Little Things Ch. 02 of 04

"I'll bet." She laughs briefly, pauses. "Well, uh. Have a good time, I guess. Both of you." Her gaze darting over to acknowledge David, then back to me. "Don't do anyone I wouldn't do."

That's worth a snicker, an affably disparaging shake of the head. "Should be easy enough to stick to that...try not to burn the place to the ground while I'm gone."

"No promises." A fairly warm smile, at least for her. It feels like a goodbye, especially as I nod my own farewell. David settles into the passenger seat, and I'm almost into the place opposite when April speaks again. "Hey, Sam."

"Yeah?" I answer, turning. She's wandered up fairly close, and her expression is almost...embarrassed. A rare thing, for her.

"I just wanted to say...maybe I was wrong. About your brother, about...you know." Her voice dropping quieter as her eyes flash into the car, trying not to let him hear. I'm surprised, faintly touched. April never admits when she's wrong. "I guess I might have just imagined it, or something. I mean, it's a pretty hot image, you and him together."

Two days ago, I would have gone off on her just for that last comment. Yesterday, I'd at least have dropped a heavy dose of biting snark. Today...I hesitate. Relieved, on some level, that David's secret is still his. Ours. Whatever. Vaguely guilty, at the same time, to be deceiving her, when she gave me the tipoff in the first place. And a quiet, ambiguous tingle of excitement at the idea that my being...involved, with David, would meet with some approval.

I mean, it's April. She makes Mardi Gras girls look restrained. But still... "You don't really think that, do you?"

"Sure I do." A note of laughter. "Like I said, I'm into that. If I'd had a brother, especially one who looked like that..." Her head shakes lightly. "Well, anyway. You two would make a damn cute couple, that's all."

I snort with something like dismissal...but a little jet of joy slips through, quirks upward on my lips as I glance over my shoulder in the direction of David. April doesn't miss it. Her eyes briefly widen, and a look of canny delight crosses her expression. New intensity in her voice. "You're thinking about it, aren't you?"

"Come on. Don't be ridiculous." I try for something close to denial. It comes out all too feebly - I wouldn't believe myself.

She doesn't either. "Ha." Pronouncing the sound, clear and deliberate, as an almost manic grin grabs her face. Glee flashing in her eyes. "You should go for it. He probably wants you. Hell, even if he doesn't...wake him up with a blowjob and he won't care if you're his grandma."

"Wow." Stunned to near-silence by her cheerful depravity, I can return only a heavy roll of the eyes for a few moments, until my thoughts regather. Finally moving to withdraw. "Look, Ape, I gotta head out."

"All right, all right," she grins. "But if the two of you do go at it, take pictures for me, will ya?"

"I can promise you," I fire back, faintly bemused, as I pull open the door of the truck. "That is not going to happen."

"Just keep it in mind." A bizarre mirth in her manner, giving us a farewell wave through the window as I slip the truck into drive and pull out of the parking space, beginning the long journey home.

David's quiet, hesitant, not even looking at me until we're a dozen seconds out. "What were you two whispering about?" His voice comes with almost a touch of worry. "What's not going to happen?"

I just shake my head, faintly embarrassed at the prospect of having to relay the conversation. "Don't worry about it, Davey."

A brief pause. "Fighting with her again?"

I have to laugh, at least half at myself. "No, not exactly. Not at all, really." Giving him a thoughtful glance. "You really want to know?"

"If you don't mind..." Ever tractable.

"Well..." My fingers play a bit at the steering wheel before I continue, rubbing softly at the leather overlay. "She was trying to convince me that I should sleep with you."

It's plain to see that he didn't expect this answer; his bushy eyebrows shoot high with incredulity, and it's some moments before he sputters out with "She what?"

"Yeah. Crazy, huh?" A shake of the head. "Apparently, she's 'into that.' Like she gets off on the idea, or whatever."

"Well, that's..." He exhales slowly. "Um. You didn't...did you tell her about what we did yesterday?"

"God no." I return without hesitation. "You think I'm nuts? I'd never hear the end of it." I glance over briefly to meet his faintly apprehensive gaze, then back to the rear-view mirror. "Besides, it's not even the same thing. What we did, and what she's talking about."

"It's not?" He asks with quiet surprise.

"No! Come on, it's totally..." My mouth clamps shut for a handful of moments while I struggle to find the right words. "She's talking full-on S-E-X sex. All we did was just, a few short little kisses, and..." Baring my breasts for him. Making him masturbate for me. "...and some observation. Worlds apart."

