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White Doe	By : Vethysnia Category: -Misc TV Shows > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 1206 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing from Stranger Things. I make no money from this work.

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“Finally, it's my bike!” He exclaimed abruptly, pointing ahead. “Haha, guess it was a little farther than I initially thought.”

Mike mounted the cycle, the same banana seat upon which the two of them rode in the throes of yesteryear. Eleven approached his side, and leaned over to mount it as well. But before doing so she instead tilted her head towards his, planting a butterfly soft kiss against the chilled pale of his cheek. It was only seconds before the same cheek turned a bright, angry red, and Mike averted his eyes in boyish, misplaced embarrassment. He remembered the last time he had felt the smoothness of her lips, and his surprising initiative involved. He lamented the lack of that now, but felt a great relief in knowing she hadn't forgotten what was between them.

She promptly mounted the bike behind him, and he began pedaling towards home, painfully attentive to her arms wrapped securely around his waist, to the subtle mounds of her chest pressing into his back. As the glacial wind bit at his sensitive skin, it occurred to him that he wasn't Eleven's only friend in this world, that Lucas, Dustin, and Will would be ecstatic to lay eyes on her once again. But something about their encounter tonight seemed far too intimate, too private for the stimulation of anyone else being present. He could not help but also feel like she would prefer it that way anyway; suspected she was currently unable to process the nearness of too many. Something about her sudden return felt...reserved somehow.

Reserved for him.

For several moments life did not seem real as they pulled into his parking lot and went into the house through the basement entrance. Together they stood in his trademark gaming room, ever still littered with roleplay artifacts and game boards, their hands still laced together, almost in a trance brought on by the inconceivable chance of them ever seeing the other again.

“Uh...I-I'll get you something more comfortable to wear, be right back.”

He made a quick dash for the laundry room, sorting through the clean items for one of many of Nancy's simple white night gowns. Entering the main basement room once more he presented the gown to her.

“Is this alright?”

El's eyes widened slightly, hands reaching out to take the gown from him and marveling at the softness of the fabric. “Very pretty.”

Mike began to make his way to the bathroom to give her privacy, remembering well how she would become when enclosed in small spaces, but was stopped by El's insisting grasp on his wrist.

“No.”

“Y...you want me to stay? In here? While you...”

Something flickered in the depths of her chocolate gaze, a hint of mischief, of jest.

“Just turn around.” She said, her voice strangely even.

“O-okay...sure.”

So he turned his back to her, and tried his hardest not to listen to the silken rustle of clothing as she slid into Nancy's night gown in the pregnant seconds that followed.

“Mike.” She said at last.

He turned to look at her, and froze, succumbing to total bodily paralysis upon seeing her, eyes idiosyncratically blinking as they roved her skin veiled by slightly translucent white cotton. His heart, and stomach sank at her beauty, his breath caught ruthlessly in his throat as the pit of anxiety in his core grew with every aching moment.

Being who he was, how he was, people told him his entire life something like this would never happen to him, and he never realized how much he had come to believe it. This girl believed in him, fought for him, died for him in a way perhaps, maybe even loved him. And he would be a fool to deny that he felt the same, but regardless it was hard to shake years of instilled self deprecation.

She took a step toward him, and he didn't move away, but instead he flinched, as though he expected aggression. El spread her arms, pulling him into their tight embrace and massaged the hairline of his raven black locks. Mike couldn't help it; he burst into quiet sobs in the crook of her neck, unable to bear confining his emotional strife any longer. She said nothing, merely continued to dexterously comb her fingers through his fine, obsidian strands.

“I'm sorry for being such a pussy...” He mumbled thickly, his face wet with tears and utterly flushed as El pulled him away from her neck.

Her stare met his with feverish electricity, a deep desire of some kind yearning to make itself known. Boldly leaning in, she pressed her lips against his, briefly, before pulling away. Mike watched with half lidded eyes as she licked her lips, tasting his saliva on them.

Again she leaned in, capturing his lips this time more wantonly, grazing them with tongue and teeth alike, coaxing them to reciprocate. Initially, above all he was astounded by her forthright nature, distinctly reminded of how she preferred actions to words. His stomach churned, aflame with anxiety, with adrenaline, with an intoxicating haze he had only remembered ever tasting in microscopic doses.

Her body pressed against his, the mild yet developing curves of her stature aching to meld with the boy who saved her from a lifetime of vilification, and to whom she felt compelled to return the favor. Her warmth was consuming now, the heat exhaling from her aural presence nearly stifling, and slowly he felt himself surrendering. The questions, the doubts, and the long years of depression gradually melted away with every adoring caress she gave him.

He had such little experience with this kind of raw human instinct. Never had he felt such a carnal desire toward another person, or undying admiration. She had given him so much. It was because of her that things were able to go back to normal after the miasma of insanity. It was because of her he had all of his friends back, safe and sound, and life went on. But they didn't. No, they couldn't. Mike wanted so much to accept that she was gone, to move on and bury what happened in the deepest compartments of his analytic, yet emotional mind. But he would never give up hope. And it was that same hope that ate him alive every day she was gone.

The universe was somehow communicating to him through all of this. It was too easy and presumptuous to call it a reward for their struggles somehow, a simplification of something far more complex. Whatever her reason for vanishing for so long, and returning for tonight only, it was her business, and it was evident that she did not want to spend the evening searching for the proper words to describe something probably unimaginable to someone who had never witnessed it.

The prospect of all this frightened him, made his guts twist and tangle themselves in a grotesque, bile dripping knot. Years of societal inflicted inadequacy would have to be sacrificed, pushed into the furthest corners of his consciousness to give her what she appeared to want most from him now. When he really thought about it, it wasn't so complicated, not so intense an idea. She sacrificed so much for him, for the people he knew and cared about besides her. It would be far from punishment, to show her in more candid ways how much he loved her.

Her need was overwhelming, growing with an almost manic yearning, and before he knew it he had found himself pushed backward into his flimsy fold-up board game table. Releasing a shuddering breath, he firmly grabbed her by the shoulders, and forced her to look him in the eye.

“Can we just...take this slow? I've never done this before.”

Eleven's eyes fluttered, as though stricken with a sudden bolt of lucidity, and she reached up to gently stroke his cheek.

“Me...neither, I just...Mike, I...”

He kissed her once more, delicately silencing her muddled sentence.

“I still want to...” Mike whispered huskily as his forehead remained pressed against the smoothness of hers. “I just want to do it right.”
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White Doe