Theories.

Worth the Wait {four} >>smut<<

{a/n:} read the title.

October

We wait.

A whole month of cautious flirting and guitar playing and sometimes cuddling, but we wait. And like I said, we wait until we can't stand it.

It starts with a cellphone flying at my head.

"I don't even want you as my fucking roommate anymore!" Frasier yells.

"Then I'll get the fuck out of your way, Your Highness," I seethe. I shove past him to grab my coat. I just need to smoke. I just need to clear my goddamn head. He gets so mad about the dumbest things.

"You said I could borrow that coat and now you're just—"

"What the hell do you want?! Want the damn coat, take it!" I throw it right in his face and begin to storm out the door.

"Fuck you, Quinten! This isn't about the freakin' coat—" Frasier slams the door closed just as I get my hand on the door knob.

"Move."

"No. Not until you listen to me—"

"Move, or I'll move you, Frasier." He tosses his glasses on the table, but other than that? He doesn't budge. "Move!" I growl, right in his face. His nostrils flare; he crosses his arms. "You don't believe me?" I toss my own flip phone before grabbing his arms and trying to shove him away from the door.

Now we're just fighting.

A few petty slaps here and there, nothing to leave marks. Most of our strength goes into trying to pin each other somehow. We knock over things and slam each other against the walls, both of us trying to prove something somebody asked us to years ago, but neither of us know about.

His hair— you think it'd be messier with how much we've thrown each other around, but it's not. It's relatively the same.

Finally, I end up pinning him uncomfortably to the floor, my fingers around his neck. Not in a threatening way, just a vulnerable way. He's shaking his head and swinging his one free arm at my back. "Fuck you Quinn. Fucking... coward," he seethes.

I let up a little pressure, but still keep my hand on his throat. Suddenly, his eyes water and that inevitable frown pulls at the corners of his mouth. "I fucking... you don't even want me why do you pretend you want me? I want you so bad and you just... just let me go for god's sakes. S-stop leading me on and pretending you w-want me," he sobs. He's freaking crying for goodness sakes and it's all my fault.

"Shhh," I let him go and pull him up to me by his shoulders. "I-I want you too. I do, I promise."

"Then fuck me and make this happen and make me yours or I'm gonna go c-crazy. Quinn please—"

With how hard I crush our lips together, it should hurt. It doesn't hurt. I only feel Frasier Frasier Frasier in my arms and in my lungs and in my head— I wanted him this whole time I just... I couldn't hurt him like I hurt everyone else. I just wanted him to forget about me, get the opportunity to find something better. I'm no good. My sweet Frasier you sweet, stunning boy.

People in the other dorms probably think we've been fighting for the whole hour, but in truth— I can't get enough of him. He fills up the room and then some and it's still not enough for me. Why did I ever think I could get bored of this beautifully terrifying boy? He's everything multiplied and then scattered all around me.

Maybe his fingernails break the skin on my back as I take him, pounding into his slender body, hard and deep and fast against the bedside table— I'm too drunk on him to even care. Maybe someone knocked on the door to see if we're alright— I still don't care. I have to have to keep Frasier screaming my damn name at the top of his lungs until there's none of me left.

That takes a very long time.

I don't know how long it is before we finally make it to the bed, but it's shaking and hitting the wall even louder than we thought it could. I know my hands are going to leave bruises on his hips but that's what he wants. He wants it so bad and I'm going to give him whatever he wants.

One month and I feel like I've known him my whole life. Thirty days feels like thirty years, and I haven't even been alive for that long. Frasier makes me feel like I've actually been living whether we're fighting about a coat or a TV show or a phone call— only a fool would take that for granted. I've been a damn fool.

One last thrust, one last cry, one last gasp— he looks at me like I hold the universe in my eyes and I look at him the same way.

"Never wait," he whispers. I kiss him softly.

"Let's go out," I propose. "That's probably a terrible idea but who cares. We're roommates and-and we'll probably kill each other and fight every week but I don't care. Date me, Frasier."

"Okay," he smiles.

*

*

*

Finally, maybe? Not really finally, because it's only been a few chapters, but i'll say finally. Vote, comment... what's your favorite thing about Frasier or Quinten? Let me know :)