Bend and Not Break
Fandom: Nowhere Kids
Pairing: Dana/Benjy
He’s getting better, but he’s still fragile. When he topples off the shelf, she always comes along to scoop up every single shard and piece him back together; she occasionally pricks herself along the way. He hurts deeply and when he hurts, she hurts. Comforting him turns into something that is just as selfish as it is healing and therapeutic - when she suggested that he stop cutting, she never thought that his alternative method of taking away the pain would be her.
It’s the same, it’s always the same.
When Benjy enters her office and locks the door, she sees the pain in his blue eyes and, putting down whatever she is working on, she rises from her desk. They cross to one another and she holds him, allows him to cry into her blouse if that is what he needs. Though she knows how it will be, she wonders every time - while he cries and she holds and soothes him with whispered words and rubbing his back - if this is all he needs: to be held.
But soon she feels his hands rubbing up her back and then down to her waist. He pulls his face away from crying into her shoulder and she wipes away his tears with her hands. He is thankful, offers her a watery half-smile and ducks forward to press his mouth against hers briefly.
The first kiss always barely counts as an actual kiss - he just needs the comforting first press of their mouths - just like Dana barely has time to register the first touches. His hands ghost up from her hips, up her stomach, and over her breasts. He looks fearful; no matter how many times he touches her, he seems to worry that she’ll push him away. He doesn’t seem to realize that she needs it just as much as he does by now.
Every time has the feel of the first time; even though he knows her body now, he’s still a little hesitant . . . very gentle. He is definitely the shyest and most deliberate lover (if she can call him that) that she has ever had - his touches, though cautious are purposeful and linger on her long after they part.
She can accurately judge the amount of pain he feels by the desperation in his touch and where the two of them end up - if it’s something particularly bad and it can’t wait for the few seconds that it would take to get to one of the chairs, they sink down together and he’ll take her right there on the floor; on the best of bad days, they end up on the couch against the far wall of her office.
This time, it’s a bad day.
After the initial kiss, skimming touch and the silent request for her permission (which she readily grants), his mouth is on hers again - harder this time - and his fingers deftly undo her blouse and slide it down her arms. Once her arms are free, her fingers go to tangle in his hair as one of his hands settles in the small of her back and presses her closer while his other hand pulls down one of her bra straps and he peppers kisses down her neck, along her collarbone, across her shoulder, and back to her mouth. His fingers creep up her back to unhook her bra and it lands on top of her blouse on the floor. He uses one hand to press her closer and the other to palm one of her breasts. She shivers under the touch of his soft hands and makes a small sound that he swallows down with his own mouth.
Even in his desperation, his hands are never particularly frenzied or quick - mostly because the first time he had been upset, he had accidentally hurt her, so now he’s careful and she’ll help to slow him down - they just touch a little more insistently. It’s in his kiss that the neediness bleeds through the most; he kisses her hard, his teeth grazing along her bottom lip as his tongue steals into her mouth.
Soon, he’s lowering himself down to his knees and pulling her along until she kneels too, unbuttoning his pants and pulling him free, her hand stroking him to full-hardness (if he’s not already there by now; he’s young after all and it doesn’t take too much) before he presses her back against the carpeted floor. He pushes her skirt up past her thighs and pulls her panties down and off her legs, guiding himself into her body as he balances over her on one hand.
As he bottoms out in her body, this look of pure pleasure passes over his face every single time and his mouth falls open slightly as if he might cry out, eyes fluttering shut; the most intense thrill runs through Dana just from watching him that she has to lean up and lick into his mouth, drawing him back down to her for a kiss.
He thrusts into her slowly at first, so slowly that it’s almost torturous and Dana bites down on her lower lip so that she doesn’t tell him to go harder, faster, because for her, this is about him. This is ironic, because though coming to Dana is something entirely selfish on Benjy’s part and he knows it, it always turns into something a little more selfless - he likes to please her.
He reads the signs and thrusts into her a little quicker, reaching down to grab her thigh and hitch it up over his hip, driving himself in deeper. She moans breathlessly, sometimes his name and sometimes half-phrases that he can’t understand that could be prayers.
Her hands go down his back and to the hem of his shirt, slipping under to rub over the smooth skin of his back, sometimes even bunching the shirt up completely so that she can touch his bare shoulders. She’s never been in such a frenzy to have so much contact with another person; maybe it’s the fact that she gets to touch him so rarely and he never takes his shirt off that makes her so hungry for whatever contact she can have.
Even as she moans his name and writhes beneath him and vows to never ask for more than he’s willing to give, she longs for the one day when they are both completely bare and pressed together in a bed and it has nothing to do with pain and everything to do with pleasure and her voice will not be the only one that rings out as their bodies shatter into millions of tiny, blissed-out pieces.
After it is over they lay side by side on the carpet and she resists the urge to pull him onto her again as his fingers trace along her stomach as they always do. Her muscles dance beneath his touch; he has drawn the message there before, so she’s fluent in the language of his fingertips.