"They still seem kinda related." David pauses, his eyes flickering inward. "Uh, so to speak."

"Well, they're not," I answer back firmly, then try to come up with a good reason as to why they're not. "With us, what we have...it's just a game, just pretend. She's talking about the reality." Brief quiet, as I take a turn towards the freeway. "I mean, think about it. If I pulled off at a rest stop somewhere and asked you to fuck me behind the bathrooms, would you even want to?"

"Ah..." I can almost hear the blush spreading on his face. But for long seconds, no other response comes forth, until it's clear what answer he's holding back out of fear that it's not the one I want.

"Pervert," I fire off. But a delighted grin grabs at my lips all the same, and I can't entirely keep the smile from my voice. "Guess I'm going to have to avoid rest stops...hey." A sudden change of topic. "You hungry? Wanna grab something from a drive-through before we really hit the road proper?"

"Sure," he shrugs. "You know me. I can always eat."

---

We're on the freeway ten minutes later, chowing down on breakfast sandwiches and cranking up the tunes for listening on the way. It's a long trip, but music makes it shorter. So does compatible company. It's fun, having him there in the passenger seat, having someone with whom to chat about landmarks, and to laugh at my jokes. Even in the times we don't talk - and there are many, in a trip of this length - it's nice just to look over and see him sitting there, a trace of a smile curved upward on his lips. Puts me at ease, makes me feel that everything is okay. The way the world used to be, so bright and simple. Just him and me, and a wide open vista, ready for discovery.

Well, we still have most of that. Him and me, at least for the next few weeks, before I have to head back again to college. Have to just...enjoy it while it lasts. I guess.

We're only two hours in when it begins to snow again, a gentle drift that falls in soft, powdery impacts upon the windshield, to be shoved aside by the softly squealing wipers. The truck's heater never worked that well; as we press onward, the temperature in the cabin drops just below the edge of comfort, making me glad at least for the heavy coat I elected to wear that morning. David takes to rubbing his hands slowly together, long fingers interlaced.

But the cold's not the only issue. My morning coffee's run straight through me, the pressure in my bladder increasingly difficult to ignore. I glance over to David, who's watching the snowflakes swirl by outside his window. "How're you holding up? Need a bathroom break?"

His answer comes back distantly, lightly entranced by the winter scene outside. "No, I'm okay."

"Well, too bad. I do." Enough of that feeling of childish exuberance in me that I stick my tongue out at him when he looks over, drawing an amused chuckle that rings like golden bells in my ears.

Fortunately, the next rest area is just a few minutes away. The parking lot's empty when I pull in, nobody much inclined to stop and stretch their legs when that means braving sub-zero temperatures. I rush into the bathroom to do my business; David's waiting at the exit when I emerge, shivering, two minutes later.

"Jesus Christ." Complaining past chattering teeth. "If I'm jealous of guys for one reason, it's that they don't have to fucking sit down on a frozen rest stop toilet to piss."

He winces sympathetically, shakes his head. "Ouch, yeah. I don't envy you that."

"Also," I add reflectively, burrowing my hands into my armpits to warm up. "Writing your name in the snow. That sounds like fun."

A handsome grin splits his face as he laughs. "I dunno, it's not really all it's cracked up to be." Pausing for thought. "At least you don't have to deal with everything bunching up painfully in your underwear." A pinkening of the cheeks, as he dares a little ribaldry.

"Oh, well, if we're comparing painful annoyances, how would you like to bleed out your dick for a week or so every month?" I retort with mock archness. "Because I could make it happen, if you want to give it a try."

"I'll pass," he answers mildly, still with his amused smile.

"Damn straight," I grumble triumphantly. "Look at you, you're not even cold. Guys get their body fat spread all over like a blanket; women just get it piled on their tits and hips so they freeze to death. Totally unfair."

"All right, all right," he chuckles again, cheerfully. "I give up. I'm truly lucky to be born male."

"Precisely," I murmur agreement as I drift towards him. He doesn't back away, and my heart beats just a little faster as our bodies come in gentle contact. Leaning into him, my head coming to rest on his broad chest. Presently I speak again, lightly teasing, with my hands still curled up under my arms. "You can help even things out a little by warming me up, though."

