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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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VII: “I got my feet on the ground and I don’t go to sleep to dream
          You got your head in the clouds
          You’re not at all what you seem
          This mind, this body, and this voice cannot be stifled by your deviant ways
          So don’t forget what I told you, don’t come around
          I got my own hell to raise…” ~Fiona Apple “Sleep to Dream”

          I honestly don’t know what to think anymore. I know I feel a bit hopeless at the moment. And wound up tighter than a clock with sexual energy. My entire body hums with it now, constantly.
          I do know that Ryan wants me. But of course, something is holding him back. Maybe he’s not over Leslie’s death. At any rate, after my bout of idiocy the night of her death (no matter how insidiously wonderful it was), the air between us was so tense and stifling you could have cut it with a Ginsu. But every once in a while, I would catch him looking at me with a kind of interest that intrigued me. Made me think. Then I started to think about all of our sexual encounters and how absolutely nuclear they were.
          So yesterday I decided to test the waters, in a sense. Light, playful flirting. Double entendres. To my delight, he sent everything right back to me.
          We actually had quite the blast together for most of yesterday. It felt good to flirt and have fun. Warm. Tingly. Cozy. And the raspberry wars were hilarious. I hadn’t laughed like that in a while. Of course, that led us into trouble of the most delicious kind. That kiss…that kiss made my world stand still. It’s also what told me that on some level, Ryan wants me. At least sexually.
          And my fucking God, do I want him. Everything that happened in the elevator did more than confirm that fact. It’s cemented into every cell of my body, that want. But I also have a deep, incomparable love for him that I am afraid he’s unable to return.
          It’s posing to be a problem. But I won’t push him, or throw myself at his feet and declare that love. That doesn’t mean that I won’t try to tempt him, though. I’ve been taking special care in my appearance these days, and stopped wearing panties altogether after the cot incident. I’m running low on underwear now, and figure I should preserve what I still have just in case. At least until I can make a shopping trip. And ‘just in case’ happened with a vengeance yesterday. It was fierce, and passionate, and it melted me. I came so many times, I didn’t even bother counting. It would have been impossible anyway; with the rapid-fire way they were occurring. The things that he does to my body are beyond measure.
          Why is he so fucking good? And why does he have to be equally as complicated?
          “We shouldn’t have done that.” I just felt hollow after those words, but couldn’t get mad through my orgasm haze; so, I just let him off the hook, showered off, and slept amazingly well last night. Like I said, I won’t push him. He knows where I live. If he wants me, he’s going to have to say so with his mouth words.
          In the meantime, I’ve pulled out the big guns today: my white halter dress. And he knows I’m no longer wearing underwear now. We’ve arrived at the movie set for the new William Pratt picture. I can’t remember what the title is supposed to be. Definitely a period piece, hence the antique rental a ’la Curious Goods. I wonder if he’s as good-looking in person. I’ll admit, I’ve had a bit of a crush since his first movie came out three years ago. He’s no Jeff Goldblum, but he’s definitely a good-looking man.
          Working on this movie will be a nice distraction from the overwhelming sexual tension, that’s for sure. It’s been oddly easier since our elevator engagement yesterday, though. We’re a little more relaxed around each other today. But only a little. I still get impulses to lean over and kiss his tonsils out of his mouth, but it’s not *as* painful as it had been.
          Ope, there’s Pratt. It looks like they’re doing some kind of love scene currently, which immediately sends me right back into that elevator yesterday and Ryan jackhammering me into the wall. Mmm. Goddammit. Not to mention that wonderful, blessed, amazingly majestic mouth and all of its pleasurable ministrations. Ryan’s standing right next to me and I can smell him slightly. Holy mother, I am just bouncing off the walls right now. We’re led to our prop area and I set to the task of organizing, trying to shake off the memory of yesterday, my skin just crawling with need from it.
