firecracker // rodrick heffley

CHAPTER NINE

Sylvia ached. The feeling, however, lacked any pain - this was a good ache. Her mind couldn't stop replaying the few seconds of her day when Rodrick said her name. Is "said" even the right word? Sylvia wondered, remembering over and over again the way he breathed her name as if it were the most natural thing he could ever do. As if it were the perfect fit. As if his lips were made to moan her name; and her body, her mind, her soul, were all made for him. Her waist was meant for him to rest his hands as he pushed himself up against her, and the wrinkles in her brain were just the right shape for him to reside there full-time, and she was meant to fit in his presence. 

Rodrick's room was cold, this is true; but she hardly needed a sweater after Rodrick dissolved her, warmed her, destroyed her with his words: It's all I ever want to do. Sylvia wanted to fuck him again, right then, in the same place they had just been intimate with one another. No, she thought, she didn't want to fuck him again; she wanted to claim him as her own and keep him away from anyone else, wanted him all to herself for the rest of conceivable time. 

Actually, Sylvia decided to herself, I would like to fuck him again right now.

But Rodrick wasn't lustful - or at least didn't seem so. He sat beside her in his bed, again wearing both the t-shirts he had peeled off minutes before. Sylvia rested her head against his shoulder, pushing her hand beneath his shirt. He shivered at her touch, her hands running across his waist and brushing the bottom of his ribcage. He pulled her face towards him and kissed her. Caught by surprise, Sylvia put her hand on his arm, grabbing it for support as he brought his other hand to her face. When he pulled away, Sylvia found herself left floundering, eyes still closed as she held his arm. 

"Are you okay?" Rodrick asked gently, still holding Sylvia's face in his hands. 

Her eyelids fluttered as she used her free hand to pull her sweater down, trying to conserve heat as the air conditioning sent a chilly breeze across the room. Sylvia closed her eyes as Rodrick used his sleeve to wipe away a bit of sweat left on her forehead. She ran her hand through his hair. "More than okay," she replied. "I... I kind of liked it when you bit me," she blurted, the memory stirring up feeling between her legs.

"I could tell," Rodrick said, breaking eye contact as a smirk grew across his face.

Sylvia felt her face flush, embarrassed to have been so transparent. 

"But I'm glad you mentioned it. I'll keep it in mind." Rodrick stood up, walking over to where his pants had ended up. He slid them over his legs.

"You know," started Sylvia, seeing herself in his mirror across the room, "it's not really fair that I have a hickey and you don't."

"Next time," Rodrick said unsympathetically with a hint of amusement in his voice. 

Struck speechless, Sylvia got up to put her clothes back on. Skirt, then tights. Rodrick turned around to face her, watching her as she pulled her tights over her legs and let the waistband snap against her body. "Next time," she agreed, humor in her tone.

"Something to look forward to," Rodrick said, sounding as though he were only partly joking.

Sylvia sat back down on his bed, eyeing him across the room, thinking again about how he said her name. Sylvia. In his voice it was a phrase of worship, a sacred practice. She wanted to hear it again. "Rodrick?"

"Yeah?" His voice was soft. 

She searched for the right words to say next. After a moment of quiet, the CD having finished its queue, she said, "I don't know."

"You like the way my name tastes."

Sylvia blushed. It was a perfect description.

He turned from the mirror to look at her. "Right? You like the way your lips move when you say it. The way it uses up the breath in your lungs."