S.M. ✦ Gin & Juice

X.

The soft light from the street lamps filtered into Shawn's bedroom through the blinds. Thin strips of light floated across her bare back, broken only by his fingers tracing patterns on her skin. Her head rested on his shoulder, deep, even breaths tickling his chest hair. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he smoothed a lock of sexed hair behind her ear.

He hadn't slept, had barely breathed. He didn't want the moment to end and chance forgetting anything. It was the first time in his life that he wanted the light, wanted to etch each second of the night into his long-term memory. He felt so weightless, like he had gotten so used to the burden of his life that when it was lifted—when he watched her fall apart in his arms, when she told him not to wait for her—it was as if not even gravity could keep him on the ground. She, and not the crippling pressure of expectation or the fear of failure, tethered him to the earth now. He was her prisoner, but he'd never felt more free.

He'd only felt roiling nerves three times in his life. The first time was his first start in seventh grade, running out onto the field and feeling his hands go numb. The second was the night that Brian went down and he was expected to step up and lead his team to a winning season seconds after thinking he'd be holding a clipboard for two years. The third was last night.

When she stood there across the bed from him and took her shirt off, when he got to see the unbroken expanse of skin across her stomach and down her arms, when he saw her flush move from her cheeks down to her chest, the butterflies had revolted in his stomach. His face had heated. He felt that first tingling wave of excitement alive on his scalp. He would never have told her that he'd had some variation of this dream repeatedly since he'd met her, and when she cleared her throat, hinting that he should be as undressed as she was, the alarm separating this dream from reality had sounded. This was really happening. She was really there in front of him, half-naked, wanting him to be the same.

He had felt vulnerable in that moment. Getting undressed was easy, but the emotional connection, the draw toward her, knowing that what he had wanted most in that moment was to be with her, all of her, just skin-to-skin, heartbeat-to-heartbeat, made him feel flayed and raw. So much of the night had been a series of knives opening him further to her—admitting she was a virgin and the anticipatory disappointment that had been plastered on her face, even though he'd already guessed her secret. Her chest pressed against his, cradled in his arms as she whispered his name coming down from her ecstatic high.

But it was the final blow, the moment when he pulled out and she whimpered, when she felt the loss of his body as keenly as he felt the loss of hers, that laid him bare. He had felt something break inside him, the sound of ragged metal and chains echoing in his ears, but her body, her soul, had been there to pick up the pieces. He trusted her to keep them safe.

She stirred beneath his fingers. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking and bleary with sleep. "Hi," she smiled, stretching her arms above her head and rendering him speechless. She winced. Shawn felt her legs tense, toes curling and thighs pressing together against some invisible resistance.

"Are you sore?" he asked, his question met with a deep blush on her cheeks. She nodded her head and buried her face in his shoulder. He smiled wide and pushed the hair out of her face, taking her chin between his fingers, lifting her head to his. She fought him, still refusing to meet his eyes. "Hey, why won't you look at me?"

"I'm..." she started, bringing her fingers to his chest and running them through the fine hair in the center, avoiding his eyes by focusing on her hands, "I'm sorry I couldn't...that you had to...alone...I wanted t–." When he realized what she was saying, that she was apologizing for not coming with him at the end, he couldn't help himself from attacking her mouth with his.