Pretty Little Liars one shots

Elevators - Emison

Not mine

The elevator doors are almost fully closed when a hand appears in the gap, stopping them – Alison huffs in annoyance, because why couldn't they just wait for the next one instead of slowing her down? Not that she really has anywhere to be – she's just doing some shopping at the mall, getting her dress for the Winter Ball, but it's the principle of the matter.
She freezes when the doors open and she sees who's on the other side, though, her heart stopping in her chest and the breath rushing from her lungs as a strangled gasp, because Emily Fields stands in the open doorway, staring at her with wide, deer-in-the-headlights eyes.
She fully expects the brunette to turn and walk away – she's been avoiding her at school and around Rosewood (Alison is becoming well-acquainted with the sight of Emily's back), and the two of them haven't spoken since that confrontation in the brunette's bedroom, the night that Mona had been murdered.
It stings, knowing that the four of them think that she did it (though the logical part of her knows that it's not that ridiculous of a thought, and she'd certainly have a motive), but it makes her angry, too – that they'd beg her to come back to town and then turn their backs on her, leaving her out in the cold to deal with the looming threat of A on her own.
Oh wait, no, that's right – she's A, so she has nothing to worry about.
Just the mere thought makes her scoff in disgust. She's messed up, she knows that – hell, everyone in the damn town knows that – but she's not that messed up. Not enough to physically injure herself, to pretend to torture herself, for the sake of keeping up appearances. And the fact that the four of them think that she is that fucked up, that she'd hurt them all like that (and she knows she's not perfect, that she has hurt them, all of them, in the past, but it's not in the same sick way that A does), is the hardest cross to bear.
She watches Emily carefully, as the brunette's eyes rest on her (and she hates that it sends a shiver through her – she shouldn't be desperate enough to want a woman that seems to hate her but god, she is, she craves Emily still, can't stop thinking about those kisses on that one perfect night that they'd shared together, even though it's been weeks), before she turns and throws a quick glance over her shoulder – Alison sees Paige looming behind Emily, and she notices with interest the way Emily grimaces slightly.
And then she grits her teeth and steps inside the elevator and hastily presses the button for a couple of floors up, and Alison is too astounded to do anything but stare. Emily stands as far away from her as possible, practically pressing herself against the wall, but Alison doesn't care – instead her mind is reeling, because Emily would rather spend an awkward three-second elevator ride with Alison than spend time with her girlfriend.
Alison knows that they're back together – they're everywhere at school, holding hands, making out at lunch (which only serves to put her off of her lunch, because that's not a sight she needs to see, ever), and she's had to learn to be able to see them as a couple without seeing red (because she has no right to – Emily is gone, had slipped through her fingers like water, and she'd never had the means to hold her there).
When the elevator groans to a stop, Alison knows immediately that something's wrong – the doors don't open, and it says they're still on the first floor. Panic starts to creep through her, a chill down her spine as terror turns her blood to ice in her veins, and she never used to be claustrophobic but then she'd been thrown in a hole in the ground and felt dirt filling her throat and she doesn't deal well with enclosed spaces anymore.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Emily mutters, away to her left, in exasperation as she takes a step towards the doors, slamming her palm down against the metal.
"I don't think that's going to help," Alison says coolly, and she flinches when Emily whirls around to face her with fury in her eyes – she's never seen the brunette look like that, and she shrinks back against the wall behind her, and she's never been afraid of Emily hurting her physically but in that moment she wonders if she's actually pushed her far enough to crack her.
"Thank you, for being so helpful." There's anger in her voice, too, and she turns away from the blonde as if the sight of her sickens her, instead reaching to snatch the emergency phone from its holder and pressing it to her ear as she types in the number above it.
Alison listens half-heartedly the heated conversation – there's a fault with the elevator that will require some time to fix; no, they are not fucking joking; but yes, they will be as quick as they possibly can, but until then they'd have to hang tight – and tries not to think of the irony of this whole situation.