          Someone gets my attention from behind and oh. It’s him. William Pratt. And he’s definitely even better looking in person. Also, he’s actively flirting with me, which kind of bowls me over. After this weird push and pull with Ryan, it’s refreshing to have someone show an outright interest. He’s pulled away rather quickly and I’m still kind of knocked upside the head from it. William Pratt. Showing an interest in me. Wow. And the bonus is that Ryan seems kind of jealous.
          What an unexpected pleasure.
          The day goes by pretty quickly, but thrillingly, with Bill finding every excuse possible to talk and flirt with me and Ryan silently fuming nearby.
          Now you know what it feels like to be jealous, Mr. Dallion. Deal with it.
          We’re back at Curious Goods now, it’s later on in the evening and Jack had some white witch meeting to attend that will run into the early morning hours, so Ryan and I are once again alone. Though I’m not seeing him around, currently.
          I sit down at the desk to check if there were any new articles of interest left by Jack, and am startled to feel hands moving up my legs. I let out a loud gasp.
          “It’s just me.” Ryan says, his head popping out from under the desk, “I dropped a pen and had to crawl under here to snag it.” He produces the pen, “See?”
          I suck in a breath, “You’re very lucky you weren’t stabbed before you announced yourself.”
          Hmm. This is compromising. His head is basically right between my legs. This seems to be a running theme lately. He’s staring up my skirt and his eyes get that glazed look in them that I now recognize well. Yes. Please God yes. Now he’s kissing up my left inner thigh and pushing the skirt of my dress around my waist rather roughly. And now his magician mouth is on me and he’s casting all kinds of brilliant spells on my vagina. Je-Sus H. Crutch-walking Christ, he’s just a savant at this. I knew this dress was a good idea. Oh, he’s painting magnificent vistas of pleasure with that glorious mouth. I’m coming before I know it.
          My fingers are twisted into his dark brown locks and soon enough I’m pulling him into another searing kiss and fumbling with his slacks, doing my very best to try to relieve them from his person and get him back inside of me, already. He yanks me up from the chair, spinning me around and shoving the Manifest to the side of the desk as he plants me on the edge, almost knocking over the Chinese lamp in the process. “Just…fucking…*need* you.” He growls into my mouth between kisses and shoves forcefully inside of me, the feeling of it just insanely satisfactory. Holy fucking Jesus, he took the words right out of my mouth. All I’ve been doing lately is needing exactly this. He’s got that possessed look about him again, which has got to be the sexiest expression I’ve ever seen in my life, and there is zero ease with the way we’re going about this. It’s frantic, rough, furious, and ultimately driving me right to orgasm. I’ve managed to unbutton his short sleeved printed shirt and run my hands on the smooth flesh of his chest and back as my thighs tighten around his waist and that first wave of pleasure consumes me. I can’t recall a single past lover that affected me anywhere near the way he does. My body is thanking him profusely right now, in the form of one blinding, intense orgasm after the next. And the way he’s kissing me is just…I’m no longer corporeal. I’m Micki Foster, the puddle.
          I just fucking love every single part of him. We’re shaking the desk almost off of its moorings at the moment, and inevitably things are sliding off the edges and onto the floor. His hands are gripping my hips hard and keeping me anchored in my position sitting up on the edge of the desk, his knees bent as he picks up his pace, just ravaging me. Oh, this feels incredible. My hands have stopped roaming and are gripping his back and digging my nails in as I continue to tremble in endless orgasm. And this kiss is swallowing me whole with the urgency involved. Like I said: I’m a goddamned puddle. Holy Christ, he lasts a while. Even throughout our furious pacing, he’s got the stamina of a god. My mind is in tiny little pieces from the explosion. *How* is he this fucking brilliant at this? It’s like his body was specially made just for mine. My perfect puzzle piece. After what feels like the most pleasurable time freeze possible, he’s shoving into me hard and deep, swelling inside of me and letting out a loud moan into my mouth. That’s it, I’m definitely sending the designer of this dress a heartfelt thank you card. What just happened was absolutely worth the price I paid for it. God. Damn. That was gooooood. Little earthquakes have completely taken over my entire body. I’m wiggling my toes inside my heels, because they’ve lost all feeling.
