restaurant until she retired. He had no need for a five star meal in his life, so he’d never go there. And like hell she’d ever go to his theater. So… this was it. Their tale of mutual hatred was going to end here.

He didn’t except her to kiss him.

He was caught completely off-guard when she pressed her lips against his, that same electric feeling from the first time they’d kissed beginning to grow in his chest. And his first instinct was to kiss her back so he did, moving his lips against hers, conscious of how her hand was clenching the fabric of his shirt. His first thought was that he wanted her hands on his skin, which suddenly felt hotter than it had before. It was almost like he was on fire, except the fire was coming from the inside, and he became conscious that no matter how much he tried to deny it over the years, he wanted her. He wanted her to touch him, to kiss him, to claw on his skin and moan underneath him.

God, he wanted to know what that sounded like.

He snapped himself out of his perverted thoughts with the reality of what he was thinking and broke the kiss with a blush on his cheeks. He stared at Chardonnay’s face and realized he was close enough to see that her eyes weren’t all blue, he could see the green flecks in them and the way her face was flushed with irritation… and something else, maybe? Fuck if he knew. He almost opened his mouth to ask her what the hell she was doing when he realized if he did she’d stop. She’d pull away and leave, without ever talking to him about this again. She'd probably find it so easy to just leave and find someone else, someone better to kiss her and let touch her like this. So instead of trying to awkwardly sputter out a question, he kissed her again. His movements were more aggressive than before as he moved his hands to her hips, feeling the fabric of her skirt as he tried to hike it up slightly, so that when he slid his hand down he could feel the skin of her thigh against his fingertips.

It was cooler against his hands. He could feel their knees touching from their close proximity. Before he felt like being too close to her was bad, but now, all he wanted was for her to be closer to him.

He wasn’t sure why she hadn’t pulled away yet and told him off. He had half a mind to think she was doing this as some twisted test – and that somehow he’d fail. It was probably a stupid thought because if she didn’t want this she wouldn’t have let his lips touch hers. She was such a diva about that, so surely she was just as much of a diva about being touched, wasn’t she? She didn’t shove him away and instead continued kissing him. At the party they’d been surrounded by people. He was giggily and didn’t have a care in the world so when she was kissing him all he focused on was the electricity it sent throughout his body, and the way her lips felt against his. But right now he was conscious of everything. Not only about his lips, but about his entire face. He could feel her cheeks brushing against his as they moved together, this time not obscured by the fake glasses he’d been wearing at the party to hide his face. His heart was racing and he felt his stomach doing flips. One wrong move, he reasoned, and she’d shove him off and bolt.

But apparently touching her thigh wasn’t a wrong move, because he could feel her skin underneath his fingertips. He could hear her breath hitch, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. When she shifted, he thought she was going to break the kiss and yell at him but she just put the laptop down and kissed him again. He got a little braver and slid his hand farther up her skirt, hiking her skirt up higher in the process, but then he got distracted when he felt her hand sliding from his shoulder to his neck. It made him shiver and sigh into the kiss.

She started to undo the buttons of his shirt and a whole new level of anxiety appeared for him as his lip movements slowed down with each button he felt come undone. Again he swallowed and looked at her, his face growing pinker by the minute. Oh, God, he just had a thought. What if this entire thing was just some ploy to get him out of the plaid? She’d probably laugh at him right after she got it off – after she threw it to the side – he was certain!

His thought process was proved wrong, though, when he felt her hands sliding down his bare skin and his breath hitched at her sigh, that flipping feeling in his stomach growing worse. Her hand got lower and stopped at his midriff. The waves in his stomach peaking as he realized he wanted her hand to go lower and his body unconsciously moved into her touch. He bit down on his lower lip to muffle the moan that came out of his mouth, as he somewhat hesitantly shrugged off the sleeves of his shirt and allowed it to fall to the other side of the couch. His face was even more flushed after that, and to stop himself from focusing on her face he looked down and saw the state he’d left her skirt in, hiked up to her mid-thigh, and stared, before he leaned back in and kissed her again, his lips slower than before as he leaned forward to press her into the back of the couch. His hands wandered away from her skirt and tugged weakly on her shirt, remembering it was button down but it looked tucked into the skirt and how in the hell was he supposed to that thing off?

Of course, it was Chardonnay. She’d find a way to make even this difficult for him, wouldn’t she? Even if it was unintentional.

His thoughts were going on a million miles a minute. Or, actually, was he even thinking? When he actually paused for a second to realize what he was doing and who he was doing it with, he wondered if maybe he’d fallen asleep while working on the project and if he had, then he should probably wake up before he went and got a boner while she was still here and then got his ear chewed off or something. But his senses were going out of control, and it felt so real, and he could feel her moving against him. When she touched his body, every part of skin her fingers brushed against seemed like it was on fire. The second time her hands trailed over his body, he didn’t know where to look.

