Wolfhound [closed]

He had completely forgotten about her fucking shoes. Whatever. They could get more. He'd held tight onto the wrist flung over his shoulder, free arm just around her hips as they hastened away from the scene, or tried to hasten away. Every now and then they had to stop and lean against the wall, Pres had to get a few giggled out of his system when the ship rocked SO HARD that it damn near sent the two of them toppling over. Eventually, by some grace of God or Cthulu or what-fucking-ever, they managed back to their room; and he'd swung the door wide open for her. With the light turned on, it was a short, clear path straight to their bed. Their bed. Ah ha oh shit.

Her head was spinning. Butterflies flurried around in a storm in her gut. Every rock and cresting swell of the ship sent her spilling back to the floor, draped backward over Preston's arm like a wet towel every time she threw her head back in another bubbling laugh. She barely even noticed when they made it back to their room. Their room. Their room.

She'd thought about it. Yeah, fuckin' sue her, she'd thought about it from time to time. She was allowed to be human too sometimes, wasn't she? But the significance of this room, this bed, this night hung just above the door frame like a guillotine. Kayla could feel it reverberate through the walls, echoing in the gloom.

The Autumn clung onto him like a life raft, the only source of stability in the swelling beneath her feet, and walking on autopilot, flung herself face-down across the sheets. She knew she had to burn this down before it sprouted, roots and all, and salt the ground to make sure he didn't get any wrong ideas, while she was still herself and could still say no. Kayla fought the pounding in her chest, curling her fingers into the blankets.

Was she allowed to be selfish?

As he was freed from the dead weight on his arms, Preston leaned heavy against the wall, gripping onto sealed edged and kicking the leather shoes from his feet - one at a time, wkth a few food shakes and a push from his toes, they went flying across the tiny room. "Fucking God damn, that's the sexiest thing I've seen all night," He murmured, eyes locking keenly on the large ass complimentary water bottle. He was quick to snap it open, chugging it through parched lips and holding it close as he fell back against the bed; the back of his knees giving in once they'd hit the matteess. The Autumn bounced down on his back beside the girl, all dumb grins and smiles. "Out already?", he laughed. "Weak."

He played the dumb tease over in his head, eyes drifting around as he treated himself to another sweet sip. You know, he'd thought, from where he was laying, it was easy to make out the other big ass - er, the dress was, fuck, it was a nice outfit. Or whatever. What was he even saying? Biting his lip and cold cutting his train of thought, he reached across for a pill

"Not a chance, dipshit..."

It set in like it always did. Leave the door cracked enough for one dark thought to flit through her thoughts, and it snowballed from there, spiraling, leaving her paralyzed in the bed beside him. He looked so happy and so oblivious. She knew she had to have looked the same a couple seconds before, what was with the sudden flip in mood? Was she bipolar or something? It was like flipping a switch. It felt shallow. That thin layer of bubbly, artificial happiness rinsed right off her like suds once she started letting all her worries pour.

She was drinking her problems away now. Fucking pathetic. Might as well give her a cigarette too, right? All she'd been doing for the past year, fuck, the past couple years, no, since before Beata and gifts and any of that, was try and ignore it all as best as possible. Shovel it over her shoulder, run and hide, outlast, survive. That lead weight in her chest was already dissolving, corrosion, and all of a sudden she felt jumpy, agitated, restless, wired, she needed to punch someone in the face.

For her it was like flipping through a storybook, silent frames, the explosive cocktail of emotions and contradictions stirring in her head with her skull as the shaker, and he probably didn't have the slightest idea what was happening. So it might have come as a shock. Shit, it shocked her. She didn't think about why or who or after, or... Fuck it, she just didn't think. It all bubbled over, swelling up her windpipe, a flood of rabid impulse that'd drown her if she didn't let it out.

Maybe it was just the alcohol, but she didn't think that far ahead.

"I hate you." Kayla crawled up onto her knees, grabbed him by the collar, and kissed him. There wasn't any tenderness to it, just a crash of lips, mashing her face to his. Her sloppy eyeliner streaked where black tears had started to roll down her cheeks. It wasn't this great hiss of pressure being released, like she'd always imagined, or this warm, glowing fireball the moment they touched. This was a train wreck in slow motion. She forgot to breathe.

He had no idea how close she'd been from killing him right there instead. For a second, she really considered still doing it.

Yeah, what else was new? Preston let the water fall out of his grasp, rolling to the floor with a distant thunk. He'd felt her pulling herself onto her knees, leaning over him and grabbing at his shirt, but he'd thought nothing of it. Maybe it had been his drunken stupor, or maybe he was just used to her acting like she was about to strangle him, or what the fuck ever; everything had happened so fast at once, and the last thing in the world he'd been expecting then was to feel her lips crashing in against his. He froze.

