There's going to be only one more part after this one, and at first I intended for this one to just be one long chapter, but I decided against it in the end. The first four parts (with the exception of part four) have been written from Keira's P.O.V, and the last one will be written from the author's P.O.V. I thought that would be most fair, since the last one will be an intense chapter and I think you will need to read both of the character's thoughts.

Title: Angel Food
Fandom: RPS
Rating: PG-13/R
Pairing: Johnny/Keira
Disclaimer: Look, all I know is, I write. I am me. I don't speculate, I write fiction. I don't have any cash, either, so forget that part about sueing me and please find something else to kill time with! Thanks.
Summary: Where things are about to get out of control
Feedback: I needzzz it, I wantzzz it! Oops, other fandom. LOL.



Angel Food



If the mattress was a table top
And the bed sheet was a page
We'd be written out
Like a couple of question marks
My convex to your concave
We'd be lying here
At the end of a sentence
That asks

Are you ready now
Are you gonna glow in the dark
Are you gonna show me how?
---Ani DiFranco – Angel Food

She liked to write. More or less about things that meant something to her, but she usually ended up writing about things she’d been through herself, in her diary. It was something she’d been doing ever since she got her first boyfriend, just to make sure that it was real and to remember what he was like. She used to make lists of their freckles, their curves, what kind of underwear they wore and, later, how they pleasured her in her bed.

She would try to describe, the best she could, the way they looked at her or what kind of goose bumps they gave her. The ones that were not frequent but excited her into a haze of pleasure, or the ones that came easily but never lasted long.

And she would keep a count on the years that were between them. Was he older, or younger? Was he more experienced, did he teach her the very first tricks to seduction, was he clumsy or refined? Or did he turn out to be self-absorbed; just conscious of satisfying his own desires?

However, the day she turned nineteen she found the little notebook under her bed, it having been abandoned a long time ago. And it somehow filled her with nostalgic feelings when she picked it up to put it away in a more proper place, only to abandon it again.

And it was now that she had to think of the stupid thing again. When he was standing before her, and she couldn’t say anything that wouldn’t sound stupid, even though it would’ve been the most normal thing to question him as to why in the hell he was there. Here, where she was, standing in a women’s restroom, staring into her eyes in such a way that she felt a deep longing forming in her lower abdomen, and with him effectively trapping her between her own revealing thoughts and his unrevealing ambiguity.

Yes, she thought now; he’s ambiguous.

A Gemini.

Two different faces.

And what was she supposed to be? Aries; strong and confident, not conquered easily, big ego, independent? The more she thought about it the more she realized that right now, she was none of those things. His mask had gone off in the time between when he handed her the tissue and when he cornered her between the door and his own body, and she had witnessed a transformation she’d only seen once before: when he kissed her right after shooting.

“Let me take you home. You can barely walk.”

She would never understand his ability to switch from one extreme to the other. And pretend that nothing had happened.

Just like when they were out on the street, and she stumbled in front of him out of embarrassment, and he let her, pretending not to notice.

God, she’d been drinking far too much. What would he think of her now? That she was some stupid twenty something, unable to face the grown up world she had been thrown in far too fast in her young life, and unable to keep her feelings in check towards a man who was almost twice her age?

When she remembered he kissed her, too. Kissed her back.

Her lips curled into a barely-there smile, when he finally had had enough of trailing behind her like an obedient dog and started to walk next to her. When her foot caught on a loose tile, and he caught her just before she could fall, she felt as if she could just explode from his nearness.

He was confusing her so. He wanted her, yet not. He kissed her, yet not. He let her believe that they shared something, anything, and then he didn’t even invite her to dinner. Talking about dinner, where had Orlando been, anyway?

“Why didn’t you invite me?” The second she said this, she regretted it. She sounded like an immature girl, whining because she hadn’t been invited to her best friends’ party.

His features were radiating calmness when she forced herself to face the consequence of having to look him straight in the eye while she waited for his answer.

“You mean the dinner I had planned with Orlando this evening, the one he told you about?”

