FNL Fic: I'm Yours
Title: I’m Yours
Rating: R
Category: Het, AU
Pairings: Tim Riggins/Tyra Collette
Warnings: AU Season 5, which I haven’t seen in its entirety, so careful with spoilers please.
Disclaimer: If I owned this show, I would already know what happened in the end.
Notes: For oxoniensis’ Porn Battle 14 snoozin81 asked for Friday Night Lights, Tyra Collette/Tim Riggins, memory, college, letters, couch, spontaneous, bra, water, tequila, heated, hurt, comfort, first time, goodbye, rough, beg, claiming. Title and words in italics from “I'm Yours" by The Script.
I listen close for I'm not smart
You wrap your thoughts in works of art
And they're hanging on the walls of my heart
I may not have the softest touch
I may not say the words as such
And though my edges may be rough
I never feel I'm quite enough
It may not seem like very much
But I'm yours
Tyra figured Tim would end in jail one day. For a night or two at the most for being drunk and doing something stupid. She never figured on prison. When she finds out the whole story, she’s tempted to drive to Dillon and kick Billy’s ass for letting Tim take the rap. And then Tim for doing it.
When she sits down to put pen to paper and write to him, it’s a spontaneous act. She doesn’t know what to say or she’ll even mail it. She decides not to say sorry or ask how are you. She doesn’t talk about her life either. She asks him if he remembers the first time they met then walks to the closest mailbox before she changes her mind.
He asks her if she remembers their first kiss, the one at six and not at fourteen when hormones were the only reason they put with each other.
She talks about the first time she realized her mom was crazy. He talks about how Billy isn’t that bad of brother. She talks about Landry and how she’s been a real shitty friend. He talks about Becky as the little sister he never had. She talks about how sometimes she thinks of coming back one day to stay. He talks about the land he still wants to buy.
It’s safe, admitting things in letters, but not safe enough to talk about everything.
She can’t be there when he gets out. He gets out in the middle of finals and she can’t risk the time off, even it’s only to drive down and back in the two days it’ll take. Plus, she doesn’t want to spend the money on the rental car when she’ll take the bus down a few days after finals anyway.
It’s four in the afternoon before she’s truly awake and ready to face the day. Her last final had started at five pm the evening before and she had three hours to complete the in-class essay. She took every last minute and could barely gather her things, open up doors, and get into bed because her hands hurt so much. She’s never typed so hard and fast in her life. She just hopes whatever she submitted makes sense.
Close to five and there’s a knock at the door. She opens the door expecting the pizza guy. It’s Tim.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asks, feeling flush with embarrassment because she didn’t mean it like it sounded.
“Nice to see you, too, Tyra,” he tells her through a smile. It isn’t one she remembers. Those slick ones when he wanted to get into her pants. Or those awestruck ones on the field. Or those I don’t give a shit ones when he was drunk.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m surprised is all. I am coming home tomorrow.”
He still has that smile on his face, almost shy, which is jarring and comforting at the same time.
“I know. Felt like driving and you need a ride.” He shrugs, looks away.
Her neighbor walking pass, greeting them both, reminds her she hasn’t let him in yet. “Come in.” She’s grateful for the almost neat freak ways of her roommate. Their room is presentable enough. “Sit.” Her room is meant for three but with only two of them they’ve been able to separate the room into their own zones with a couch, TV and mini-fridge/microwave combo in the middle.
“Nice couch,” he says and she calls him on the lie. “Okay, it’s the ugliest couch I’ve ever seen in my life.”
She turns back to the fridge. “We got water, a couple of cokes and tequila left over from Chrissy’s birthday.”
“Chrissy’s your roommate?”
She turns from the fridge. “Yeah. She went home already. So what’ll it be?”
“Coke.”
“Coming right up.” She stands and hands him a coke. Their hands touch and she swears there’s a crackle in the air, too quick for her to think it means anything. Yet, she purposefully plops down on the other side of the couch, saved from any conversation by another knock at the door.
They fall into their old routine, pizza and drinks (coke this time, not beer) in front of the TV. They watch DVR’ed episodes of Lost and, of course, Tim has no clue what’s happening. She tells Tim she’s watched the whole damn series save for a few episodes here and there and she still doesn’t know what’s going on.
When she gets back from the bathroom, the TV is off, Tim’s laid out on the sofa and the Tequila is sitting on top of the five dollar coffee table from goodwill
“You started without me,” she jokes, sitting down next to him.
“Liquid courage,” he says. It must be true because he looks at like with such a heat in his eyes that she looks away.
“Since when do you need liquid courage with me?”
“Since a lot of things.” She turns back to look at him and waits. She can see he wants to say more. As much as he talked in those letters, which was a lot of him, she can see this is hard for him. And it’s not like she knows what to say. “I’m sorry.”
Old habits die hard, like lying to yourself. Tyra told herself she didn’t need his apology, she didn’t want it. That she got over the hurt a long time ago. Yet, the minute he says it, she’s climbing over him, pressing her lips against his, pushing her tongue past the seam of his lips.
His hands are rough on her face but not like how she remembers. He doesn’t have callouses upon callouses. The change serves to remind her of how different things are.
She moves away long enough to remove her baby tee. He pitches forward to take a breast in her mouth, tongue teasing one nipple until she has to pull back from the sensation. He swipes his tongue across the dip between her breasts to the other side doing the same thing over again.
Tyra helps him pull off his shirt, warm skin against warm skin as she pushes him back down with her body, kissing him as he goes. Tyra pulls away again to stand up, to step out of her sweatpants. His smile is feral at the sight of her naked body, still long and lean. Lust spikes low in her belly. He lifts up and pushes his jeans down his legs. He only gets them as far as his knees before she’s back on her knees.
She leans over the side of the couch, fingers searching under it. She doesn’t say anything, just pops back up with a foil packet in her hands. “Chrissy’s idea to keep them there,” she explains.
He plucks it from her hands. “I should do that.” He’s careful putting it on, such concentration on his face, like one wrong move and he’d be done.
Tim lines himself up but not before teasing her, sliding his fingers between her lips. She bites his lip in retaliation, soothing the sting with her tongue. She’s wet enough that it doesn’t take long at all before he’s fully inside. He holds her hips, fingers pressed to the bone, and she fights against him, rocks nice and slow.
“Tyra…” he hisses, eyes closed, teeth bared.
Her legs spread wider as she rocks, picking up the pace until his fingernails make her wince in pain. Tim’s not so far gone he doesn’t notice. He slides his hands up her back, presses her shoulders forward until they’re kissing again. “It’s okay,” she breathes against his lips.
She pulls away to curse, chants fuck yeah as he snaps his hips. He sets a demanding pace, her hands slipping on his slick shoulders. He bares his neck when he comes. She can’t help but lick at his pulse point, liking the way it feels against her tongue.
She can’t help nipping at it when the pad of his thumb flicks her clit. Then he’s pressing on it, back and forth, until she’s clenching around him, shaking with pleasure.