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8.) Our Own World; [Toby || Rhi; vaguely PG-13]
Topic Started: Aug 11 2010, 05:08 AM (84 Views)
Alma
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That's the machine that goes 'PING!'
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((As a foreword, this is based on a very recent ICbox interaction between my character Rhiannon and Ionhelen's character Toby, where Rhiannon attempted to convince Toby to sleep with her. He managed to get out of it, not wanting her just to be a pity fuck to him, as he put it, because he wanted something more, but I started wondering how things would have unfolded if he'd nudged that thought to the back of his mind just for a little longer...))



8.) Our Own World


“What’re you so scared of, Music Man?”

“Hell if I know, Miss Hot Shot.” She smiled softly, just the barest glimpse at teeth, as she watched him fumble nervously by the door, seemingly at a loss. There was something about him that didn’t fit here in the fancy room, something jagged and rough against the smooth white of the walls and the curving wood that made up something so gloriously formed that it could barely be called a chair. A little tilt of her head to the side sent her curls billowing down over her shoulder until they hung gracefully, nearly brushing against the green blanket covering the bed that she sat back on.

“You ain’t a boy anymore, man,” she began, patting the spare place next to her on the blanket and watching the way that he stared at it with even more panic. “C’mere.” And yet he still stood there, his sharply angled face stiff as sparks shot behind his gaze. They wouldn’t be getting anywhere if she didn’t do something about it.

With a little roll of her eyes, she rolled her legs to the side of the bed and came to her feet, approaching him with a little tilt of her head. “You’re not thinking about running, are you?” she asked softly, watching the way he skittishly looked at her face. God, what had she gotten herself into? Hell, while she was on the subject, what in the world was she doing anyway? Her eyes took in the dreadlocks, the baggy clothes, the worried expression, and she found herself wondering just what brought her face to face with this man in the first place. He wasn’t her type. God, he wasn’t even anywhere near her league! She sucked caviar and he spat rhymes. She worried about herself and he thought about everyone else. She worked hard to keep herself prim and presentable and he tore down any such barriers that could’ve existed.

What the hell was going on here?

“Naw, I-I ain’t gonna do that to you, Rhi,” he stammered, and when she waited expectantly he reached up with slightly shaking hands and touched her forearms, his fingers trembling just enough for her to feel the roughness of calluses against them, signs of a working man touching the most ethereal creature he’d ever come across in his life. It was a heady experience, the way he took her in, even though his eyes kept their respectful distance from any intimacies he felt he hadn’t earned yet. When it came right down to it, he was already worshiping her.

Only a moment passed and he pulled his hands back, hovering them in the air between them as if he expected to be chided and punished. His face looked just panicked enough that she couldn’t keep from laughing softly. “For God’s sakes, boy, do I gotta do a fan dance with a lettuce leaf to give you the go?”

He looked pained, apparently not getting the humor of the situation at all. “It ain’t that easy, Rhi!” he suddenly pressed, reaching up to grab at a few of his dreadlocks in frustration. “I-I mean, it ain’t like I never done this before, but it’s different, y’know?” He took a step back, staring at her with those wide, plaintive eyes, only giving her a second to think before he shook his head. “Don’t even have a clue what I’m doin’ here,” he murmured, heading toward the door.

“Oh, you aren’t getting away THAT easy, Music Man!” A few steps and a curve of her arm and she had him pressed against the door, flush against her and looking positively terrified. She grinned up at him triumphantly, reaching around him, watching his eyes for their reaction when there was a soft sharp click of a lock. They widened perfectly.

“Rhi, I-”

“Don’t you ‘Rhi’ me,” she murmured, her voice growing low and husky as her hand pressed against his spine through his faded black t-shirt. He stiffened a bit, a war going on behind his eyes even as she smirked up at him. “Look here, sweetheart, I don’t know what else I’ve gotta tell you to get you to stop freaking out about this.”

He placed his hands so tentatively on her shoulders that she felt part of her grow frustrated inside. Did he think he was gonna break her or something? God, she wasn’t some china doll whose knees would give out if he decided to kiss her or something. She wasn’t her mother. “It not that simple anymore, Rhi.” Every thought of hers stopped when he reached up and traced the line of her cheek, sending another nervous shiver down her spine as she quaked inside. “You an’ I don’t fit together like this. You some fancy princess, you know, and I just some kid who just wish you notice me out in the court.”