"Bet you wish you hadn't been so desperate to avoid your girlfriend now, don't you?" Alison taunts, as soon as the brunette hangs up the phone – and she knows she shouldn't, that this whole thing will go a lot easier, for the both of them, if they both just keep their mouths shut, but she can't help it, and she'll do anything to distract herself from the terror that claws its way up her throat with every breath that she takes.
And she's wounded, too – Emily's hurt her, more than anyone else had ever come close to, by turning her back on Alison (whether she deserves it or not, and she thinks that she does but that doesn't make it ache any less) – and lashing out has always been her favourite defence mechanism.
"What?" Annoyance colours Emily's voice as she turns to shoot Alison another glower over her shoulder. "I wasn't - "
"Oh, please, I'm not blind. You saw that she was coming towards you and you decided that you'd rather be stuck in here with me than have her catch up to you – what's the matter? Trouble in paradise?"
"It's none of your fucking business," Emily snaps, but Alison knows from the look in the brunette's eyes that she's hit close to home.
"Isn't it?" She doesn't turn away from Emily's glare – instead it fuels her, and she feels her own anger rising in her chest as she stares right back, straightening her spine and setting her jaw.
"No," Emily grinds out, from between her teeth, and Alison's smirk is wicked.
"You sure?" She knows she should clench her jaw, stop the words from spilling from her lips, but she can't quite manage it – she's a bitch, before all else, and when she's hurt she claws back at the person who did it to her in whatever way she can. "You don't think of me when you're with her? Remember what it was like that night in my room? When you kiss her do you wish it was me? Do you - "
She cuts off with a startled yelp as Emily's palm slams into the wall beside her head, hard enough for the sound of it to ring, and her eyes are dark and stormy as they meet Alison's, glittering with a rage that makes Alison's mouth go dry.
"Shut the fuck up," Emily hisses, voice low, rough with emotion and Alison wonders if anything she's said is true – it's cruel, she knows, to taunt her like this, but a sick part of her wants to see what emotion it brings out of the brunette, thinks that, if Emily can still get mad at her, then she must still care, even just a little.
It's a fucked-up philosophy, but she's never claimed to be sound of mind.
"Why?" When she finally speaks her voice is quiet, and she stares into the brunette's eyes and thinks about how easy it would be to lose herself in them. "Are you scared that I'll tell the truth?"
"You've never told the truth a day in your life," Emily scoffs, not without derision, and Alison winces. She's acutely aware of the lack of distance between them – Emily is pressed against her, and she can feel the heat of the brunette's body radiating against her, can feel her breath against her cheek, is surrounded by the scent of Emily' shampoo and perfume and it sets her alight because it's the closest they've been in months.
"I have about some things."
"Like what?" But there's no curiosity in the brunette's gaze – she's just waiting to see what Alison says and the blonde knows that no matter what it is, Emily's not going to believe her.
"That all those kisses weren't just for practice. That you were the hardest one to leave behind. That - "
"Stop," Emily says, voice rough with anger once more, and her hand, still resting beside Alison's head, clenches into a fist. "I don't believe a word that comes out of your mouth anymore. I don't know how I ever did."
"You did because once upon a time, you loved me." Emily never said it explicitly, at least not to her, but she knows it's true – she's known it for a long, long time.
"That time's long gone, now," Emily snaps back, and the vehemence with which she says the words take Alison's breath away, even as she sees the brunette's face harden to hide the flash of emotion in her eyes that tells the blonde that she's lying.
Emily spins away from her, then, as though she can no longer bear the thought of looking at her, of being so close to her, and Alison feels as though she's lost a limb when the heat of the brunette's body moves away, replaced by a cold that seems to sink into her very bones.