          I release my claws from his back and ease my fingers into a light, tapping roaming as we exchange another kiss, this one softer, gentler than the one during intercourse, but about as passionate. I open my eyes as he’s pulling out of me and its all over his face. Fear. What the fuck is he afraid of?
          I suck in a breath, rolling my eyes a little, “Let me guess, you want to write this one off, too?”
          “I don’t want to…but I *have* to.” He looks like he’s in pain and his voice is straining.
          I push him away from me, shoving his shoulders hard as I slide off the desk. Now I’m mad. “Fine. As you wish.” I snap at him, pulling the skirt of my dress back down and escaping for the stairs.
          “Micki, let me explain…”
          I spin around from where I landed at the bottom of the stairs and cut him off, “Don’t Ryan. No need. I fucking get it. Just leave me the fuck alone.”
          I charge up the staircase, leaving him to clean up the desk mess aftermath as I focus on a hasty cleanup and getting into bed as quickly as possible to avoid seeing him for the rest of the night. I can’t even cry over this anymore. I’m just angry. Angry at him for not owning up to whatever he’s feeling toward me. Angry at myself for being so desperately, stupidly in love with him.
          Why am I doing this to myself? I have a fucking movie star throwing himself at me and here I am, mooning over Ryan Dallion. Stupid. So stupid.
          Morning comes quickly enough. I did sleep really well due to the sexual release from our desk exercise, so that’s one bright side in this sea of doom. Ryan’s being pretty tentative with me this morning and walking on eggshells around me as we prepare for another day on the movie set.
          Once we’re there, we fall in to doing our tasks and keeping busy is definitely helping to tamp down the dull heartache. Bill sought me out right away and began his flirtations immediately. Still very much pissed at Ryan, I flirt right back. And every time I do, I see that look of hurt and longing on Ryan’s face.
          Then *say* something! Do something! Fuck.
          Then something unexpected happens. The lead actress, Tanya, just sucks on ice; she’s beyond terrible. My Hedda when we did Hedda Gabler in high school acted circles around this actress. I can tell Bill is frustrated with her. So the next thing I know, he’s dragging me to the director and ordering that *I* play her role. I’m flung into a whirlwind of makeup and wardrobe and soon I’m doing the scene with Bill. He kisses me and all I can think of is Ryan’s look of approval in the makeup mirror. It was probably the first genuine bit of attention that he’s shown me today, and it got me a little tingly. I’m not saying that Bill isn’t a good kisser, but he definitely doesn’t do what Ryan does to me. I don’t think anybody on Earth would, to be fair.
          Tanya had a cow and called her lawyers, though, so Bill just informed me of the news and is asking me out for a date tonight to make up for it. I’m inwardly pleading for Ryan to *say* something, own me, claim me; but he doesn’t, so of course, I say yes. Like I’m going to decline a date with a famous movie star. I may be hung up, but I’m not *that* hung up. And if Ryan wants me, he’s going to have to fight for me.
          As soon as we get home, I start getting ready for my date. I pick out my silver blue off the shoulder dress with the flowing full skirt, which I feel is a good choice. Modest-ish, but enticing. Ryan never comes upstairs, so when I’m finished getting ready, I make my way downstairs and find him at the desk with the Manifest open.
          When he tells me not to go, my heart jumps in my throat. Please Ryan. Please tell me that you love me, that you need me, that you want me just as much as I so dreadfully do you. Then I’ll call off my date and we can go upstairs and live happily ever after over and over again in my bed.
          Instead, he goes and insults me. What a kick in the teeth. And right at the spot where he took me to ecstasy last night, too. I just want to scream.
          Fuck you, Dallion. Time to go revenge fuck me a movie star.
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Glory Box