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Glory Box	By : Beaverhausen13 Category: 1 through F > Friday the 13th: The Series Views: 585 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Friday the 13th: The Series. I do not get paid for this. For extra really, though.

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III:     “Once my lover, now my friend
          What a cruel thing to pretend
          What a cunning way to condescend
          Once my lover, and now my friend…” ~Fiona Apple “Shadowboxer”

          I make my way through the outer doors of the orchestra hall, feeling well past frustration.
          Ryan ditched me. Just up and took off, pushing past me and disappearing like a ghost.
          There’s a crime scene right outside of the venue. Strange. What an appropriate addition to this most torturous day. Looks like a murder. It’s worth looking into, there might be a cursed object behind this. Usually, in my recent experience, that’s been the case, anyway.
          I can’t believe he fucking ditched me.
          Actually, who am I kidding? Nothing that he does should surprise me anymore. Business as fucking usual.
          My heart hurts.
          I can’t believe I was so completely, stupidly wrong. Ryan didn’t make love to me last night. It felt like it, but that’s most definitely not what it was.
          Ryan pity-fucked me.
          Poor little Micki Foster, the recipient of a god damn pity-fuck.
          The very thought makes me want to throw up again. His adamance in pretending like nothing even happened is like a knife in my gut. Fine. I’ll go along with this charade. It’s better than having to hear him vocalize his regret, anyway. He doesn’t have to say it. I know he regrets what we did. That’s crystal clear.
          ‘Business as usual’ told me everything that I needed to know. It’s enough to make me wish I had stayed dead.
          I should have known when I woke up this morning and found myself mostly dressed (sans my destroyed panties, of course) and under my blankets without him. His absence should have tipped me off immediately. But no, like a fool of the highest order, I had to retain that hope that our dance around each other was at last over. When he came back to the kitchenette with the paper and wouldn’t even look at me, it was like a bowling ball to my chest.
          Then, of course, came ‘business as usual’. Business as goddamn fucking usual.
          The absolute worst is that I cannot get the events of last night out of my head. I’ve been in a state of constant arousal because of it, if I’m being perfectly frank. Every time he’s been near me today, I have resisted every urge to slam him against the wall and fuck the life out of him.
          Fuck him for being so goddamned good.
          It’s the height of cruelty.
          And he can’t even look at me. This just demolishes me. Granted, it’s been plenty unbearable just looking at him, as well, but I’m positive that we have different reasons for that.
          Still, I’m making a pretty good effort at trying to at least act normal. Like he didn’t make me come numerous times last night. Like he isn’t the Da Vinci of head.
          Then I remembered my latent birthday present and found myself giving him the reminder of our engagement. It seemed like such an innocuous event before all of this occurred. Just two friends at a concert. Business as motherfucking, cocksucking usual.
          I cannot tell you how much I hate that fucking coin. I want to implode its existence with the very force of my mind. If I hadn’t died, I would have never sought out Ryan for comfort and would have no idea that he is such a genius in the bedroom.
          Pandora’s box should have never been opened. Every single part of me screams with want. The torturous throbbing between my legs and consistent uncomfortable wetness in my panties has been a special sort of Hell.
          I should have just let the tickets sit unused and stayed home tonight. Retreated to my room and tried to concentrate on getting lost in a good book, instead of going through with this farce of normality. But I kept going with it like a complete idiot. Slipped into my evening gown and put my face on, the pinnacle of business and its utter usualness.
          I forgot what sheer fucking eye candy that he is in his suit and glasses. I’m lucky that we were seated most of the evening, because my knees wouldn’t be able to take the sight of a deliciously bespectacled Ryan Dallion, master of the cunnilingual arts that he is.
          Then he had the audacity to ask me about the woman playing the 2^nd violin. Leaned right over, took off his glasses, and pointed her out. I wanted to just punch him. How goddamn dare he? I don’t care how delicious you look right now, Mr. Dallion. I will fucking destroy you.
          And now, he’s gone and ditched me.
          He really is just the worst.
          I hate myself for loving him. Fuck.