He’d never been this self-conscious around her in his life. After the party, when he’d sobered up and realized what they’d done, she made him nervous but that was only because he knew deep down there was a part of him that was attracted to her, and wanted her, and he was certain that her kiss at the party was just because she was drunk and anyone would do, really, and then it happened to be him and they went back to hating each other, worse than before. So after he’d messed up and let that sound slip he watched her for a second, as she ran her hands down his chest again and her eyes darkened. Seeing that look on her face caused him to freeze again, and it felt like the flipping in his stomach just somersaulted farther down into his pants and he swallowed, again, as a lump built up in his throat. He’d never seen her look like that, and it distracted him from the question of himself. Whether or not he was attractive fell out of his mind because she was attractive, and she wanted him, and even as he kissed her and fumbled with her shirt she kissed him back. And if he wasn’t just imagining things he could have sworn he felt her smile against his lips. Her hands were now thrown over his shoulders and he felt her fingers brushing his hair – it made him groan a little, the sound almost lost in their tangled mouths.

Despite the mood, however, he found himself feeling frustrated as he pulled at her shirt. He was trying to untuck it or undo it or whatever the fuck else it took to get the damn thing off of her. Even she must have been irritated because she took her hands off of his body (a feeling he immediately began to miss) and untucked her own shirt. He broke the kiss again to look down at her shirt, wrinkled and loosely hanging off of her body. He moved his hands towards her chest, very conscious of how her bust pushed against it. He moved to undo the buttons, only aware of how badly he was shaking when he tried to fumble the button through the hole. He swore under his breath as he finally succeeded once, twice, and then froze again when he got not only a generous view of her cleavage but the material of her bra.

Fuck. Fuck. He glanced up at Chardonnay’s face, and when she didn’t shove him away from her shirt he undid the next button down, his fingers brushing against the skin of her stomach, right above her belly button. It was so much softer than he thought it would be, which was odd, because he never imagined what her skin would feel like. But now that was the only thing he was thinking about.

The next few buttons came undone clumsily as well – he wasn’t experienced, nor was he confident enough to move through the steps with practiced ease. But once he got the shirt buttons all done he stared at her chest, pretty sure he could see her nipples through the material.

Fuck.

He slid his hand up her exposed stomach as he kissed her again, slipping around behind her. He slid his hand up her exposed back, heading for the clasp of the bra. Fortunately for the situation he knew the basic mechanics of how bras worked, that there was some clasp behind it that had to be undone – but he hadn’t ever taken one off of a girl before. He’d seen plenty on the couch in his suite in college from Chad’s conquests, and he’d seen ads on boxes detailing the way to wear it in passing at the store, but he’d never been in a sexual situation like this, and crap, he’d probably fuck that up.

While he slid his hand up her back he also moved his body closer to hers, pressing her further into the couch. The hand that wasn’t on her skin rested on the top of the couch. His torso was brushing against hers, and he felt like he was sweltering despite the fact that he was half naked.

He assumed that when she sucked in her stomach, it had been involuntary, like how he’d leaned into her touches the first time she’d initiated contact. But when she continued to kiss him he took that as a sign not to stop, so he didn’t. He guided his hands across her stomach, the skin soft. When he caught a whiff of her perfume, he was thankful he’d showered that morning instead of putting it off – though he’d had no idea they would be doing this. If he told himself from even an hour ago that he’d be removing Chardonnay’s bra tonight, he would have scoffed. Blushed, probably, but scoffed. It wasn’t that maybe he didn’t want to – maybe he had thought to himself about her that way before, a few times – but he never expected it to happen like this. They were forced together by bad luck and by Amy’s crazy antics.

When she pulled back from the kiss and moaned his breath caught in his throat at the sound. It was softer than he expected to come from her – and he had a feeling that she could get louder. Hearing her make that sound made him want to elicit it from her again, and again. His mind was already getting as perverted as it had been when she first kissed him but by now he didn’t care, because with the way they were touching each other and kissing each other those thoughts would probably actually happen… or, he hoped so, anyway. Because fuck, he wanted to hear her moan again.

His fingers finally clasped around her bra. He felt around, her smooth skin contrasting with the firmer wire of the bra. He slipped his fingers underneath the bra and ran his fingers over the hooks. He almost stabbed himself and wondered how to remove it without stabbing her. It took a little bit of struggling, and he was worried she’d just give up on him and reach around herself when he actually got it undone. The straps were still on but the clasp of the wire slid down her bare back. He pulled away from the kiss and slid his hands up to her shoulders, moving the straps down. He didn’t have time to look because she trailed kisses down his jaw and collarbone. He opened his eyes and fixated on the plain wall of the dining room, but then he saw that weird picture out of the corner of his eye and looked down, instead, at the girl kissing his collar.

