Inbetweener (Completed)

Part 8

Fin almost drags me the rest of the way home, through the pouring rain. He's angry, I can tell that much, but I'm not sure what about and I daren't ask in case it's the final break on this fragile thing.

He waits impatiently for me to unlock the door, tapping his foot with his arms defensively crossed, but then he's dragging me again, right to my bedroom, where we drip onto the hardwood floor and stare at each other.

"What the fuck?" he says, finally.

I don't know how to respond. He breathes out harshly before turning toward the bathroom.

When he comes back he throws one of the towels at me, not gently.

"Why are you mad?" I ask when my hair is at least no longer dripping cold globules down my neck.

"Wh-? For fucks' sake. Really? You've blown hot and cold on me since I met you. I thought I'd finally got through to you when I had to fucking fling myself at you. I thought we had something. I thought I was more to you than, than-"

He flails his arms around like there are no words for how annoyed he is with me. I'm still confused, but I don't think he'll appreciate me pointing that out to him.

He takes a deep breath, stilling, before a new flurry of movement sees him stripping his t-shirt off and shoving his jeans down until he's standing naked in front of me.

He's so damn beautiful, even if every glance I give him feels stolen.

"Did you only go along with it because you thought I was a whore?" he demands.

"No! Fuck, no. Even if you had been doing- listen, I didn't think any less of you. It was just the thing that was most logical to me."

His shoulders relax minutely. "Okay."

"You're cold."

I move to grab him dry clothes, but he stops me with a harsh exclamation.

"Take your clothes off," he adds, reposing into the foot-tapping, arms crossed position from earlier.

I strip nervously, perplexed, but willing to go along with it if it's going to help. I try not to compare our bodies in the full-length mirror on my far wall. How finely he's structured compared to me. It's not going to help, though I can't help catching the sight of the reflection of his perfect round arse.

When we both stand, naked, and trying not to shiver in my case, he puts his hands on his hips.

"My ex is a shit."

"Okay," I say, slowly.

"Something about what happened today got to you. We were fine before. Building something, I hoped. And now you've shut down and you're talking in circles, and I want to know. Because my past ruined enough things about me, and I won't have them ruin you, too."

"You couldn't possibly ruin me, Fin. You're too- I don't know. You're too much more than I could ever expect for me."

He takes my wrist and pulls me over to the bed, gently pushing me to sit before he climbs behind me. His hands are resting on my shoulders, and I realise we're directly in front of the mirror.

"Is that why you only want to fool around?"

"I don't only want that," I tell him. I don't want to admit the truth, but I understand it won't be going anywhere if I continue to try to hide from him - I can see it in the stern glare reflected. "But I know I can't have more."