(a/n) smut bois.
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I wasn't sure what to feel. How are you supposed to feel when your boyfriend kisses someone else? I wasn't sad. I wasn't angry. I was just...numb.
I felt nothing.
Instead of feeling, I sunk into my mattress, closing my burning eyes. I wasn't sure how much time had passed before Ian crawled into bed with me, laying on his back.
"I saw you." I said, quiet, reproachful.
"I know." he replied.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"That's it? No excuses, no fighting, just 'I don't know'?"
"Well...yeah. Because I don't know. I don't know why she kissed me, I don't know why I kissed back, I don't know why I'm so fucking dumb."
"Did it mean anything?"
"What, the kiss?"
"No. I know you don't care about her. Us. You and me. Did we ever mean anything to you?"
"Yes. God, yes, (y/n), that's why this sucks. You mean everything to me."
I looked at him gently, gaze half lidded. The sincerity in his features. Not his eyes. I didn't dare meet his eyes, all green-grey and sad and longing. If I could make a choice on just his eyes, he'd get away with murder.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"I know. But I want to."
"I know."
"Are you sorry?"
"Yes. Look at me, baby, look at me in the eyes."
"No."
"Please? Because if you keep looking at my lips like that, I'm gonna have to kiss you, and I don't think you want that right now."
"You don't know what I want," I murmured, voice horace with sadness. I took a deep, shuddering breath that hurt my ribs, hurt my heart.
"Yes I do." He whispered, face suddenly close to mine.
I took a long look at his large, circular eyes. His symmetrical lips. His stupid, thick eyebrows, skinny nose, hollow cheeks.
"Don't cry, (y/n), please."
"Why not?"
He kissed me, softly, passionately. Differently than he kissed her. Less feaverish, more loving.
"Because then I would cry, and we would both be crying in a hotel room at twelve thirty in the morning in Vegas, and that would be stupid."
The hint of a smile gradually found me, and he kissed me again. Gentle fingers caressed my back, my spine, underneath my shirt. We had kissed plenty of times, but never like this. Never this good.
He pulled me onto him, his back propped against the headboard, tangling his fingers in my hair with one hand and using the other to hold me even closer. He was right. He knew what I wanted. I slid his shirt off, and he kissed at my neck, every fluid movement of his body gentle and warm. We abandoned our clothing on the carpeted floor without a thought of "we'll pick it up tomorrow."
Our positions switched, and he stood on the ground just at the edge of the bed, stooped over, kissing me. My bra was gone somewhere in the mess of the clothing, and I let out a sharp breath every time he kissed lower. His hands were at my thighs, squeezing them as softly as he could muster.
His lips brushed all the way down to the hem of my panties, and he met my eyes, raising back up to press his lips against mine.
"Do you really, really want to do this?" he asked, voice nothing more than a whisper in my ear. I nodded, unable to find the right words to speak.
He walked away and I winced at the sudden cold of the room around me. He came back with a small black packet. Ripping it open, he shyly dropped his boxers, fumbling with the condom. We both giggled, his hands shaking in anticipation. I sat up, grabbing his wrists and helping him. He smiled almost apologetically, and I flopped back down onto the mattress, a silly smile painted on both of our faces. There was a very small ball of anxiety that stirred in my abdomen; why, I don't know. I had done this before. Just not with anyone I cared about this damn much.
Not anyone like him.
He lined up with me, not daring to push in yet.
His head dipped back to my neck. "Are you sure you're sure? You can tell me to stop at any time. Don't let me hurt you."
"I'm sure, Ian. Extremely sure."
I felt him smile against my skin, which made me smile. He pushed in, and I tensed, waiting a moment before gradually relaxing.
"Are you okay?" he asked, sounding worried.
"Yes."
He rocked his hips in and out at a very, very slow pace, pecking at my neck and collarbones with his lips. I dug my fingers into his shoulder blades and he sped up, gradually, our breathing turning to panting.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he sighed, moving faster again.
Pleasure buzzed through my body and I moaned, desperately grabbing at his shoulder with one hand and his face with the other. We kissed, and I moaned again, unable to control myself. I bit down on my bottom lip, and he brought his thumb up to pull it away from my teeth. My back was arched off the bed, hips moving in rhythm with his.
"I want to hear you, princess," he demanded, looking into my eyes and thrusting about as fast and hard as either of us could take at the moment.
His name left my lips, my breathing labored, the occasional moan slipping out. I was close to finishing, and he knew it- so was he. I tightened around him, letting out one last moan before collapsing, my back returning to the bed as he slid out, finishing a few seconds after me. He slid the now-used condom off, tossing it in the trash and making his way to the bathroom. I got up, stumbling a bit, very tired now, scurrying into the bathroom with him.
The shower was warm, and for some reason I was bashful now - we were both naked together, not doing anything sexual...yet. This seemed just as intimate. He lathered the shampoo through my hair, brushing out the tangles with his long fingers. His hand snaked down, lower and lower, until he finally stopped.
"Round two?"