At the angle she was at, with her dark hair slightly pushed to the side, he could see what looked like markings behind her ear. He examined them curiously – they looked like cutlery. Was it a tattoo? He felt her hands on his body again, trailing down, expecting her to stop at his midriff again. He was caught off-guard when he felt a pressure on his crotch and moaned louder than before, his body moving towards her touch involuntarily. As his body moved closer to her he connected their lips again. The aggression was back and this time he moved his hands up her sides, to her chest.

Hers wasn’t the first boob he’d ever felt... though the first one he’d felt had been an extremely awkward violation of his basic human rights. But this time he’d initiated the contact – sort off – with the purpose of getting a reaction from her and himself, too, because he liked the feeling of the skin in his hands, of his fingers brushing against her nipple. He pulled away from the kiss and his breathing was heavy and his pants felt tighter than they should have been. He looked at Chardonnay, their faces inches apart. At some point he realized what they were doing, on his couch, and as much as he didn’t want to stop what they were doing and just keep going with it, he couldn’t let this happen on the couch. His sister and niece sat on it – Maxine slept on the pullout when she needed somewhere to crash – it would just be awkward. He just hoped whatever had compelled her to touch him like this, and kiss him like this, didn't fade when he spoke.

”I, uh, have a bed.” He said. He didn’t realize how husky his voice was until it came out of his mouth, and after he spoke he realized how stupid he must have sounded. She’d probably tell him that wasn’t what she wanted, that she was going to leave now and he could go have fun in an ice cold shower and lose sleep over tonight. His hand was still on her chest and he finally looked down, biting down on his lower lip. He’d always thought her boobs were nice, but well, now he knew. He still couldn’t believe he had one in his hand. He looked away from her chest and into her eyes. Her face was flushed and her lips looked swollen and he had to remind himself that he was the reason for that. Thinking that made it a little less nerve wracking to look at her though he felt his face flushing as he waited for a response.

Even though he’d been the one to suggest moving, he really didn’t want to get up or do anything other than what he was doing now – her hands and lips on his body made him want to do anything other the moment and shift locations. Would it be possible to bring this mood back when they were there? The whole situation had just happened. It was completely out of both of their control – once she kissed him the desire that had been building inside of him since their first kiss came rushing back and he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. He was still terrified this would stop at any second. This was ridiculous. He felt this about Chardonnay, of all people. She’d driven him crazy since he met her that day in the forest, an idiot coming to a hiking trip in a pair of high heels armed with a sassy and spoiled retort for anything he said. At least he’d thought she was an idiot. And maybe she’d made a bad decision in regard to the shoes, that time, but the more he talked to her the more irritated she made him because she was smarter than he pegged her for, she knew what she was doing when it came to projects and business, and fuck, she knew what she was doing here, too. His breath hitched again when he felt her squeeze and heard her moan. The sound made the throbbing in his pants painful, and in an effort to help himself his free hand lowered to his belt, undoing it, but not sliding the material through the rungs on his jeans, letting the clasp remain undone. Immediately he felt a little better, and significantly less suffocated.

When she finally responded he was surprised – surprised she hadn’t yelled at him or told him to get off of her. Or, even, comment on how bad in quality his bed must be. To be fair his bed was probably better than his couch – it was comfortable to him, though knowing her, she must be used to mattresses of better caliber. He felt her hand tighten on his shoulder and swallowed himself, his mouth slightly open as he looked away from her face and stared at her breasts, his eyes wide. The thoughts going through his head a serious of curses as he composed a mental list of the ways he wanted to touch them. He almost missed her question until he heard her voice again and snapped back to attention, furrowing his brow as though he’d misheard her while he tried to process what it was she’d said to him. As he thought about it he remembered hearing the word ‘condoms’ and his eyes widened, again, as he swore under his breath and thought about it.

Did he have any? He didn’t exactly get laid very often. Or at all. He had never had a girlfriend, or a one night stand, and hell, he’d barely been able to stomach sitting through sex ed when he was a teenager without blushing. He bit down on his lower lip. The college liked to host events about sexual safety, sometimes, and he remembered health services had given out boxes of free condoms. It was a while ago, but he still had them shoved into his nightstand drawer, didn’t he? He closed his eyes and sighed. He never opened that drawer. Even though, sure, he’d gotten himself off before, he’d never put on a condom to do it. His eyes opened again and he looked at her expectant face, and down at her body, and if he didn’t have that box of condoms he was literally going to crawl into a hole and vanish. Forever.

