tangled up in blue

12

michelle pfeiffer- ethel cain

AN- here's some sexy action for u to keep you happy- even though im literally a 17 year old virgin. but tbh, i used to write smut in church when i was like 14, so ive pretty much always needed an exorcism (: enjoy lol

Jace

I hadn't actually expected Noah to come into my room. Obviously, we were joking. He was just joking.

But still, a part of me had hoped. And it fucking terrified me.

I don't know what I'd expected, or what I would have done if he had showed up- but I knew that sending those texts, even if they were just a mindless back and forth, had done something strange to me. I let girls touch me all the time just so I could feel something, and it wasn't bad- but it wasn't special either.

If one thing was for sure, though, I'd never been more turned on than I was then. After making dick jokes. With Noah fucking Quinn.

It was beyond me why I'd decided to flirt with him in the first place. I was straight, but even so, straight friends flirtatiously joking with each other wasn't abnormal. But we weren't friends. Not in the slightest. He and I despised each other, and yet, he'd flirted back. And I'd actually enjoyed it.

After sitting alone for minutes that felt more like hours, asking myself just what I was waiting for, I headed into the shower between our rooms. I had to fix my... problem. It made no sense, me being hard. I didn't want to touch it and admit that it was real, but even the hot water and soothing red lights couldn't block out a certain pair of innocent blue eyes. I braced my hands against the tiled wall, letting my hair plaster across my forehead, wet. Fuck, I hated him. I hated him, I hated him, I hated him.

And in thoughts of hating him, and ruining him, and touching him, I let my hand slide between my legs. I wrapped my fingers around my length and slowly started to move, up and down and up and down. And with every painfully blissful movement, shame and guilt and confusion flowered like a flame in my chest; but lust smothered them with its body, laying itself over my heart and tipping its head back in unison with mine.

My neck outstretched, I tugged faster, imagining that smaller, softer hands were the ones turning me into a moaning wet mess under the stream of water. Pleasure. The hot and heavy kind, running through my veins like it was molten, and I panted as I flicked a thumb over my leaking tip. I imagined he was there, enveloped in the steam with me, caressing his hands all over my body and calling me names that made my mind burn white. I pictured I was running my hands through his dripping, raven curls, dragging my tongue and teeth over his pulse like some lust crazed vampire, sinking myself into him and marking my territory. I wanted to punish him, to let him know that he was mine. I fucking detested the fact that I was thinking of him. But there he was, alive in my mind like a disease I didn't want to cure.

In my mind, Noah moaned underneath my body, digging his nails into my shoulders and arching his back. I thought about him wrapping his tongue around me, eyes boldly trained on mine. I could almost feel my fingers slipping between his legs, and then my firm length, and the gasp that he would make when I slammed forward and hit that spot inside him. Thighs shaking, he'd have my hair in his hands. Riding, riding, riding-

"Noah," I moaned, as I furiously stroked. I punched the wall as the pressure started to build, not caring about the pain. The thought of him was far more painful, and a wound I wore often. He made me angry- so fucking angry. I wasn't even gay, yet there he was, dirty and soaking behind the red steam of my imagination. "Fucking Noah."

All I saw was his slim, pale form, thick hair and dark eyelashes framing that damn, sea blue gaze. He was my favourite color. I wanted to drink him up. I wanted to feel his hands in places that no one else dared touch, and I wanted to make him unholy.