HI! This is my first submission; the idea came to me late one night. PLEASE PLEASE give me feedback in comments, I'd love to hear it! It's a little long (I think) but I promise it gets there!
XxX SunStarMoonGirl
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She broke into his apartment long after he went to bed. He considered it breaking in, even if she did use the spare key he pointed out to her months ago. After all, if she had bothered knocking he wouldn't have let her in. But instead, she used the key, hidden cleverly beneath a loose floorboard on the stairs.
She didn't enter like she was welcomed, her bare feet padding softly with her shoes in one hand and the key clenched tightly in her other fist. Even though she swayed between each carefully placed step and her vision danced, she knew not to make a noise. Her caution was the result of fear and knowledge. She knew him well enough by now to know he would be asleep. She feared what would happen when he woke.
Not a single light lit the way as she crept across the living room and leaned softly against the bedroom door that had been left ajar. Her nature was inclined to night and darkness, her eyes adjusting quickly to the dim.
He was sleeping fitfully, twitching and muttering to himself, the blankets flung out across his thick frame. Setting her shoes on the floor, she stood at the foot of the bed and watched him. They were such opposites. The apocalypse couldn't wake her when she out for the night, but she knew one wrong step and his eyes would snap open, his body jerk upright and his hands reaching out for her. To embrace her or throttle her, she didn't know.
But there was enough alcohol still in her blood to embolden her. She fell forwards, her hands sinking into the mattress without a sound. There was something unnatural, she once told him, about a mattress so soft you felt like you were drowning in it. Now, she was grateful for the material to mask the sound and feel of her body slowly moving towards the head of the bed. He didn't seem to notice her, not yet. Perhaps he was as drunk as she was, perhaps he wouldn't wake at all.
But he did. Her hand brushed his leg as she crawled towards him, sending a rush up his spin and jolting him awake. She sensed his consciousness growing stronger, though the darkness and the implausibility of her presence confused him. Before he could understand what she was doing, she launched herself at him, flattening her body to his.
"Kiss me," she whispered as she sought to meet his lips.
He managed to evade her long enough to gasp, "What-?" but then they found each other. And though he was angry, though she was drunk, though she had broken into his apartment, they were kissing.
There was something that tasted wild about her. She found his hands tangled in the sheets and pulled them to tangle in her hair, trying to whisper drunken sentiments against his lips again and again until his tongue invaded her mouth, silencing her. Desperate to make her intent clear, she sucked him in, welcomed him. Her fingers pulled at his shirt, lifting the fabric from his chest and then back down again, as if she wasn't sure whether she wanted to take things further or just continue as they were.
He made the decision for her, moving one arm down to circle her waist and fling her off him. She cried out as she landed beside him with a thump, the movement terrifying her and causing her stomach to jump. Reaching past her, his hand found the switch on his bedside lamp, and suddenly the muted orange light flooded the room.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he ground out through gritted teeth, his voice low and filled with fury.
Her mouth was open wide, but no sound came out.
"I-," she began, but then stopped.
He imagined he could see her heartbeat pulsing beneath her skin, the quickness of it as she fought the urge to flee. She always fled. This time he wouldn't let her. He reached a hand out, grasping her thin wrist and squeezing it tightly between his fingers.
It felt like a manacle. The panic in her veins increased, rushing through her and filling her head with white noise. Well, almost. There was still that string of desperate desire, the siren call coming from somewhere beneath her heart that demanded she speak with him, talk to him, finally tell him. But she couldn't, not with his hard eyes glaring at her like that.
Unbidden, tears prickled in her eyes. She closed them, turning her head away from him to face the direction of the light. Imagining the warmth of the sun bathing against her skin, taking her away.
The hand only tightened as she turned.
"Stop that," Miles demanded, sounding cold once more. "Stop crying."
She shook her head, still not looking at him.
He shifted, his body suddenly pressing down on hers as if to remind her that there was no escape. The heat of him felt so familiar, but his hold on her and the emotions in her chest were the complete opposite.
"Breanna, look at me," he whispered, his lips only inches from her ear. "Baby, stop crying. Look at me."