          I’m still gawking at the crime scene when he makes his reappearance, landing next to me with an annoying smirk on his face.
          “You ready to go home? Where the hell did you run off to, anyway?” I’m trying not to sound irritated, but am failing miserably.
          “Meeting Leslie.” He smiles at me.
          Bastard.
          “Leslie?” I attempt to sound amused, even though I’m ready to blow a gasket.
          “Leslie Rains. 2^nd violin. Beautiful, right?”
          The nerve. The absolute nerve.
          I’m seething, “Beautiful.” I echo in a purr, “Home?”
          “Yep. I’m driving.” There’s that smile again, and the urge to punch/fuck him comes back even stronger.
          “The fuck you are.” I growl at him.
          “Jeez, what got into you?” he questions me with a nervous laugh.
          You, you asshole. You got into me and you’re immediately pursuing the next thing. Everything hurts. My teeth are on edge, “Nothing.”
          We drive home in silence. I’m taking out all of my aggression on the road, and I might be scaring him right now. Good. You can’t terrify me with the force of your passion and not expect a little payback, mister. Because Fuck You, that’s why.
          God, I hate him. And I still want to fuck him senseless. That ache isn’t going anywhere. It’s all so very evil.
          We get home and I inform Jack about the murder scene to put it on his radar. Better safe than sorry. Ryan rounded up a handful of classical music albums and retreated upstairs, so I stayed in the storefront for as long as possible before heading up myself. Times like these, I wish his sleeping quarters weren’t right outside of mine. This means I have to pass through his space to get to mine. Wonderful.
          He’s out of the suit and in his nighttime attire of one of his art t’s and boxer shorts, lounging on his cot with his headphones on. He gives a careless wave.
          I don’t say anything, just go to my room and grab something to sleep in, then head to the bathroom to change and remove my makeup.
          I bump into him as I’m closing the bathroom door on my way out and he places his arms around my waist to steady me. A gush comes over me at his touch and his eyes glaze over as he engages in a deep inhale, pushing my back against the door. I’m practically paralyzed right now. Whatever he’s doing, I know that I want it. His face travels down the front of my body until he’s kneeling and poised at where I’ve been screaming for his touch the entire day. My robe is flung open and now he’s tearing apart another pair of panties and licking me with wild abandon. Oh, sweet holy everything. Why is he so fucking good at this? I grip the door handle with a free hand because I am absolutely melting into a giant puddle of arousal right now. He’s drinking me in and bestowing intense kisses onto my clitoris, fireworks going off in my center. I’m forgetting why I was ever mad at him in the first place. My other hand slips into his hair and I am shocked at his sense memory, because he immediately found the same spot that sent me over last night and is attacking it with a passionate zeal that rips a loud moan from my throat. Oof. I’ve got to keep it down. The last thing we need right now is for Jack to walk in on this. I clamp my lips together tightly and try to stick to the heavy breathing.
          But oh holy hell, it’s so hard. He’s just a goddamn pussy magician. And I’m coming. Hard. Really hard. I feel him gripping my hips harder and holding me against the door because all of my bones liquified and my legs aren’t working now. Warm crests of pleasure wash over me and I’ve managed to subdue the moans into a low, pleased humming in the back of my throat. I regain my vision for a few seconds, but only that because he’s still licking and he’s found a new thrilling spot and I’m coming *again*. Je-sus. Where, in all that is sacred, did he get so bloody outstanding at this? I’m no longer in this room. I’m in another state of being, where they float in pleasure. Because I am floating right now. Just as well, my body is useless at the moment. I’m still shaking off surprised laughter at the second orgasm and shuddering slightly as my vision returns.
          He abruptly stops, like he realized what he was doing, and skitters away from me in horror, “Jesus Micki, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Ryan chokes this out as he bolts down the stairs.
          What the fuck was that? Has he lost his mind? Does he want to make me lose mine? Because confusion doesn’t even begin to start with this. This is a whole new level of what the good goddamn is this shit. I stagger my way to my bed and don’t ignore the sobs when they come. Damn him.
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Glory Box