I won't go getting tired of you - Part 7 (INCOMPLETE - Will never be completed)
Beta Credit to the wonderful Air_crash
Dedicated to bonetight because she has loved this story since the very beginning and never stopped waiting for a new chapter.
Enjoy xxx
The morning comes to wake us, to take my limbs away from this warmth and this body.
He is awake; I can feel it in the awkward way he is breathing, through the forced stillness of this early hour.
My hand is still splayed on his stomach, probably glued to his skin by cum and sweat; not exactly a pretty picture, but who said that sex has to be pretty?
Or safe, or gentle.
It’s going to be fucking difficult to leave this bed with a shred of decency, but he has already seen me with blood and snot coming out my nose, let’s face it, how much lower can you get? And he still let me fuck him, so… I guess I am covered.
I move my hand away and roll on the bed, still without looking at him once.
I am not prepared to face his eyes, not yet, not ever, I think.
And if he had to pretend to be asleep, I guess he is in no rush to look at me either. Regretting to be fucked by a kid ten years younger than him? Or maybe just regretting being fucked by me?
Whatever.
I am not high, I am not even hungover. I have no strength to actually think about the implications of my latest colossal fuck up.
Oh yes, I am perfectly aware that last night was a mistake, not the sex per se, that was great, I don’t know about him, but I fucking enjoyed myself.
For a change.
I shouldn’t have stayed though.
Nights are for lovers, not for groupies.
It was supposed to be just a fuck. But of course I had to turn it into some sort of odyssey of the mind and the soul.
Get a hold of yourself Casablancas, you shoved your dick up his ass and it felt good, end of story…
“Your thoughts make such a racket, I wonder how it is to have a conversation with you.”
I almost jump at his words, his dark, my fucking God so soft voice, filling the space around our silences.
I turn around instinctively and my eyes meet his with an uncanny precision. The watery light of this prefabricated Californian sunrise makes his irises darker, warmer, his eyes speaking loudly of passion and danger.
No.
I made a mistake.
I am not going to make another one.
I think I already hit my target for this week.
I stand up rather quickly, giving him, I am sure, an eyeful of my not so flattering backside, my hands trying to smooth the beehive that has taken residence on my head overnight.
I don’t reply to his implied question, I don’t give him anything to hang on to; I am not going to see him again.
I already have my memories of previous fuck up, I don’t need another one.
I dress quietly, he doesn’t speak again but I can hear him moving across the bed and I can almost see the caramel of his tanned skin and white dishevelled sheets and that’s when I know I have to leave.
Now.
I turn around to look at him before I leave, because I am polite, not because I feel this tortured need to see the way the light moves the brown of his gaze and change the consistency of his skin into something much, much softer.
“Well, Mr. Grohl, it has been a pleasure.”
God, I am such an asshole.
He props himself on his elbows, hiding nothing of his flawless body.
There is a purple bruise on his hipbone and I feel a strange feeling of possession at the thought that I put it there.
“I should have known better than to get involved with a kid.”
His voice has lost any shred of softness and there is an edge of well controlled rage in every word.
Who does he think he is?
“Fuck you.”
“Precisely. I should have known better.”
He is still looking at me, his body poised and obscenely beautiful, his voice, sarcastic this time, ringing in my ears.
Nobody fucks with me.
Not again.
“Well… whatever you say. This kid fucked you good and proper last night. You got what you wanted; I do exactly what is written on the tin. I fuck. You wanted it, you got it.”
I am already at the door and his words are a treacherous hand running a cold path down the length of my spine.
“And what did you want Julian? Did you get it?”
I am not going to turn around.
I cannot afford it.
"I always get what I want.”
I close the door behind me.
It’s so easy to lie when you don’t have to look someone in the eyes.
Dedicated to bonetight because she has loved this story since the very beginning and never stopped waiting for a new chapter.
Enjoy xxx
The morning comes to wake us, to take my limbs away from this warmth and this body.
He is awake; I can feel it in the awkward way he is breathing, through the forced stillness of this early hour.
My hand is still splayed on his stomach, probably glued to his skin by cum and sweat; not exactly a pretty picture, but who said that sex has to be pretty?
Or safe, or gentle.
It’s going to be fucking difficult to leave this bed with a shred of decency, but he has already seen me with blood and snot coming out my nose, let’s face it, how much lower can you get? And he still let me fuck him, so… I guess I am covered.
I move my hand away and roll on the bed, still without looking at him once.
I am not prepared to face his eyes, not yet, not ever, I think.
And if he had to pretend to be asleep, I guess he is in no rush to look at me either. Regretting to be fucked by a kid ten years younger than him? Or maybe just regretting being fucked by me?
Whatever.
I am not high, I am not even hungover. I have no strength to actually think about the implications of my latest colossal fuck up.
Oh yes, I am perfectly aware that last night was a mistake, not the sex per se, that was great, I don’t know about him, but I fucking enjoyed myself.
For a change.
I shouldn’t have stayed though.
Nights are for lovers, not for groupies.
It was supposed to be just a fuck. But of course I had to turn it into some sort of odyssey of the mind and the soul.
Get a hold of yourself Casablancas, you shoved your dick up his ass and it felt good, end of story…
“Your thoughts make such a racket, I wonder how it is to have a conversation with you.”
I almost jump at his words, his dark, my fucking God so soft voice, filling the space around our silences.
I turn around instinctively and my eyes meet his with an uncanny precision. The watery light of this prefabricated Californian sunrise makes his irises darker, warmer, his eyes speaking loudly of passion and danger.
No.
I made a mistake.
I am not going to make another one.
I think I already hit my target for this week.
I stand up rather quickly, giving him, I am sure, an eyeful of my not so flattering backside, my hands trying to smooth the beehive that has taken residence on my head overnight.
I don’t reply to his implied question, I don’t give him anything to hang on to; I am not going to see him again.
I already have my memories of previous fuck up, I don’t need another one.
I dress quietly, he doesn’t speak again but I can hear him moving across the bed and I can almost see the caramel of his tanned skin and white dishevelled sheets and that’s when I know I have to leave.
Now.
I turn around to look at him before I leave, because I am polite, not because I feel this tortured need to see the way the light moves the brown of his gaze and change the consistency of his skin into something much, much softer.
“Well, Mr. Grohl, it has been a pleasure.”
God, I am such an asshole.
He props himself on his elbows, hiding nothing of his flawless body.
There is a purple bruise on his hipbone and I feel a strange feeling of possession at the thought that I put it there.
“I should have known better than to get involved with a kid.”
His voice has lost any shred of softness and there is an edge of well controlled rage in every word.
Who does he think he is?
“Fuck you.”
“Precisely. I should have known better.”
He is still looking at me, his body poised and obscenely beautiful, his voice, sarcastic this time, ringing in my ears.
Nobody fucks with me.
Not again.
“Well… whatever you say. This kid fucked you good and proper last night. You got what you wanted; I do exactly what is written on the tin. I fuck. You wanted it, you got it.”
I am already at the door and his words are a treacherous hand running a cold path down the length of my spine.
“And what did you want Julian? Did you get it?”
I am not going to turn around.
I cannot afford it.
"I always get what I want.”
I close the door behind me.
It’s so easy to lie when you don’t have to look someone in the eyes.