"But you love her? The girl you were so desperately trying to get away from? That poor substitute for me? Does she help you forget about me? Does losing yourself in her make you feel bette - "
She's cut off again when the brunette whirls around, and this time both of her hands land on either side of Alison's head, and Emily traps her in place with her eyes, and Alison swears she sees the shimmer of tears in them before they're hastily blinked away.
"Stop talking. I don't care what you have to say, I don't know what you're trying to goad me into and I don't care. So just... stop." Her voice changes from angry to almost pleading, but Alison's not swayed, her resolve only hardening because maybe, by being trapped in here, she's being handed an opportunity – and maybe she should stop wasting it.
"Make me." It's a charged statement, and she doesn't miss the way Emily's eyes flicker down to her lips before darting back up again to meet her gaze, and Alison feels like she can barely breathe – she wants to reach out and drag Emily towards her, she wants to take out all her pent-up frustration and anger from the last few weeks and pour it into a kiss, until neither of them could think straight and until all Emily would ever remember whenever she was with anyone else was the feeling of Alison's mouth pressed against hers.
She wants, but she won't take – it's in Emily's hands, because she's the one who put a stop to... whatever thing they'd had (and it wasn't much of one, she knows, because they'd never discussed it, ever, but... it was still something), she's the one who has girlfriend, and she's the one who will regret this the most in the harsh light of day, where they're not enclosed by four metal walls, trapped together until they're rescued – and Alison's not about to let the brunette think that she'd forced her into anything.
No, if Emily wants it, too, then she needs to make a move, because Alison refuses, even though her hands itch to wrap around Emily's hips, to dig her fingers into her skin hard enough to bruise, to kiss along the column of her throat and leave a mark, brandish her to the entire world as hers (even though a part of her wonders if she ever will be, completely).
She can see the indecision warring in Emily's eyes, her desire for Alison up against her disgust for all the things that Alison has done and for who she might be, and the blonde waits with bated breath to see which side wins out.
And when Emily finally, finally, cups her jaw with one hand, turning her chin up so that she can press their lips together in a demanding kiss (the type that leaves you breathless and bruised, aching for more), she lets out a whimper of relief that she hopes is quieted by the hard press of Emily's mouth against her own.
The brunette flattens herself against the blonde's body and Alison fights back a groan at the feeling of having Emily pressed so fully against her. There's a thigh pressed hard between her thighs, and Emily rocks against her as her tongue slides into the blonde's mouth before she's pulling away, catching Alison's bottom lip between her teeth and biting down hard enough to draw a groan from the back of the blonde's throat and even Alison doesn't know if it's from pain or pleasure – all she's aware of is Emily, the way her hands rove over her body with a possessive edge, her kisses hard and messy and hot, and the way that every time the brunette's thigh rocks her against her it sends heat shooting through Alison's whole body until she feels like she's on fire.
When Emily moves away, Alison's eyes flutter open to meet the brunette's, both their breathing laboured, and she can't bring herself to remove her hands from where they've landed at the brunette's hips, encouraging her to grind against her, even as she sees the look of self-hatred on Emily's face – she'd give anything to know what she's thinking, but she's pretty sure she can guess well enough.
Probably that she hates herself for letting Alison still hold so much control over; maybe it's just that she hates that she still wants her, even now. And Alison feels her own sense of self-hatred when she realizes that she doesn't care – she doesn't care that Emily hates that this is happening, as long as it is.
She expects Emily to move away, to put some distance between them, but the brunette surprises her once more by twisting a hand in blonde hair and titling Alison's head to the side to press heated kisses against the skin of her neck, teeth grazing against her pulse point before she bites down, hard enough to make the blonde cry out, before her tongue takes over, soothing the bruised skin before trailing up to the shell of her ear, breath hot against it.
"This shouldn't be happening," she says even as a hand dips underneath the top Alison's wearing and traces up and over her ribs, and Alison can barely breathe, everything in her focused on the feeling of Emily's fingertips on her heated skin.
"Is this why you've been keeping your distance?" Alison asks, gasping as Emily's teeth nip gentle at the lobe of her ear before she traces it with her tongue.
