R. Lilley - Rock Bottom

His breath punched out of his lungs in a powerful whoosh. “Fuck.”

I never stopped touching his spectacular body as I took him in my mouth.

I moaned at the delicious feel of his tip slipping past my lips, the hard velvet heat of him between my lips making moisture pool between my thighs. I stroked him with my mouth, my throat, savoring every thick, turgid inch of him that I could take, bobbing my head.

He gripped my hair hard enough to sting, cursing, praising, and as he pushed deep enough to make me gag, apologizing profusely. I never stopped, sucking in hard pulls, taking as much of him as I could handle.

He never was one to last long for a blowjob, and he was cursing as warm liquid shot down my throat less than two minutes after I’d taken him in my mouth.

He was also never one to be selfish, and so he had me on my back on the bed, skirt up, panties down, working me with his clever, busy tongue, and those magic, rapid fingers.

I doubted I lasted two minutes.

I was still panting from my orgasm when he crawled on top of me, his hips sliding between my thighs. He took me languidly, leisurely, whispering sweet somethings in my ear.

“I love you too,” I told him, kissing his neck, when we’d finished.

He reared back, cupping my face in his hands. “It’s one thing to be jealous in the present. That I can handle. But this fixation on who I used to be, on things I can’t go back in time and change, this I can’t take, especially when you’re using it to belittle what you and I have.

“Just do me this favor, sweetheart. Quit comparing what we have to anything I’ve had before, or anything you’ve had before. You and me, we’re different. This is different. More.”

I nodded, kissing him. There was no question; it was incalculably more for me.

DANIKA

Every single time he came back from L.A., be it days or weeks after he’d left, it felt like the distance between us had gotten just a little bit bigger. It killed me, and I obsessed constantly over ways to change it.

“How is it going over there?” I asked him, as I often did.

It was a very casual question that was not at all casual for me.

“It’s a rough fucking scene. The album is getting done, but not fast enough. Dean and Kenny aren’t getting along. Hell, all of us are pretty much fighting constantly. Drugs are going around like candy, and I’m drinking Jack for breakfast.”

“You need to take better care of yourself,” I chided him, feeling sick to my stomach.

He gave me a rueful smile. “Yes, I do. And if I really wanted to do what’s best for myself, I’d never leave your side. I’d just stay here and never go back.”

I felt selfish for asking, but I couldn’t keep it in. “So why do you keep going back?”

“I don’t know what else to do. For better or worse, this is the only thing that gives me direction in my life right now. Otherwise, I’d just be following you around like a lovesick puppy every day.”

I wanted to shake him and tell him that I didn’t care about that. He could follow me forever. I didn’t care if he worked. I’d take care of him. Anything he needed, I’d try to provide.

But I knew him better. He had too much pride to ever let me do that.

While the emotional gap between us seemed to build, our wild craving for each other never waned, just becoming more desperate with every reunion. Sex was never, ever the problem for us. But it also wasn’t enough, not on its own. But sometimes, occurring more and more often, it felt like it might be all we had.

He would come to me strung out, and uncommunicative, serious and unsmiling. Where had all those easy, readable smiles gone? Nowadays, I had to work for his smiles, and it was killing me.

“I can feel you slipping away from me,” I’d say, or, “What can I do to make you feel better?” Often, in fact, most times, that would draw him out of it, and if he spent a few days with me, he was more sober than not and never partook in anything harder than liquor.

But he was with me less and less.

It had become a pattern; waiting for Tristan. He was always late, never rushing to see me anymore.

The fight started because of one drink too many, as they tended to be these days.

We were planning on going to go to a Halloween party at Cory and Kenny’s apartment. Tristan was supposed to pick me up at Bev’s house, but he was two hours late, and I wound up going to pick him up.

He was passed out on his bed, lights out. With the hallway light flooding in from behind me, I could see that he was wearing an Iron Man costume T-shirt.

I’d gotten dressed up in costume, and was all set to go out, but one look at him and I gave up. He’d obviously had a rough week, and come to think of it, so had I. Just as well to get some rest, and hopefully spend some time together in the morning.

I went to use the bathroom, and when I came back out, he was up, leaning against the wall, the lights on. He looked tired, but awake at least.

He studied me, his eyes hooded. “What kind of a costume is that?”

I was wearing a pink wig with a ninja headband, and a little red kimono. I thought it was a great costume.

I did a little twirl for him on my ninja sandals. “I’m Sakura.”

“What the hell is a Sakura?”

I fluffed at my wig. “Well, sakura means cherry blossom in Japanese, but what I’m dressed as is the character Sakura from Naruto. She’s a cute little ninja with pink hair.”

“What the hell is Naruto?”

I rolled my eyes. “Only the most popular anime like ever. Cute little blond fox boy with a tragic past that has mad ninja skills? You’ve seriously never heard of it?”

“Never.”

“Shut the front door! That’s the next show on our list!”

“Yeah, no, that ain’t happening. I don’t watch cartoons.”

“It’s an anime. It’s good. There’s action, love, tragedy. A lot of tragedy. Poor Naruto loses both of his parents when he’s a baby, and his whole village shuns him. And then his best friend joins the Akatsuki, this evil shinobi gang. Oh, and there are so many characters that it’s virtually impossible to keep track.”

“Not selling it, sweetheart. And I won’t even ask what the hell a shinobi is. Well, you look adorable, even if I’m still not sure what you are. Let’s go check out this stupid party.”

“We don’t have to. You look really tired. Why don’t we just stay in? Catch up on sleep.”

He shook his head, looking resigned. “No. I said I’d go, and Dean will be relentless if I miss it. He’ll say you made me stay home again.”

I hated that Tristan still cared so much what that jerk thought about him. About us. Dean was like a slow acting poison, the effect he had on the people around him getting stronger and more apparent over time.

“So what? Don’t you get that he’s going to instigate and talk trash and try to make us both look bad? That’s what he always does, and you’re a sucker for falling for it after all this time.”

He held a hand up, looking annoyed. “Enough. I don’t want to hear it. We don’t need to go over this again. Let’s just go to the party.”

I dropped it. I knew that tone. He was not to be messed with at the moment.

He grabbed his Iron Man mask off the bed, and we took off for the costume party.

If I’d hoped the party would draw him out of his mood, it was not meant to be. He snagged a drink the second we walked in the door, though I could tell he’d been drinking long before I’d shown up at his place.

Still, I held my tongue at the first drink. The second one that Dean passed to him, I intercepted, trying and failing to be subtle about it.