Author: Freya [freya86]
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be ...
Rating: hard R (bordering on NC-17)
Note: Interpret this as you want ...
The day feels cold to you, colder than usual, even though it’s beyond hot outside.
Still inside, you feel empty and hollow and it seems that there is nothing to keep you up this time.
So you shut yourself off in your office, try to remember better times.
Try to remember Sean, how he used to smile at your, how much he loved you.
And how he used to touch you, make you forget everything except you and him and as the memory comes your hand finds its way down your body, between your breasts and inside your pants.
The first touch sends a spark through your whole body and you arch and moan as you continue, gently stroking, always the image of Sean in your head, his beautiful eyes.
And all of a sudden, surprising you, the image transforms and you see Calleigh, so much like Sean with her blond hair and green eyes and still so very different in every aspect.
As surprised as you are, Calleigh in your head while your hands is in between your legs is something you would have never imagined as a turn-on, yet still it is and who are you to complain?
All you want is to forget and so you screw your eyes shut even more, your movements becoming more frantic until you feel your breathing change, feel the first clenching of your inner walls.
Her name on your lips changes with the rhythm of you breathing, from a low moan to a hoarse whisper and for a moment you don’t even recognize your own voice.
But then every other thought is washed away as you come, and there’s nothing but you and her name, you and her image, and you are amazed at the power of your orgasm.
Slowly, you calm down, your breathing changing back to normal as you straighten your clothes and step forward to leave the office but suddenly you stop.
There’s Calleigh and it’s no image in your head, no illusion but the realest reality and her big green eyes, even wider now, stare at you, mouth open but nothing coming out.
You believed you shut the door behind you properly but it seems you were too distracted and now there’s Calleigh, leaving no doubt that she has been here long enough to have heard her name on your lips.
You reach out with one hand, open your mouth to speak but before you can even start she turns on her heel and all but runs out of your office, leaving you with a different emptiness than you felt before.
She avoids you the next day and you’re happy for that because if you’re honest you have no idea what to say or how to act, because you can’t act as usual.
This is not usual.
But she also avoids you the next day and the day after that and that’s when you know you are far less comfortable with the thought of continuing this treading on eggshells than finally confronting her and so you go searching for her, on a slow afternoon when Hortio’s gone with the boys.
And you find her, after a short while, in the break room with her head in her hands and her eyes searching the pages of a magazine.
You are quite and careful when you approach her and it earns you the split moment of a second to put your hand on her shoulder before she jumps and turns around.
Before she has any chance to react – and you know that she wants to – you sit down on the other side of the chair, close enough to talk but still a certain amount of distance that wouldn’t make this too uncomfortable.
At least not more uncomfortable than it already is.
You manage a weak “Hey” that sounds unconvincing to your own ears and suddenly, staring at Calleigh, who is obviously as nervous and anxious as you are, you find yourself at a loss for words.
Calleigh averts her eyes, idly fiddling with the dog-eared pages in front of her and for endless seconds silence settles over you before it becomes too much and you clasp the hand that’s playing with the magazine and still its movements.
At least that brings Calleigh’s eyes back to yours and you can see that she’s not just nervous.
No, there’s fear shining in her eyes and if the situation was different and the fear wasn’t because of you you would reach out and comfort her, rocking her in an assuring embrace.
But the situation isn’t different and you know that the contact of your hands is burning through her because you can feel it, too, a raging fire of confusion.
You open your mouth to start, whatever, wherever, when suddenly Calleigh speaks, her voice high and pitched and pleading like a six-year-old.
“Can’t we just forget about it?”
Forget about it, that’s what you have tried for the last few days but it isn’t working and so you shake your head, feeling your heart drop at the sight of Calleigh’s eyes turning just a bit darker.
“I wish we could”, but you don’t know if she believes you.
You stumble over your next words, eager to get them out, and you tell her how sorry you are for what happened, that you would’ve liked to keep it private, but it happened and there is no use in avoiding each other and hoping it’ll go away, cause it won’t.
You tell her that it’ll always be there until you face it and get over it and back to where you were before because as far as you are concerned your friendship meant something to you and you don’t want to loose that.
You don’t tell her how much.
And when you’re finished you pull your hand away, sitting back and watching Calleigh, waiting for any reaction, because now it is up to her.
Waiting becomes a torture when Calleigh doesn’t speak, doesn’t blink and you suddenly feel like some meal served on a silver plate.
It makes you itchy and uncomfortable and you’re close to bolting this whole thing you started when suddenly Calleigh picks up the magazine from the table and throws it across the room, followed by a frustrated sigh.
When she lifts her eyes back to your they hold an unexpected pain, but also impatience and you’re not quite sure what to make of that.
Her voice is cold and tinged with sarcasm when she finally speaks and when her words hit your ears you hope that you’d never come here.
“The great Megan Donner speaks and everybody listens, ready to follow wherever she leads.
Well, fuck you, Megan, because not everybody is a sweet little follower.”
With that she rises, so abruptly that the chair hits the floor, clattering, and before she reaches the door she turns around once more.
“I’m never going to forget, Megan. Never.”
And the last word sounds like a threat.
And because I'm mean ... I don't know if this is going to have a sequel *g*