peaches n' huckleberry

too busy being yours to fall for somebody new

prompt: in which they play seven minutes in heaven (this is not as cliché as it sounds, i promise)

warning: this is actually very depressing :/

/

You're being lead to a dark room. Moonlight seeps in through the sheer curtains and spills all over the floor, painting the room a blue hue. There's a figure, you can't really make out who it is though.

The door closes behind you and your fingers come in contact with the knob. Without really having a reason, you lock it. The bass of the music outside pulsates within these walls—within your ribcages.

You take a step, then another step. They slowly approach you too.

A whiff of sandalwood hits your nostrils. It's him, it's him. It has to be. His aftershave isn't worn by many and it's a unique scent. A small grin slowly crawls upon your face when you feel his calloused fingers graze your cheek.

You can't really comprehend how some stupid party game is actually making this finally happen. After several years of dancing around each other.

You don't really care how it happens, though, when you feel his lips clamp over yours. It's a blur of tongues and hands exploring every obtainable area. Then he's lifting you onto a dresser, or a table, or some surface you can't really see because it's so dark and your eyes are closed anyway.

None of you lay a finger on the light switch because although you know it's each other, you're afraid of facing the hard reality and the complications that come with it. All you want right now is him. His touch on you, in you, all over you, until you can smell him on yourself.

His lips and teeth and tongue leave flurries of red marks on the column of your neck. You whimper softly, a sound that is rare coming from someone as tenacious as you.

He lifts your shirt and he drags his fingers to your back, where the clasp of your bra is supposed to be. You're about to say that you're not wearing one when he dives into your chest, his mouth on one creamy breast with his hand fondling the other. He alternates and repeats the action, your head rolling back. It's the first time you actually acknowledge his name.

Lucas, Lucas, Lucas...

It's like he knows where you're aching him the most, like he's already familiar with your body.

Heat shoots straight to your core as he comes back up, his lips on yours again, hungry and unrelenting. You feel his erection press against that heavenly spot in between your legs, the thin lace of your underwear the only thing hindering you from getting what you've desired for your entire teenage life.

Your fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt, just like the many times they have when you were both only in middle school. Your other hand trails up the exposed skin, feeling the grooves of his athletic torso. You arch up your hips and grind against him provocatively slowly. His head drops at the crook of your neck, the deep groan he elicits vibrates deep within you.

Then he's saying your name too.

Maya, Maya, Maya...

It's filled with such desperation and you feel him pressing the words into your flesh. You're rocking against each other at a languid pace, hips moving at the same wave of rhythm.

He lifts himself and your foreheads are touching, his voice is just above a whisper when he asks you if this is what you really want. You nod simply, because you do want. You've wanted for so long.

You unbutton his pants and free him from his boxers. He's pushing aside the lace, breaking the barrier of something salient as he thrusts inside of you with one swift motion. A sharp gasp floats from your lips and he grunts against your cheek.

The dresser rattles, banging against the wall with his jerky movements. You can feel him brushing a spot so deep inside that stars dance in your vision and it is almost like you're being taken to another dimension.

You're clinging to him, crying out LucasLucasLucas.

When it's done, he pulls out of your emptiness, and rolls onto his back.

You move onto your side, the side of the bed that doesn't face him. You don't want to open your eyes yet.

You don't want to remind yourself of the guy you spotted at the bar just a half hour ago, who happened to be using the exact same aftershave as the man you love.

A coincidence that the universe decided to throw at you for fun.

When you open your eyes, you're met with a pitch-black darkness and an ear-ringing silence. The fantasy is over. Your face is wet with shed tears and you wrap your arms around yourself.

It's so cold. Lucas isn't here to keep you warm.

Because he's Lucas Friar, the man that your best friend calls her soulmate. And you need to fucking get over it.

Getoveritgetoveritgetoverit.

/

a/n: i'm such a bitch for this i'm sorry 😭 but being up at 3am puts me in a really angsty mood