T.H. Mini Series

L.P; Something Stupid

The cigar is clenched firmly between his teeth, smoke curling up past his eyes which are intensely focused on the ball. You were surprised he'd agreed to the game; he never had much patience for them in the past. But now he seemed to be enjoying this drawn out foreplay, though you were loathe to think of it so.

He frowns slightly, readjusting his position before drawing the cue back and slamming it into the white ball. The ball rolls lazily towards the black ball, nudging it towards the hole but at the last minute it stops, hovering at the edge.

He curses low under his breath, standing up to look at you. That wretched curl dares you to twirl it around your finger, tempting you to be the one to initiate contact. Instead you saunter past him, doing your best to not brush against his crotch when he doesn't move.

"Excuse me" you breathe. He takes the cigar out of his mouth to blow the smoke upwards, smiling like the Devil himself.

You lean across the pool table, lining up your shot. His hand closes over yours as he presses himself close to you, face next to yours. The distinct shape and feel of his member presses squarely between your ass cheeks, sparking the fire that simmers in your core. You swallow audibly.

"Like this darling" he murmurs, drawing your arm back and shooting it forward to smack the ball, sending it pin-balling across the table. "Oops" he mumbles, hand tracing your spine.

"I believe that's called sharking" you murmur, turning to look at him.

It's a dangerous game you're playing. One that can only end in heartbreak. But you can't fight those eyes. Those very same eyes that now greedily drank in every inch of you, noting every slight change since they last saw you.

"I beg to differ. I was merely trying to help you"

"By making me lose faster?"

"Anything to get you out of that dress" he smirks, taking a long drag of his cigar as his other hand pulls you into him.

A tremor shivers through you and your breath hitches in your throat. Such wanton, open longing simmers in his eyes that you forget how to speak. When you do regain the power of speech, it is to say the three words that you had promised yourself you wouldn't say.

"Take me home"

**

The night air is cool against your skin as you walk beneath a blanket of stars, your mind racing in preparation for what is to come. The only sound is your footsteps, slightly out of time with each other. He holds your hand in his, fingers entwined as he quietly sings to himself, voice barely audible.

I practice every day to find some clever lines to say to make the meaning come true.

Your heart twists in your chest as he pauses underneath a street lamp to pull you into him, eyes meticulously studying every facsimile feature of your face.

But then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late and I'm alone with you,

Oh no...

The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and, oh, the night's so blue

Don't say it, please don't.

He smiles, reaching out to brush his knuckles against your cheek. The street lamp forms a halo around his head, making him appear angelic. But no angel ever looked quite this devastatingly beautiful.

And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like 'I love you'

He presses his lips into yours and, despite your sinking heart, you kiss him back.

You wouldn't remember much from the rest of the walk home, bar him continuing to hum, only singing "I love you" softly under his breath.