Damn, He Can't Compare

8. the act of love

June 16th, 1986. Roland's house. 1:44 P.M.

I caught a cab across town to Roland's house, nobody knew I'd be going there, not even him. For the last week or two, he's been the only thing on my mind, and I needed to make it clear to him it was over.

I trudged up the front porch steps, and found my hand stuck on the door knob, but I wouldn't move. I just stood there overthinking everything until I change my mind and begin to walk off the porch again.

I turn my head as Roland opens the door, and comes forwards, he stands slant against the wooden beam at the top of the steps. He can see in my eyes I've been waiting, I'm struck by his cold stare, "I never thought of finding you here." He says.

And I say, "I've come here to end it."

He plays it, acting like he has no idea what I'm speaking of, "End what?"

I begin to ramble, "What happened the other day, I didn't mean anything by it." he refuses to understand, "Whatever, call it what you want for all I care. It's over. I'm married to Curt."

He gives me an agreement look, then sighs lightly, knowing it's not that easy, "It wasn't nothing." He says, "It definitely wasn't nothing." He repeats. I wanted to rebuttal his words, I couldn't find anything to say, I just look at him dumbfounded.

The corner of his eyes creased slightly, I found myself loosen up a bit, as if the tension had evaporated into thin air. That's when I realised his gaze was holding me ransom, I couldn't feel my arms anymore. Defenceless I follow him inside, he closes the door behind us.

I found myself, weak in his arms. Our mouths never creased contact, as he carries me into the bedroom. We had already left a trail of clothing through the house. I become trapped under the weight of his body on the mattress. All my senses were gone, it was just him I was feeling now.

His body quickly ravenous, forces himself into me, pushing my body up under his more. A deep heated moan fell out, our skin stuck together, as he started thrusting in a steady pace. 

I whined, gripping my arms around his torso and digging my nails into his back for a grip. The faster he became, the more my body lost control, and the longer the trail of scratches grew.

"Fuck." he hissed out, gripping the pillow next to my head so hard that his knuckles turned white. His body twitched hard, while his chest tenses up as he spills himself into me. It was all over in less than three minutes. 

He pants exhaustively, crawling from me and collapsing onto the mattress. His warn out breathing filled the room just as much as the guilt did. We slipped asleep straight after, not even speaking about anything.

I wake up in his bed a couple of hours later, I didn't look at him, but I could feel the heat where he lays. My forehead burnt up and I found myself growing a thick rage inside. I sat up in bed, before swinging my legs over and jumping out.

I didn't waste time and threw my clothes back on. Before leaving I walk up to the sleeping Roland and slap him straight across the face. He jilts awake in shock, as I stormed out of the house, cursing, "I fucking hate you!" the hot tears swelled down my cheeks, almost burning them as I leapt off the porch.

What had I done? I raced home in another taxi, with a trace of guilt of my tongue, the taste of him still in my mouth. There wasn't any coming back from this. The band was about to embark on a six month tour, all close together, how will I manage to keep this from Curt. 

A/N: I don't like writing graphic smut, so I make it very mild, sorry.