Maybe he saw it coming after all, but he refused to believe it. The two of them had spent years together. She was just some girl, or, had been some girl anyways. A kid. An annoyance. A little sister among the bazillion others he'd already had. A total bitch. She was always getting into fights, trying to beat his was, sometimes succeeding, going off somewhere, getting herself in trouble; making him help her. Fuck, making him need to help her. Having to chase her down and brush past whatever stealth rocks she'd managed to leave in her way. She was always so difficult to get close to. Even when they were alone, even when she was hurting, when she was obviously in pain. He'd tried to look away, mind his own business for so long. Preston had fucked up though. He'd fucked up and somewhere along the way, he started giving a shit, started to care for her, seriously care for her. Care enough to let her cruel words wash over him like water, to savor whatever tiny moment of sweet peace the two of them could manage, to have her name run through his mind on repeat, always. Where is Kayla? What would Kayla want to eat? Is Kayla even seeing him today?

Kayla. Kayla. Kayla.

He must have been a damn fool at that point, if he hadn't passed that line a while ago. Preston flew the world for her, bled for her, damn near died for her, and the most insane thing of all was that he fucking knew he'd do it all over again in a heartbeat if it meant they could go back to those dumb nights on the couch binge watching Pokemon and keeping close under the covers.

He'd thought about her kiss for so long. The young man had long since decided it'd never happen, that'd it would stay a fantasy in his mind. He wanted to protect her, and part of that, he knew, meant keeping a certain distance between them; no matter how often he'd been tempted to close it. Touching. Kissing. Shit, yes, sex. He knew deep down it did nothing to ease whatever void was left in his own heart, not really. Sharing that shame with her was never a real option. If they went on forever the way they were, it would have been alright with him. Or so he'd thought.

His hand reached out to grasp the one cuffed around his collar and he pulled himself up to meet her. She was shivering. She was crying. It felt like a million needles stabbing away at his chest, worse yet, he knew he couldn't do anything to stop it.

The words caught in his throat, sizzling like fire.

He'd wanted to say them for so long.

"I love you," he whispered.

He was an idiot. An asshole. The alcohol wasn't helping.

The thick blanket scrunched up in his free hand, clawing away at the sheets. He knew he'd regret this, but he couldn't stop himself, his grip tightening on hers.

"Kayla, I love you!"

He loved her. He loved her. He loved her. He loved her. Her head was spinning, her heart was racing, her heart was frozen in her chest, she wanted to slap him, or kiss him again, or something in-between. She didn't want him to see her this way, but she didn't want to let him go. If she let go, he might fly away, like paper in the wind. How would she be able to close her eyes if he might not be there.

"Shut up," she breathed through the tears. Her words were slurring. "That's not even my name, you fucking idiot." She kissed him again.

She loved him too. She just didn't know how to say it.

"Love you... Pikachu?"

He snickered breathlessly at himself. Ah, fuck. Even when his heart was pounding in his ears and his grip on hers was going numb, he was fucking hillarious. Preston hadn't even the time to wonder what the fuck she'd even meant. The only thing he could bring himself to focus on was the taste of her lips on his, the sharp tang of wine at the tip of his tongue when he pulled back for air. It tasted strange as shit, and it was heaven to him.

The Autumn left her little time to grasp for air, his hand leaving the bed and pushing up against her cheek, swiping away at her tears, holding her face close to his; for once in such a long time, he'd had no idea what he was doing, but he couldn't stop now. His other hand let go of hers, finding it's way to the small curve of her back.

He should have been ashamed, but that smile was creeping back on his face. God it was nice, so nice, to finally have her.

Wow, he was a fucking idiot. She let herself melt into the kiss, however that was supposed to work, too plastered out of her mind to worry about if she was doing it right, or if it was supposed to be this weird. Kayla gave his hands free reign to roam, folding into his grasp, fighting back sniffles and tears.

"Don't call me that," she hissed through her teeth. Her grip around his collar loosened, running gently down his chest. "I like when you say my name."

Kayla. Not Pikachu. Not K͜a̵t̷͞͡h҉͏é͏r̵͢͝i̴̛͘͘͟ǹ̴͘͢e̶. Kayla.

A breathless chuckle escaped him again, not expecting her words, nor her touch, to send the kind of chills down his spine that they did. Any decent response beyond that moment had been lodged in his throat. She was just so, so fucking stupid, and stubborn, and God fucking precious to him. He didn't expect her voice then to cut him the way that they did. Warmth had begun to flood his eyes, but he wasn't hurt. He was just, fucking feeling for her, or whatever - it was so much to take in. Shit. He didn't know. He didn't want to think on it anymore.

The young man stole another kiss away, his fingers clawing into the fabric of her dress. He was growing restless, brushing past her cheek, hand curling into the back of her neck. It took less than a second, or at least it'd felt as much, before he'd had then flipped around; pushing her head back against the poor mangled pillows.

Preston said the only thing he could, head far gone into the clouds. "Kayla," he choked. "You can't leave me either." He had to stop and fight back a sniffle. "Not ever... like fucking ever- ever. Okay?"

Her heart rocketed, stomach lurching as he pressed her against the sheets, and she didn't fight it. There was no way she could. This, or something like this, it's what she wanted, no matter how much she wanted to not want it. She'd always known she'd been lying to herself.

It was like he was trying to hurt her. Why did he have to say that? Out of all the stupid, cheesy shit he could've came up with, he had to say those exact words. She fought fresh tears, sniffing, giving him a hard stare between her shaking. What was she supposed to say? A part of her was so tempted to just lie. It'd be so easy to just force out one "okay," and that'd be it. Instead she just pulled him down to kiss him again, past words.