”Uh, P--Probably? I mean, I mean, fuck, I’ll check,” He responded, scrambling to separate himself from her even though he hated it. He felt cold, and stiff, and it was really awkward to try and half-run to his room and flick on the light. He stared at his bed for a few seconds, the bedding neatly made. His mind was already imagining it messed up, already imagining someone else underneath him on it with her nails clawing into his back and moaning in his ear and if he didn’t have those condoms anymore he was going to punch himself in the face.

He pulled open the drawer and haphazardly shoved through the contents. There was a package of cigarettes about halfway gone, a few pencils, a small notebook... and there it was, shoved all the way in the back, that free package of condoms health services had given him in some care package for the beginning of the year. He grabbed it and stared at it for a second, flipping the box around, pondering the instructions before he remembered that he’d kind of bolted, leaving Chardonnay in the living room, alone and more apt to leave every second he left her there. He put the box on top of his nightstand figuring he could go over the fine details on the box later.

He entered the living room again, face still flushed, suddenly aware of how almost naked he was. He folded his arms across his chest, to block his nipples. Being exposed when he was this far away from her made him feel vulnerable.

”Yeah. I got them.” He said, eyes falling to her breasts again as he swallowed a lump in his throat. He was still waiting for her to snap at him again and tell him she was done, or regain her venom and leave, so he waited for her to approach him.

Holy fuck.

That morning he woke up unusually early. He was normally the type to sleep in when he had a day off of work and class. It was a habit he probably should kick, but was too stubborn to really combat. But this time he woke up with the sun, but the first thing he saw when he looked towards his nightstand wasn’t his alarm clock blinking. It wasn’t his other pillow, vacant and cool, as it stared at his ceiling. Instead, he saw a head of dark brown hair, strewn across the pillow, and a face turned away from him. He hadn’t been dreaming, or hallucinating what had happened last night. If her being in his bed that morning wasn’t evidence enough, the fact that the covers pooled at her hips and exposed her bare chest was. She was naked. Holy fuck, she was naked, and so was he.

He was completely silent as he stared at her, no, not stared, gawked at her. Looking at her face now reminded him of the night before, about her coming over and dispelling his anxieties that she’d leave, when she kissed him and shoved him into his bedroom, not even bothering to close the door. It wasn’t like it mattered, he lived alone and no one was going to be coming over. She’d shoved him into his room and onto his bed and he found that even more arousing than what they’d been doing on the couch. He knew part of him was nervous – he had to have been nervous -- but for some reason when it came to her he felt less distracted by himself, and more enraptured with her. His eyes trailed to her exposed chest again, and he swallowed a lump in his throat, the memories of how she’d looked last night coming back to him and making his stomach flip, again. He remembered how the skin of her stomach felt against his fingertips. His eyes moved away from her chest and trailed down the expanse of her stomach, fixating on her belly button and the way it rose and fell with every breath she took. He looked at her face again and felt his face reddening when he realized something he’d known for a very long time – she was beautiful. Holy fuck, she was beautiful and he’d just lost his virginity to her and he didn’t know how he was going to go about the project or how he’d react to seeing her again or about the future, or about anything, really. What was he going to do? She shifted in her sleep and he saw the blanket hitch down a little, almost going below her waist. God, he remembered what she looked like without any covering, and what it felt like to be inside her, and what she’d sounded like, and it sent another wave of anxiety over him.

The fuck had he looked like, or sounded like, to her? He knew he was loud, because at the time, he hadn’t been thinking about anything other than her and the pleasure. Oh, God, what if when she woke up she made fun of him or told him he sucked and spat in his face? He didn’t think his self-esteem could take that. He stared at his shaking hands, as he slowly came to, his morning grouchiness temporarily gone as he was forced to wake up way too fast. She stirred again and he realized she would probably be waking up soon. Before he could think about it too much, he hiked the blanket up to cover his chest and feigned sleep again. Fortunately he was good enough at acting to pull it off without letting on to her that he was awake – just close his eyes, steady his breathing, and try to think about nothing.

It was really hard to do when he felt the bed shift and her wake up, especially when he could feel her turn around and her eyes fixate on him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He begged for her not to wake him up, to start screaming and storming out of his apartment. He kept his breaths deep and steady despite the fact that he could feel his heart begin to pound with nerves. She was looking at him... she had to be looking at him. When she finally moved to leave the bed he caught her scent – the same perfume he remembered from before, when she was kissing his jaw and neck, but it was mixed with something else: sweat and the smell of sex. It was really hard to keep himself calm when all he wanted to do was reach over and kiss her again and fuck her again and his brain really needed to stop that thought. Immediately.