"No," she breathes back, hand splaying across Alison's ribcage, feeling the rapid beating of her heart beneath. "At least, not completely."
"So you still think I'm A." It's not a question, and she hates that even if Emily says yes that she knows she doesn't have the strength she'd need to push her away – because Emily Fields is her only weakness, the only thing in the world that could bring her to her knees, and she doesn't even realize it, the power she has.
"I don't know what to think." Emily's forehead rests against Alison's, and the blonde opens her mouth to ask something else when the brunette's hand finds the lace of her bra, running teasingly around the edge but never dipping beneath, and she promptly forgets what she was going to say. "I thought I told you to stop talking, anyway."
"And I told you to make me," she fires back, a little impressed that she managed such a fast comeback when she's so thoroughly distracted by the brunette's hands. Emily hums low in the back of her throat, and Alison's eyes flutter closed as she swipes a single finger beneath the cup of Alison's bra.
"If you insist," she murmurs against Alison's lips before she's kissing her again, and her right hand joins her left as she tugs Alison's black bra down impatiently and cups her breasts with both hands, thumbs brushing lightly against her nipples, and Alison's hips grind down against the thigh that's still pressed between her legs as she breathes a moan into Emily's mouth.
They've never done this before, never gone any further than just kissing – and Alison wouldn't have wanted it to happen like this, when she'd dared to dream that she could have it. She would have scoffed at the idea of being felt up by Emily Fields for the first time in an elevator when the two of them can barely look each other in the eye because there's so much regret and uncertainty and things left unspoken between them.
But she's desperate enough to grab at this chance, to have what she's craved for as long as she could remember. And it's not what she'd have expected from Emily – gentle and loving and reverent – instead it's rough and needy but it gets her hot all the same.
The phone rings when Emily's mouth is working once again down the slope of Alison's neck – her fingers pinching at her nipples and leaving her with a growing ache between her thighs, and she'd be surprised if the brunette couldn't feel how wet she is even through her jeans – startling the both of them. Alison almost pouts when Emily pulls away from her to answer it, because she's pretty sure that she's never going to get to have this again, but she schools her expression into one of casual indifference when Emily puts the phone down and turns back to face her (though she supposes her heaving chest and flushed cheeks and bruised lips kind of mess that up for her, a little).
"It's fixed," is all Emily says, and she can barely look at her and god, when had things come to this? When had she become such an awful person, in Emily's eyes, that she'd rather look at the floor instead of at her?
How had she fucked this up so badly?
She doesn't have a chance to reply before the elevator lurches, finally continuing its journey upwards, and she still doesn't know what to say when it stops at what she knows is Emily's floor. As the doors open and Emily makes to walk away she finds her voice, scrambling forward to grab at her wrist before she can leave.
"Em, wait - "
"Do you think this changes anything between us?" Emily rips her arm out of Alison's grasp, that fury back in her eyes and her words but that self-revulsion is there, too. "Because it doesn't. It can't. So just... forget it ever happened. It'll be the best thing for the both of us."
She can only stand and watch Emily walk away, right into Paige's arms, who must've realized what had happened to her girlfriend and waits anxiously a few steps away – she can't bring herself to turn away even when their lips meet in a kiss, and she can't even feel a rush of vindication at knowing that just mere minutes before, Emily's mouth had been on her, and it's only when the doors shut in-front of her that she realizes that her vision has gone blurry with tears.
She knows that Emily's right, that forgetting about what had just happened would be the best thing for her – but she can remember every second of it all too well, knows that she'll replay this memory over and over again (in her waking moments and in her sleeping ones) – but she knows that it's easier said than done, because she still remembers that other night, so long ago, weeks later, and all the ones before that.
She remembers each and every kiss she's shared with Emily Fields with perfect clarity, and the day that she forgets even just a second of any of them is a day she'd rather die than have to face.