Even with her skin’s sensitivity, with how goosebumps broke across every inch of her body when his hand continued its journey to cup her jaw, something inside of her rattled at his words. She wasn’t used to hearing stuff like this. How was she even supposed to react to it? “…come on, Toby, don’t-”

“No, I gotta get this out.” There was authority in his voice, something that reminded her she wasn’t just playing with a doll either, that this was a real man in front of her with real strength and, God willing, real urges. She placed her hand against his chest to verify this and swore that she felt his heart skip a beat beneath her palm. “You an’ I ain’t just playin’ with matches by the lake anymore an‘ pretending this makes sense, an’ I can’t just pretend I got a chance with you anymore.” His hand holding her jaw began to shake, and she realized that there was a touch of moisture behind his eyes, something that she had the distinct feeling had absolutely nothing to do with this inn room right now. “Girl, you the most incredible thing I ever see in my whole life, an’ here you in MY arms?”

There was a strap around her heart, squeezing so hard that she thought it might crack. She’d never heard anything like this before: rough and broken, but so sweet and refined. Not even George gave her a sonata like that. He stopped then, his index finger and his thumb curling around her chin to tilt her head back a little further, eyes studying her like she was the purest gold he ever did see even as he opened those sweet lips of his to speak again. “How the hell am I supposed to think this ain’t a dream, that you not gonna walk right out that door?”

But at the base of her soul, there was panic, a frenzy trying to understand why he was giving her this lip service. Did he mean it? Momma said she heard all that same old stuff from her boys but that they didn’t really mean it, that they just liked to pretend that she was who they imagined her to be when they held her in their arms. But how could she look this man in the eyes and think him a liar?

Maybe that was what scared her most of all.

“Boy, if this is a dream,” she said softly, flicking her eyes down to take in his mouth as she wrapped her arms loosely around his narrow waist. “then I’m right there with you.” And as she slid through his grasp to press her lips against his, somewhere she felt fireworks exploding, remembering just how long it’d been since she’d been in someone’s arms. But his mouth was soft against hers, gently pliable, even as his arms tensed around her and told her that he wanted nothing more than to take all he could get. If she knew anything about the way his mind worked yet, it was that he wanted to remember this moment with every sense possible, something to guarantee to him that it was real. As they walked back toward the bed, him lacing one hand behind her neck and the other against the small of her back to lower her gently onto it even as she clutched her fists into his t-shirt for dear life, she wondered distantly if they’d somehow entered some other world of their own.

[align=center]~~~[/align]

She woke the next morning to the sensation of a man spooned up behind her, his arms wrapped chastely around her waist even though neither of them wore a stitch of clothing. Immediately, she sprang into action, coaxing his arms away from her and praying to God that the man was a heavy sleeper. Somehow she managed not to catch anything accidentally on his dreadlocks, not to stir him at all, as she came to her feet and glanced around to find if her clothes were in the neat and orderly pile that Mr. Music Man there had tossed them into at some point last night as he tenderly explored every inch of her.

God, he’d meant it when he told her she was unlike anything he’d ever seen before, and she could feel it from the way he’d so willingly worshiped her with his hands and his mouth for hours on end last night. He’d definitely been a good choice, then. She laced her hands over her abdomen once fully clothed, glancing over her shoulder to take him in, every muscle relaxed as he peacefully slept. Would he feel the same way, when he woke up and realized she was gone, that he didn’t have her number or a clue where she lived? That she’d done just what she said she wouldn’t when she coaxed him here in the first place? She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, hesitating as she traced the planes and angles of his face, down to those sweet, sweet parted lips of his that had murmured such honey-coated words into her ear as he’d moved with her.

…regardless of what it had been, how it’d felt, she knew she could never let it happen again. She risked too much when she looked at him and realized she hadn’t thought of George in any of the hours that she’d spent with that young man laying right in front of her. He was so fine he could replace that old memory in a second with billions of new ones, ones that made her feel appreciated, beautiful, needed.

But no. He deserved a pure woman, someone who wasn’t disgusting and broken like she was. She rubbed her arms uncomfortably, frowning as she looked over him for one last time before she slid her purse onto her shoulder and carefully opened the door. “Goodbye, Music Man.” It shut just as carefully behind her, bathing the man in shadow once again.
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