Long before any physical heat penetrates my coat, I feel the warm breath of happiness upon my soul as his arms unfold and surround me, laying heavily and with a gentle tightness across my back, crossed just above my hips. Comfort, warmth, like a stone hearth cheerfully burning, keeping at bay the chill of winter. As the moments pass, the little points of fear and hesitation within me give way, vanish, and I melt fully into his arms, laying fluidly upon his massive chest. Even the worried voice in the back of my mind quiets, finding a note of contentment here amidst the slowly descending snowflakes.

I mean, what the hell, right? It's just a hug. A long one, maybe, a close one, but nothing that should be too shocking. And besides...it feels so nice, being enfolded in his arms so tight and loving. His fingers moving at the small of my back, tiny caresses barely perceptible through the thickness of my coat but altogether comforting. Wrapped up in his warm embrace, I feel...small. Safe. Protected.

Strange, though. That's not really like me. I've never wanted that kind of surrender, to be placed in the charge of a man. Or...I don't know. Maybe I've just never enjoyed it. I've had moments like these, tightly held in a boyfriend's arms, and they never made me feel more than trapped. Threatened. Like they were asserting ownership over me, a belonging that wasn't theirs to claim. I don't think that's how they meant it, but that's how it felt, and the few moments of their resistance when I'd try to pull away only made things worse. Maybe I just didn't trust them, didn't trust that they had any real regard for me. Any desire to protect me, instead of just wanting to take.

With David, though...well, there's no question of that. Even if my protecting him seems far more likely than the reverse. There's a comfort in the simple size of him, the physicality, the meat of his arms and his body surrounding me. Warm. I feel no urge to pull away. Indeed, I'd dive in deeper if I could...disappear into him like a caterpillar into a cocoon. Wrapped up with a perfect tightness.

"Feeling a little warmer?" His voice drifts down, softly, compassionately, and I'm awakened from my half-reverie. We're still out here, standing in the cold. Even if I'm making him bear the brunt of it, now.

"Yeah." I smile into his chest, my cheek up against his light grey sweatshirt. We should probably head back to the truck. Just a few more moments here, pressed up against him. I give myself a countdown - three, two, one...pull away with some reluctance, some misgiving. Looking up into his pacific blue eyes. "Not too bad, Davey." A sardonic quirk of humor twisting my lips. "Now, if we really wanted to warm up, we could head behind the bathrooms. You said you were up for that, right?"

Recognition fires after a moment, and David's eyes go wide as saucers. He sputters out, "I, uh..."

"A joke." Grinning. There is a mischievous pleasure, sometimes, in playing upon his trusting innocence. "That was a joke." Pulling more fully away, until we're left with just a linked pair of hands to connect us, his thick fingers curling around my palm. He's covered in a thin layer of snowflakes again, glinting as they slowly melt away in the heat of his body, and I can't help a smile as I look at him. "Come on, we need to get back on the road."

It's a short walk back to the parking area, but we don't make it quite without interruption. An idle comment, as we pass beneath the skeleton of a tree, its leaves long fallen away. "Man, it's really starting to pile up. If we felt like freezing to death, we could make snow angels."

Not much delay, and a spark of delight in his voice, as David answers. "I see one already."

For a moment or two, surprised, I glance around the snow, which lies undisturbed save for our own footprints. Then, suspicion, confirmed by a look at his grinning face, his gaze falling straight on me. I have to laugh. "Not a bad line. You think it up just now?"

He blushes as he shakes his head. "No, um. Yesterday, after the movie, playing in the snow. I thought you looked like...didn't really get a chance to say it, though." A pause, hesitation. "But it isn't a line. I mean...it's true."

I raise an eyebrow, dubiously. Faintly dismissive. "What's true? That I'm an angel?"

"Well..." He huffs lightly with laughter. "Maybe not literally, but..." Trailing off. His eyes upon me, large and bright and deep. Loving. No, more than that - adoring, almost worshipful. Looking up at me, despite his greater height. It touches my heart, but I feel with it a greater stab of guilt. I've been enjoying this, bathing in this faintly forbidden affection, even encouraging it. And yet I don't deserve it. He just has this airbrushed image of me, stuck up on a pedestal, and I've stepped into its shoes. Taken advantage of his dream. It's a dissonant note of wrongness in the midst of fluting fancy - enough so that I step back, literally and figuratively. My hand breaking contact with his.

"I'm not an angel, David." It comes out flat, with a quiet harshness.

"Well, sure," he agrees cautiously. Aware that something has gone wrong but uncertain as to what or why. "For one thing, you don't have the wings." Trying for lightness, for humor.

