“You’re late,” Flea murmurs, not bitterly. “I missed you.”
Mood shifting, he pulls you into a kiss that’s deep and claiming from the start. His intentions are childishly transparent.
Things have been… weird… since the bogey’s nightmare. Since the fallout. Ted’s feelings, your feelings, Flea’s feelings all twisted up like raw nerves tied in a knot.
You’ve been throwing yourself into sex.
It’s so much easier to forget everything when the blood isn’t in your head. So much nicer just to live in a haze of pleasure. Flea has obliged, happily enough, though there are always a thousand unspoken thoughts behind his sympathetic, indigo eyes.
This moment, a moment that weeks ago would’ve felt as natural as breathing, is off somehow, no matter how you both pretend it isn’t. You aren’t fitting together the way you used to. What is this for him? Comfort? Distraction? Or pure, begrudging hunger?
Taking his hands in yours, you extricate yourself and say, “Let’s not.”
Flea withdraws with a small, abashed smile. “We’ve been, uh, fucking a whole hell of a lot lately, huh?”
You take a long breath.
You’ve been avoiding sex as much as you can.
Bare minimum has been the name of the game lately. Enough to keep Flea fed and not a drop more sexual energy than that. Flea has obliged, patiently enough, though there are always a thousand unspoken thoughts behind his uneasy, indigo eyes.
This moment, a moment that weeks ago would’ve felt as natural as breathing, is off somehow, no matter how you both pretend it isn’t. You aren’t fitting together the way you used to. What is this for him? Comfort? Distraction? Or pure, begrudging hunger?
You decide to give him what he needs tonight and say against his lips, “You must be hungry.”
Flea’s brow creases and he pulls away with a small, pained smile. “[pro]. I don’t want to do this if you don’t.”
You take a long breath.