It's too bright to be morning is the first thought I have as my mind hovers in the hazy place between sleep and wakefulness. It's immediately followed by the sensation of cool sheets against my bare skin and a warmth at my side. Shit. I guess it wasn't just some ridiculously vivid dream. God, why am I such a disaster? It shouldn't have happened, not the first time and certainly not the two other times after that but even as I think it I can't summon an ounce of regret. We're two consenting adults, I'm sure we can be mature about this. Right, just like how you were both so mature about the kiss last time… that thought leaves a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
The kiss was one thing; I was with Connor, Dastan and I were arguing, emotions were running high. We could write that off as nothing more than a physical response. This, however, is very different. He came to me, he gave me an out and I didn't take it. Damn it, waking up is going to be the most awkward experience of my life.
"Stop thinking so loud, would you?" Dastan's sleep-rough voice cuts through the silence of my bedroom. I start at the sound, having not realized he was awake, and then feel absolutely ridiculous. It's not like we haven't done this before, I shouldn't be this jumpy.
Attempting to school my voice into some version of unfazed, I pull the sheets higher on my body and say in my most collected voice; "I'm not." The look he gives me tells me he isn't even slightly convinced by that pathetic performance. So, I surrender to the panic, knowing he'll understand.
"What happened last night can't ever happen again." I blurt out, just as he's opening his mouth to say something. He freezes, mouth still slightly ajar and turns his eyes to me. I refuse to make eye contact, instead staring diligently ahead at my dresser. I hear him huff a sardonic breath, and catch the movement of him pulling himself up into a seated position against the pillows.
"What if I want it to happen again?" he asks, causing my eyes to snap to him. The moment they do I realize what a bad idea that was ; there he is sitting in my bed completely naked, ruffled from sleep and… other things, with the sheet draped loosely around his lower half. He looks like some ancient depiction of hedonism personified. Even with my mind half distracted by the way he looks, the other half is halving a full-blown meltdown over the thought of doing this again. In the light of day, even though I don't regret it, I can see how this might not be the best thing for us. "Christ, breathe, would you? That wasn't some big confession of my undying love for you."
"Of course, I know that." I say defensively, even as I feel my cheeks heating with embarrassment. I feel like some inexperienced little girl and I don't know what to do with myself. Figuring I should probably put some distance and clothes between us, I get out of bed and make my way to the dresser to pull on a shirt. His gazes blazes against my bare skin and I resolutely ignore it as I scrounge through my drawers.
Dastan clears his throat, and I hear the ruffling of sheets behind me as he speaks. "What I meant was what if we just stopped pretending like this thing between us wasn't there?" I pause midway through pulling an old t-shirt over my head and look back at him. He's already watching me, his eyes very pointedly locked on my face. My heart leaps into my throat, he can't really mean that, can he? No, surely not. I mean that's what led us here, he has to know it would only end horribly.
"What, like, date?" I ask, turning away from the intensity in his gaze and busying myself with searching for a pair of pants." We tried that remember? It didn't work."
"No, I don't date." He responds immediately, something disdainful in his tone that has me glancing back at him. He runs a hand through his tousled hair and unbidden my mind drifts to how it felt to run my fingers through the silk-fine strands last night. I shake off the thought and give him a questioning look. "So, we just don't put a label on it."
"Your father would kill us if he ever found out," I argue, hoping that maybe if I remind him we aren't the only people we have to consider here he might see sense. My attempt is half-hearted at best, I want him. I've always wanted him but that doesn't make it okay and I have to be the reasonable one here apparently
"He's too busy running down every scrap of information he finds on the Hell's Kitchen Hacker." Dastan says, brushing off my concern with a dismissive hand as he too gets out of bed. I avert my eyes as the sheet falls off his body and feel my skin burn with molten heat.
"I don't know, Dastan. What happened last night can't happen again." I say. The sound of his bare feet padding across the hardwood of my bedroom floor until he comes to a stop behind me. Reaching out and grabbing the hem of my shirt from where it falls at the middle of my thighs, he uses his hold to turn my body toward himself. My breath stalls in my chest, and I have to remind myself to keep on breathing. I don't know what he's doing but I know I wouldn't stop him if he kissed me again. As that thought strikes, I cast a glance at his lips but quickly look away, lest he get the wrong idea about the message I'm trying to get across here.
"Look were both grown ups, we both want this… what's the problem?" he asks, raising a brow on challenge. The problem is that I can't be with you and not love you, I don't say that. Instead I just look back at him, hoping he can read it in my expression. He must know, and yet as his eyes dart between mine I get the distinct feeling that I should tell him. I have the strangest urge to put a voice to the fear, I know he'll understand but I don't want him to have that knowledge. A part of me still worries that he can never truly forgive me for everything that's happened between us and he'd use it against me. So, I don't say anything at all because I don't have a good answer and when he starts to lean in, I stay silent. Watching, waiting, hoping; until his lips descend upon mine. It's sweet and tender and nothing like the way he kissed me last night. This kiss tastes like familiarity and regret and a long history. It's too intimate and I can't handle that.
I pull away from him harshly, before I can get sucked into the caress of his fingers against the nape of my neck. Planting my hands firmly on his bare chest, right above the swirling lines of black ink. His eyes are glazed over and confused but I wait until they meet mine to say; "You want to do this, we play by my rules." And then I run my hands up into the hair at the back of his neck, baby soft against my fingers and pull his body into mine crashing our mouths together.
We'd do this, but I wasn't letting my heart get involved again and I wouldn't break his again either. We'd play his game but there'd be some new rules.