"Not in any way." A sigh, a frown. Averted eyes. I can't quite look at him. "I'm not a 'good girl,' and if you're going to...going to think about me like this, you should know that."

"What do you mean?" He asks softly. Puzzlement and awkward hesitance in the furrow of his brow.

"Come on, you're not that naïve." It comes out with a trace of a snarl, one that I have to soothe and settle as I continue on. "I mean sex. I've been around the block a few times. I understand how guys work, what they want. There's two kinds of guys, and they want two kinds of girls." A pause. He's quiet, looking to me. Uncertain where I'm going with this, by the expression on his face. "Jerks want a whore to slap around, to share with their friends. Nice guys," my gaze flickering on him, with a tiny nod. No question which type David is. "want a pure and perfect princess, to be theirs and theirs alone." Quiet, again, letting this sink in. Glancing at his golden hair, now sodden and matted with melting snowflakes. "But I'm not an innocent princess, and I don't want to be a whore. So I'm not really what anybody wants." A slightly sad smile stretches my lips. "Certainly not the angel you want." The angel he deserves.

"Samantha..." He begins diffidently, as though with a petition to a queen. "I mean...I know you're not a virgin. That doesn't bother me."

"Of course not." Still the same sad smile. "You're a modern guy, you can handle one or two former partners. In the abstract, if I never talk about them. If they're few enough to ignore. But if it's more than that..." A little shrug, a moment's silence. "Do you want to know the number, David?"

He shakes his head. Not a denial to the question, but of the whole line of thought. "It really doesn't matter to me."

"Really." Resigned and quiet disbelief. I'm sure he wants to mean it, but... "You're different, then, from all the other guys? You want a used girl?" Archness lining my words.

"No," he shakes his head again, intensity in his gaze, in his voice. "Not a used girl. Just...you." I can see him swallow silently, the little bobble of his Adam's apple. "I don't know if you're right about what other guys want, really, but if you are...then yeah, I guess I am different. Because I don't care about that, about who and how many you've been with." A pregnant silence, his mouth working to find words. "Samantha, I called you an angel because...because you shine."

Tears prick with an almost painful suddenness at the corners of my eyes, and I shake my head, trying to drive them away. God, but David can speak sometimes with a depth that leaves me speechless. I wish it were true, wish it could be true. To be loved, desired, just for who I am...I mean it's a fucking afterschool special, right? But it still tugs at me, a fishhook in the soul, slipped past cynicism's armor.

I manage a laugh, brief and halfway choking. "So would you still want to kiss me, after I tell you that I've sucked the cocks of about twenty different guys?" No sugar-coating, no softness, no artful euphemism. Just the truth, brutal and repellant.

My eyes rest in his expression as I speak the words, so I see it when it hits, subtle but distinct. The flinch in his gaze, the little curling inward of his upper lip. Disgust. My eyes close as I laugh again, possessed by a bleak humor. The triumph of the miserable cynic inside me, her only joy to be proven right. But damn it...I almost believed him. I wanted to believe him, wanted him to just smile at me, bathe me in those eyes of mild blue and say that it was okay, that it didn't bother him. Wanted it to be true. But I can't be surprised that it isn't. Can't even blame him. He's a guy - guys want what they want, and that isn't me, not really. Not for the long term.

Only a moment's passed, these words and feelings swirling swiftly in my head. In this state - eyes closed, head slightly shaking - I don't see it coming; I'm alerted only as cold lines touch upon my cheek, a large hand grasping from above my cheekbone to just below my jaw, bringing me to rest. I open my eyes, and even in the moment that I do, his lips are touched to mine. Chilled by the cold around us, but quickly surging with an irrepressible inner warmth. There's no moment of thought, no hesitation before my head tilts back to grant him greater access, before my lips part, striving to taste him, to admit his tongue, his lower lip, to get some small part of him inside me.

A second. He pulls back, and some part of me is shocked at how frustrated and empty I feel as our mouths break contact. Wetness glistening in my eyes, which I try madly to will away - damn it, I don't cry. David's mouth hangs barely open, his breath coming heavily, a look on his face of apologetic earnesty. His hand still held lightly on my cheek, and in this moment I feel as though I don't ever want it taken away. "I admit," he murmurs to me quietly, his face close to mine. "I don't really like to think about that." A pause, his nose and lips touched barely to the top of my scalp. "But it doesn't change how I feel."