Morgan: A Lot Harder

[Non-explicit sexual content.]

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She was breathing hard, jaw tight as she huffed through her nose, eyes half-open. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he moved on top of her -- seemed like she could dig in as hard as she wanted and he wouldn't mind. He'd asked, *You good?* once but taken her word for it when she said, *Yeah, don't stop.*

And she *was* good -- it was real fucking good, yeah -- just that it was something fucking else, too. She shifted and groaned lowly in a dissatisfied way. It'd be great if she could just brush it aside and get off, kick him out, worry about it later -- but it seemed like step one wasn't happening, so step two was a bust. Wasn't like she felt threatened by the back thing, with her laying on her back, and he didn't have any weapons -- he'd shrugged and not caused a fuss about ditching them at the door. She didn't think she felt threatened at all, even with the recent mortality thing.

“Stop,” she panted, not urgent -- more fuckin’ defeated. “Stop. Stop.”

He had faltered on the first and pulled away by the second, drawing his weight up a bit and pulling his hand away from her. He blinked down at her, brow furrowed.

“Sorry. Uh.” He hesitated. “You all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm just --.” She scoffed and ran her hands over her face and through her hair, ruffling it in annoyance. At him, a little, but mostly herself. She closed her eyes. “Ugh.”

“Sorry,” he said again. He touched her face with the hand that hadn't been busy between her legs, all gently, like he was going to stroke her cheek or something.

She twitched away from it, eyes opening. “Hey. Don't fucking do that.”

“Sorry --.”

“Fuck, just get off me.” She pushed at him, and he started moving immediately, but she was already saying it again anyway. “Get off me.”

He drew back, stumbling to his feet and stepping away awkwardly. “Sorry, yeah, sorry.”

“Dear fucking Mask, do you do anything but apologize?” She covered her face again, making a frustrated sound.

There was a low grumble, and a rustling of clothes. She kicked one leg weakly -- she'd shoved one boot off and the pants off that leg, not bothering with the other, so her pants were just bunched up around her right ankle now. Had to look completely ridiculous. There wasn't going to be a dignified way to fix that problem.

She heard him sigh.

“Is there anything I can fuckin’ do, or …?”

“God, you're still here?” she said acidicly.

“C'mon, don't fucking do that.” His voice was low, and slightly -- maybe insulted or offended, but more hurt. Oh, for fuck's sake.

“Ugh,” she offered again, which wasn't telling him to get lost or anything. She waved her hand. "Don't be a fuckin' baby about it, just jerk yourself off and get over it."

"Hey."

She groaned in annoyance and shoved the heels of her hands into her eyes, but she still couldn't quite bring herself to tell him to fuck off. Motherfucker. She never should have had enough cider to think it was a good idea to pick him up in the first place -- she had to be more careful.

It wasn't like she felt like she was in danger, though. Shit, maybe that was the problem, actually.

The bed creaked as he dropped down onto it next to her. "If it's something I was doin', you can tell me, and I just won't fuckin' do it."

"It's not anything you were doing," she grumbled.

"Something I wasn't doing?" he tried.

"No. Fuck sake, man, it's not anything to do with you, all right?" She sighed out, hard, and wrenched herself up. Her head spun a bit, and she fumbled to get her other boot off and kicked away her pants, pulling her underwear back up, then flopped back down and covered her face with her hands.

He was quiet for a moment. "Listen, I'd fuckin' … y'know, normally I'd try to hold you or some shit, but I don't think you want me to, so I dunno what t'do here."

"Yeah, I sure the fuck don't."

Then they were both quiet, for a moment.

"You can just … leave," she said finally.

"You want me to?"

"Man, I don't -- I don't give a shit. Fucking go home and fuck your boyfriend or something." It came out nasty, because it was supposed to, and she felt kind of bad for it because he really hadn't done anything wrong.

He had that offended, hurt thing in his voice again. "All right."

And he pushed himself up, and got his gear from beside the door, and left, closing it behind him silently.

Morgan stared up at the ceiling, thinking about how she should lock the door, but she squeezed her eyes closed and rolled to curl up on her side instead, pressing her hands into her chest. Into her heart. She took a deep breath, then a shaky one; then she was crying, gritting her teeth together, fucking *hating* it.

Fucking Ysra. She wasn't supposed to goddamn miss him. Traitorous motherfucker. She was supposed to hate him, and she sure as hell did, but then she tried to screw some other big, quiet, gentle half-orc guy and he was all she could think about. Made her feel too goddamn safe, like she had minutes before she had been stabbed in the fucking back. And her body wouldn't even react right, and make her panic and give her flashbacks or some shit, like it did when someone touched her back.

It just flashed back to the good parts. The parts where Ysra was soft and gentle and touched her face, and laced his fingers between hers, and asked if she was okay. She missed it too painfully.

Hansel wasn't even that much like him. Ysra had been leaner, a little shorter but not much, still taller than Morgan -- he'd had this angular face and big sharp yellow eyes, long hair he kept pulled back and up. He'd smelled like soot and coconut oil. His hands were slender and they had calluses in different places from Hansel's. Two tusks, thin knife-like ones. God, he was fucking gorgeous, and she'd woken up next to him once in her life and seen his sleeping face and thought, *God, I'm in trouble. I fucked up. This is for real, now. It's for keeps.*

It hadn't been, though. Sure fucking hadn't been. Fucking Ysra. She cried until she was out of tears, because she wasn't supposed to fucking miss him -- he'd ruined her goddamn life. She didn't need someone to be soft and gentle and touch her face. She didn't fucking need anyone but herself.

But there was only one of her, now, and self-reliance was seeming a lot harder.