She opened her mouth in shock, not believing that Orlando could’ve mentioned the dinner to her on purpose while knowing she hadn’t been invited.

“Yes, I do happen to believe that I mean that dinner, yes.” Her voice held a cocky tone, just to put up some defense, just to keep some control over the situation she found herself in.

“Fair enough.”

His eyes twinkled with something indefinable for a moment, before she saw him reach into the back pocket of his jeans and fish out a self-rolled cigarette.

“I didn’t invite you because,” he paused for a moment to inhale the first drag, then turned to look at her “it didn’t seem like a great idea to put Orlando between your confused feelings and my, yes, how to put it,” a tiny smile formed upon his lips when he looked her straight in the eye “unconfused ones.”

She really didn’t know how to respond to his sudden honesty. Why was he doing this now, when she was so drunk she could barely think straight? Maybe it was because of that fact he found it easier to have this conversation with her.

“Tell me Keira,”

His voice had a resolute edge to it that almost made her trip again, and she was sure that now the time had come he was going to ask her what she expected from him. Love, comfort?

“Since when do you drink as if your life depends on it?”

Well, she certainly hadn’t expected that.

Well, ever since you decided that you would keep me on a string and tug on it every once in a while, only to release me again. But of course she wasn’t going to say that.

“Well, I never drink as much as I did tonight. I guess those were just good cocktails.”

A twitch of his lips let her know that he’d heard her and was processing the info.

“Why do you pretend to be so interested in what I do, anyway? I mean, when it’s crystal clear you’re not interested at all since you don’t even want to have dinner with me. And of course, let’s not forget the fact that you think you are too old for me, as you said so yourself. You’re ‘Methuselah and I’m a toddler’, right? Well, Methuselah did happen to kiss a toddler and even ended up liking it.”

She snapped at him, proud of herself for being able to put up a fight against her own infatuation.

However, she was rewarded with a soft laugh from his side, which made her even more angry. He didn’t take her seriously, at all.

In fact, it made her so angry that she stalked the last few steps up to her apartment and tried to open the door as fast as she could, so that she could just slam it in his face at the last moment and leave him to deal with his own arrogance.

It was not to be, however.

He was too fast for her and just as she was about to close it he put his foot between the door so that she couldn’t.

The action made her sober up very quickly.

“Look, I don’t know what you want, or what your intentions are. I just know that this isn’t work—“

She was cut off by his mouth on hers.

But just because she felt sober all of a sudden didn’t necessarily mean she was, and in the unexpected moment in which he pushed open the door, kissed her, and closed it again, she stumbled backwards and fell onto the couch that stood not too far away from her front door.

In an instinctive reaction she’d reached out for him, and so they were now both sprawled upon the couch, with him still hovering above her, inhaling a deep breath of air into his lungs.

“Do you happen to know how old Methuselah was when he died?”

Confusion appeared on her face as she was breathing loudly, unable to keep it under control.

“No.”

“969 years old. Do you think that there was a woman anywhere in the world who was even close to his age?”

And right after he said that his mouth swept over hers again, this time more aggressive than before. She felt that he was losing control and she didn’t know who was supposed to be the responsible one, here, because she sure as hell wasn’t able to control herself either. His mouth was forcing her head back into the couch, their tongues battling for domination.

She tried to force herself to stop, but found the more the kiss intensified, the more she felt the urge to run her hands down his back, his chest, everywhere she could just to make sure that, again, it was real. That it was really happening.

It was just unfair. She was drunk for God’s sake.

He broke away after a few minutes of kissing and buried his face into her shoulder, trying to catch his breath. His body was crushing hers, but she didn’t mind at all. All she could think about was his lips on hers just a few seconds ago, and how soft they’d felt, and how she wanted more than just a kiss from him. She wanted so much more. In her head she just knew it wasn’t right, when she saw him stand up, saw him kneel in front of her, and felt him take her face into his hands, only to put his lips to hers again.

But, my God.. I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want him to stop.



TBC...