He chanced opening one eye, foolishly. He could see Chardonnay as she got out of bed, completely naked, and any attempts at breathing calmly went out the window when he saw her ass as she put her underwear back on and her skirt. He closed his eyes again, squeezing them, as he heard her leave his room and shut the door behind her, probably going to put on the rest of her clothes and get her shit together.

Finally he allowed himself to sit up, his breath uneven as he ran his hand across his tingling jaw. He could hear her shifting in the other room, getting dressed and all that, and he wondered how she was going to look at him when they went up for Lockwood’s presentation. Which was tomorrow. Holy fuck. How unprofessional was it to sleep with your project partner?! They had responsibilities, and work to do, but he remembered the feeling of her lips on his, the way she’d ran her hands down his chest and shoved him into his bed. Fuck.

He heard his door shut and slowly slid himself out of bed, throwing on the pair of sweatpants he usually slept in. He cleaned up what was left of his clothes off of his floor – the pants, the boxers, and the belt. He threw them all into the laundry, not even bothering to take out the belt, as he stared at his sheets, which were covered in sweat and sex and whatever else. He needed to wash them. To distract himself for the day, he decided he’d be doing laundry. His clothes, his sheets, the accents on the couch, everything.

Hesitantly he opened his door and peeked around. No Chardonnay – his door was shut. He saw his shirt hanging off of the couch still and picked it up, swallowing a lump in his throat when he remembered the way it felt to have her fingers slide down the buttons, undoing them, and then touching the skin underneath. Shit. That was going into the laundry, too.

That entire day he spent trying to formulate what he’d say, but every time he got to the end of the presentation, he remembered what it felt like when she kissed him for the first time that night. Fuck. He wasn’t going to make it through.

-x-

Because this was an honors business class, for their final presentation, they were expected to dress up. So Arthur put on a white button down shirt, a pair of black slacks, a brown belt, and a black tie hung around his neck, one that he was currently trying to tie in the mirror. But every time he tried to knot it, it came out wrong. So he had to redo it.

He wasn’t usually this devoted to looking nice for his presentations – sure, he usually wore the same thing, a button down, slacks, and a tie – but he was taking extra care to make sure it was on right. He knew Chardonnay would be there, presenting with him, and he didn’t want her to have any incentive to poke fun at him. He stared himself in the mirror and the thought of her, again, made his cheeks flair up. He wondered how she’d react to him. Would she even show up? He had half a mind to expect she wouldn’t show, and that she would just accept the failure. He didn’t know which would be worse, by this point.

He stared himself in the eyes in the mirror, and knew immediately that he was going to slip those glasses onto his nose. Normally he didn’t wear them for presentations because he didn’t think they really looked professional (as they were fake), but he wore them when he wanted to hide his face. Like today. So he decided he looked fine enough and threw on his coat. He grabbed his car keys and slipped them into his pocket before he packed his laptop. He had a copy of their project, so if she did fail to show he could at least do his part.

The drive to campus was long and nerve wracking, especially when he saw the building he’d be entering that contained the lecture hall in his windshield. He parked his car and got out, running his fingers through his hair, feeling stressed already. As he did so he saw another girl from their class, the same person he’d originally wanted to be partnered with. Like him she looked professionally dressed and offered a wave, which he returned. He ran his fingers over his jaw and tried to forget how pleasant Chardonnay’s lips had felt against it. He locked his car and then headed towards the building, thankful that this was the only class he had today. Once their presentation was done and graded he’d head to his apartment and pretend he didn’t exist until he had to work the next morning.

He entered the classroom and Chardonnay wasn’t there yet. He took his usual seat and pulled out his notes, going over them as he heard the mindless chatter of their classmates around him. He saw when Lockwood entered the room and came over, striking up a conversation. Since Chardonnay wasn’t there it was easy for him to distract himself, to lose himself in the conversation with Lockwood about the ups and downs of the project and about their weekend breaks.

Conveniently, he didn’t mention he and Chardonnay (he found it very awkward to actually say her name, but somehow, he did it) had sex after finishing the project. That really wasn’t something he should bring up to the professor. Instead he just let the conversation drop at the fact she’d come over Saturday night to finish up.

However his eyes kept bouncing to the doorway, waiting for her to walk through it. His hands were growing clammier at the thought.