She turns to him. “You’re welcome,” she whispers.
Pairing: Dana/Benjy
He’s getting better, but he’s still fragile. When he topples off the shelf, she always comes along to scoop up every single shard and piece him back together; she occasionally pricks herself along the way. He hurts deeply and when he hurts, she hurts. Comforting him turns into something that is just as selfish as it is healing and therapeutic - when she suggested that he stop cutting, she never thought that his alternative method of taking away the pain would be her.
It’s the same, it’s always the same.
When Benjy enters her office and locks the door, she sees the pain in his blue eyes and, putting down whatever she is working on, she rises from her desk. They cross to one another and she holds him, allows him to cry into her blouse if that is what he needs. Though she knows how it will be, she wonders every time - while he cries and she holds and soothes him with whispered words and rubbing his back - if this is all he needs: to be held.
But soon she feels his hands rubbing up her back and then down to her waist. He pulls his face away from crying into her shoulder and she wipes away his tears with her hands. He is thankful, offers her a watery half-smile and ducks forward to press his mouth against hers briefly.
The first kiss always barely counts as an actual kiss - he just needs the comforting first press of their mouths - just like Dana barely has time to register the first touches. His hands ghost up from her hips, up her stomach, and over her breasts. He looks fearful; no matter how many times he touches her, he seems to worry that she’ll push him away. He doesn’t seem to realize that she needs it just as much as he does by now.
Every time has the feel of the first time; even though he knows her body now, he’s still a little hesitant . . . very gentle. He is definitely the shyest and most deliberate lover (if she can call him that) that she has ever had - his touches, though cautious are purposeful and linger on her long after they part.
She can accurately judge the amount of pain he feels by the desperation in his touch and where the two of them end up - if it’s something particularly bad and it can’t wait for the few seconds that it would take to get to one of the chairs, they sink down together and he’ll take her right there on the floor; on the best of bad days, they end up on the couch against the far wall of her office.
This time, it’s a bad day.
After the initial kiss, skimming touch and the silent request for her permission (which she readily grants), his mouth is on hers again - harder this time - and his fingers deftly undo her blouse and slide it down her arms. Once her arms are free, her fingers go to tangle in his hair as one of his hands settles in the small of her back and presses her closer while his other hand pulls down one of her bra straps and he peppers kisses down her neck, along her collarbone, across her shoulder, and back to her mouth. His fingers creep up her back to unhook her bra and it lands on top of her blouse on the floor. He uses one hand to press her closer and the other to palm one of her breasts. She shivers under the touch of his soft hands and makes a small sound that he swallows down with his own mouth.
Even in his desperation, his hands are never particularly frenzied or quick - mostly because the first time he had been upset, he had accidentally hurt her, so now he’s careful and she’ll help to slow him down - they just touch a little more insistently. It’s in his kiss that the neediness bleeds through the most; he kisses her hard, his teeth grazing along her bottom lip as his tongue steals into her mouth.
Soon, he’s lowering himself down to his knees and pulling her along until she kneels too, unbuttoning his pants and pulling him free, her hand stroking him to full-hardness (if he’s not already there by now; he’s young after all and it doesn’t take too much) before he presses her back against the carpeted floor. He pushes her skirt up past her thighs and pulls her panties down and off her legs, guiding himself into her body as he balances over her on one hand.
As he bottoms out in her body, this look of pure pleasure passes over his face every single time and his mouth falls open slightly as if he might cry out, eyes fluttering shut; the most intense thrill runs through Dana just from watching him that she has to lean up and lick into his mouth, drawing him back down to her for a kiss.
He thrusts into her slowly at first, so slowly that it’s almost torturous and Dana bites down on her lower lip so that she doesn’t tell him to go harder, faster, because for her, this is about him. This is ironic, because though coming to Dana is something entirely selfish on Benjy’s part and he knows it, it always turns into something a little more selfless - he likes to please her.
He reads the signs and thrusts into her a little quicker, reaching down to grab her thigh and hitch it up over his hip, driving himself in deeper. She moans breathlessly, sometimes his name and sometimes half-phrases that he can’t understand that could be prayers.
Her hands go down his back and to the hem of his shirt, slipping under to rub over the smooth skin of his back, sometimes even bunching the shirt up completely so that she can touch his bare shoulders. She’s never been in such a frenzy to have so much contact with another person; maybe it’s the fact that she gets to touch him so rarely and he never takes his shirt off that makes her so hungry for whatever contact she can have.
Even as she moans his name and writhes beneath him and vows to never ask for more than he’s willing to give, she longs for the one day when they are both completely bare and pressed together in a bed and it has nothing to do with pain and everything to do with pleasure and her voice will not be the only one that rings out as their bodies shatter into millions of tiny, blissed-out pieces.
After it is over they lay side by side on the carpet and she resists the urge to pull him onto her again as his fingers trace along her stomach as they always do. Her muscles dance beneath his touch; he has drawn the message there before, so she’s fluent in the language of his fingertips.
She turns to him. “You’re welcome,” she whispers.