He was usually so much better at this: just pushing aside whatever it was on his mind and pulling through a presentation, for the sake of his grade. He wanted to do well in this class and the project so that he didn’t have to think about this again. He was hoping she wouldn’t show up and then he could play it off to Lockwood, when he got concerned, that they’d had an argument Saturday night that ended in her storming away from him. Then, on top of her not showing up and failing he’d have pity on his side – he’d be able to get through the presentation without much struggle. If she wasn’t there he could get through it. He wouldn’t have to look at her face and remember how it looked in ecstasy, or look at her nails and remember how it felt when she squeezed his back and moaned and he looked away from Lockwood and feigned interest in his notes as he tried to take his mind off of what happened before he went and got aroused again. Awkward boners right before a presentation were a definite no. Especially when they were caused by his project partner.

When Chardonnay walked in he took one quick look at her before he turned away and pretended not to notice her. Lockwood said hello as she took the seat beside Arthur and went around to talk to a student with a question and he tried to will Lockwood back. If Lockwood was gone what if she brought it up? What if she got irritated at him and told him to get over it? What if she played it off like it never happened? He wished she would, but then again, just how easy would that be to do for her? Maybe she was just curious what he’d be like in bed. For years they’d had this weird sexual tension... so maybe she wanted to do it, and then just say she had, and then move on.

The problem was that, for him, the fact they’d had sex made it worse.

He heard her voice and slowly turned his head. She sounded... somewhat normal. He knew that was what he wanted but there was some kind of sting that left against his erratically beating heart. The fact they’d had sex probably didn’t even mean anything to her. She was just curious. And probably disappointed.

He wanted to snap at her, “what, are you going to take them off of me?” and got about two words in before he got the mental image of her undressing him again and he grit his teeth together in stubbornness. He kept the glasses on, hastily spewing out a ”whatever”, as he tried not to think about how her hands would feel undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. Her dress wasn’t particularly sexy but it did suit her well – he’d caught one glance when he looked over at her but that was all he really needed – and he was already thinking about her thighs and the way he’d been able to slip his hands up them, the way they felt and shook with her haggard breaths and trembled with their motions. He could almost feel the inside of her thighs against the outside of his own again and felt an itch begin in his side as he willing himself to forget. They had three presentations to get through before it was finally their turn.

He was fine when he focused on them. Their presentations were better than the other presentations when they were freshman, because this was a senior honors class, but he still felt like theirs would be better. He could feel the pressure of Lockwood’s expectations building up on his shoulders.

When it was finally their turn he lingered back for a second, trying to gain his composure. He didn’t realize how badly his hands were shaking until he tried to grab his papers. Normally he used his acting training to get through this but he was having massive problems with putting himself aside here. He glanced up and saw Chardonnay’s back as she put in the thumb drive and his eyes fixated on her clothed ass before he quickly shot himself up, grabbed the papers in his hands, and took a deep breath.

Focus. It was just a one night stand.

He never thought he’d have one of those. He was too much of a wreck for one, wasn’t he? Just look at him. Even as he got up and headed to the front of the room he wasn’t better. As much as he wanted to touch her again, when they were up here about to present the desire gave way to anxiety. What was she thinking about him? Was she laughing in her head? He adjusted the fake glasses on his nose and avoided looking at the rest of the class as Professor Lockwood got their grading sheet ready. What if this was some big prank and she was going to tell the class it was a success, and he got himself laughed out of the room, out of college? He knew that the thought was ridiculous but it was a nightmare he had often, of being ridiculed again and being sneered at. He couldn’t even look at her as the presentation was pulled up, his face focused on his paper, the words blending together as the wind came in through the open window and he smelled the same scent of perfume he remembered from Saturday night.

He could hear Chardonnay start talking and felt even more ridiculous. She was putting this aside and talking, without any change at all. He was so stupid. That thought made it worse as he scanned the room, noticing now that a few of the people who he saw staring back had been in previous classes would him and could tell something was wrong. Fuck, fuck. His cheeks started turning slightly pink as he saw Lockwood, who was entirely focused on Chardonnay as she spoke. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself as he turned towards the projector. After Chardonnay finished talking it was his cue to go and he opened his mouth and things went good... for about three minutes... until Chardonnay looked towards the slide and he went speechless, the words completely stolen from his mouth when he saw her face. What was he talking about? He stuttered, tripping over his words. He looked away from her and the slide and stared at his paper. He was so much better at this normally! Why couldn’t he just dissociate and put on an act like he did so easily!? He cleared his throat and tried to play it off but now he was sure even Lockwood was wary, and he sputtered through his half of the presentation, knowing he’d get points docked. This wasn’t even shyness. This was damn pitiful.

When he was able to stop talking he pressed his hand to his forehead. If she didn’t mention the sex to him, she’d mention this to him. She’d chew his ear off. This was their presentation and he was messing it up. He should have just stayed at his apartment and feigned illness – maybe Lockwood would have given them more time to prepare, mentally. Or not. But that’d be better than being laughed at here – or having Chardonnay get mad at him and yell when all he could think about responding was connecting their lips again roughly, pushing her up against the wall, and sliding his hand back up her dress. Fuck, fuck, brain no, he stopped his thought before the flips started in his stomach. His cheeks were reddening as he adjusted his glasses again, trying to shrink into the wall behind him.

He stared up the lecture hall at the door. Since this was a seminar, it was laid out almost like a theater. He saw the red EXIT sign lit up and wished he could leave, right here and right now. He didn’t look at Chardonnay as it was her turn to speak again, and just looked over to a spot on the wall, not even daring to find Lockwood’s eyes among their peers. He knew that Lockwood was disappointed without even looking at the guy.

Where did his ability to present go? Had it decided to take a vacation indefinitely? He had been speaking with confidence at the beginning. But then he caught sight of Chardonnay’s face and all of his prep work went down the drain. It was too soon after they’d slept together – he was too nervous around her, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He should have told her no. Maybe it’d be awkward, maybe they’d still have kissed but if they hadn’t been naked, if she hadn’t been under him, if he hadn’t have woken up and seen her bare chest, rising and falling beside him, maybe he could have put this all aside. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, not just Lockwood and Chardonnay’s, but everyone. One look around the lecture hall after he finished his attempts at speaking and he felt himself begin to hyperventilate. He’d been on a stage before. The opinions of other people didn’t necessarily matter to him that much when it came to a performance. But this wasn’t a performance, this was a business presentation, and he’d basically failed. He knew Lockwood wasn’t going to fail them entirely, right? Their theory was excellent, the product was, but his grade for the actual presentation? It was going down the tube and he knew it. And that was a good portion of the grade. Damn it.

And her. She was so confident, she went around this like there was nothing bothering her – he could feel her eyes on him and he was angry, and embarrassed, because she’d finally gotten the best of him. He sat down at his seat and held his head in his hands, swearing under his breath as he pulled on his hair so hard it was like he was going to pull it out. Part of him admired her confidence – a very big part of him did – but it wasn’t just admiration right now. It was envy. He could put on an act all he wanted, but that was something about her he could never hold a candle to. He could never understand how she worked because he didn’t have that unfaltering confidence that came off of her body in waves. He heard a voice trying to get his attention – the same girl he’d seen outside, wondering what was wrong. But he wasn’t listening to her.

He knew he’d have to make some excuse up to Lockwood and apologize because not only was this embarrassing to him, it was insulting to Lockwood. He wouldn’t dare say the truth, but he could say something went wrong today or that he was nervous for something or even just own up to his fuck up and accept his lower grade, but apologize, anyway. He knew Chardonnay still sat next to him. Their seats had been moved for this very project, the project he’d put months into, only to fuck it up because he listened to the wrong voice in his head Saturday night. Damn it, damn it. And he’d thrown her off, too. He could hear it after he fucked up. He clenched his hair and continued to swear underneath his breath. He slowly, painfully, lifted his head and looked over at Lockwood at the end of the hall. His stern face was fixated in a frown and he didn’t look impressed.

Shit.

As the next group began to get ready Arthur decided he couldn’t do this. He still felt eyes on him. He glanced at the back of Chardonnay’s head, seeing her avoiding eye contact. He could barely see the markings on the back of her ear. They reminded him of the first time he saw them and he cringed when he remembered what had happened. He threw his backpack over his shoulder and then he did what he’d never done during a class – he bolted straight out the door.

Once he was outside of the room he felt less suffocated and could breathe, the sound coming out harsher than he wanted it to. His hands were shaking as he pressed them to his forehead, his throat clenching. He was so fucked. He’d have to pray Lockwood didn’t fail him, but he really couldn’t stand being in that room. He felt vaguely dizzy as he slowly calmed himself down from his panic attack. No one had come out after him and he was relieved. If it was Lockwood he’d expect a lecture... if it was Chardonnay, he’d expect to be screamed at and he really couldn’t take that right now.

His mind bounced back to her, the way she’d been able to put everything aside so easily. He was making a big deal out of nothing, something that obviously meant nothing to her. He’d fucked up their presentation and he knew it was all his fault. She could get over it so easily. That thought stung him more than he wanted to admit. Because no matter what words she was saying during the presentation he couldn’t get her voice out of his head, her moans out of his head, the way she looked at him out of his head. He stayed there for a good twenty minutes, sitting on the floor, not trusting himself to drive yet. He’d never fucked up that badly.

This was the end. Chardonnay would hate him after this, forever, and she’d never talk to him again. If they ever met she’d want to kill him and by this point he wouldn’t blame her because he was furious at himself for letting his nerves take over. Before the class was over he pulled out his phone and stared at his email, Lockwood’s name in his contacts. He shouldn’t write to him yet – Lockwood wouldn’t appreciate that since it was technically still class time. So he pocketed his phone again and then picked himself up, heading towards his car, prepared to lock himself in his apartment and lose himself in some stupid anime he randomly found until he crashed.

He didn’t want to think about this project or Chardonnay. He’d fucked things up so badly, and it was all her fault. If she’d never kissed him, never touched him, never shoved him into bed, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened and they’d have gotten their usual A and then gone on about their business... but then he thought about how her lips felt against his and he swallowed. He didn’t regret sleeping with her.

He just regret how he’d... handled it. He drove back to his apartment complex and parked his car, taking a deep breath. He got out and entered his apartment, placing his glasses on his coffee table as he sat on the couch. He’d intended to watch TV and email Lockwood but he just sat in silence, his head in his hands again. Susan tried to call him but he ignored it, letting the message go to voicemail. She knew he was presenting today, and wanted to know how it went. He didn’t know how to tell her.

He didn’t know how much time passed, but he got a knock at the door. He was pretty sure it’d be Susan – because who else would come by? So he got up and didn’t bother to put on the glasses as he headed to the door, opening it, halfway through asking what it was she wanted when he saw that it wasn’t Susan at his door.

Oh, fuck. He was so screwed.

Arthur stared at the woman at his doorstep, completely bewildered as to why she’d have come around again. Shouldn’t she have avoided him, after he’d embarrassed not only himself but her, too, in front of the whole class? Not to mention he fucked up the project... He was expecting for her to be angry, but for her to have come to him right after...

Actually, it wasn’t right after. Arthur hadn’t even been paying attention to the time passing by. He just sat in silence, debating the pros and cons of going out for a cigarette, for over two and a half hours. When did he let that happen? It was dark out now and as Chardonnay stared at him with a flushed face and scowl, he was focused not on her anger but on the way the outside lamp at his apartment reflected in her eyes. He still hadn’t changed from his outfit earlier, but his hair was messed up from his pulling at it, sticking up at odd angles. His palms went sweaty and his dark blue eyes widened as she stood there. Why was she here? Why? Couldn’t he have a break from her today?! Hadn’t she fucked his life up enough by this point?!

When she shoved him back into his apartment he tried to ignore how hot he found it (and failed in his attempt). He didn’t say anything as she stared over at his couch and looked lost for words – he couldn’t talk, though, because he was, too. His mouth opened slightly as she shut the door behind her and then began her angry tirade. When she actually said the word sex, and mentioned they’d done it, his ears and cheeks started to grow red as his breathing became harder to control. Yeah, that was right, they’d had sex. She kissed him and then he kissed her back and touched her chest and moaned on top of her on his bed and his flush was getting worse. If they’d never fucked, then he wouldn’t have messed up the presentation! He was going to snap something along those lines before she changed the subject... sort of... and accused him of... of what? Not enjoying it?

He closed his mouth and his expression became a mixture of confusion and anger as he looked at Chardonnay.

”You know how much this class matters to me, Princess! I wouldn’t fuck it up just because of you, Jesus Christ, you’re so self-centered! I wouldn’t have done this project with you if I didn’t care about my grade!? Why would I be that petty? Did I not enjoy—are you fucking kidding me?!” He spat out before he could control himself, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he glared at her. This was somehow different than when he’d gotten mad at her before. Mostly because now they’d had sex. She was his first kiss, he lost his virginity to her, she was practically his first everything and it was pissing him off because clearly it didn’t matter to her. Why her? She didn’t care, she never did. If anyone was doing this for a reaction it was her. He thought he might have seen something in her eyes that was different than other fights, but he was so angry, because she was just trying to turn this onto him. ”If anyone did this for a reaction it was you! How could I do that?! How could you just act like nothing happened! When I looked at you, I remembered, and I—I—I panicked, okay?! If anyone’s grade’s going to suffer worse, it’s mine! You can afford to take the class again but I can’t. I can’t! And you – how could you act so calm, when we – obviously it didn’t even matter to you! If anyone was faking enjoying it just to embarrass someone, it was you! I don’t understand why you’re the one so angry at me!“

He finished his spiel with a face redder than before, staring back into her eyes. He couldn’t believe this. That he was in this situation with her, that she was making him so flustered and embarrassed and sexually frustrated. But it obviously didn’t matter to her. But maybe that she came here meant it did. Maybe she did want it as much as he had. Maybe she still wanted him.

Or maybe this was all just some cruel, sick joke. If so, that was over the line, even for what he expected of her.