Ok y'all, so...here's a rough-draft kinda attempt at a fic based on the first part of a prompt by @my-little-wraithlings about Rebbeca and Renfield having sex to get him comfortable with intimacy again and it being awkward. (I might follow up with a part 2 later or I might not. I should probably post this on AO3 sometime too but *shrugs*.) I've never written anything at all smutty before so...here goes nothing. It gets a bit shippy in places because I do like them as more than friends. I'm a die-hard hopeless romantic so I suspect any attempt at smut is gonna end up kinda couplesy from me, especially on a first attempt. That deviates from the prompt a bit but I tried to reel it in more or less.
Rebecca and Robert just stare at one another for a while.
"Right so. What do we...how do we start?" He finally asks.
"I mean you have um...done this before right?"
"Yes. I just..."
They both laugh nervously.
"Yeah, no. I know what you mean."
"Um. I guess we should probably be naked."
"Oh, yes. Right." Robert pulls his sweater over his head and folds it before undressing the rest of the way. He sets everything neatly on the bedside table. Rebecca just lets her clothes fall to the side of the bed haphazardly. Robert picks them up and begins folding them.
Rebecca frowns a little but lets him set them aside. For a guy whose apartment is as chaotic as it is, he can actually be kind of a neat-freak when it comes to making sure everything is in its place. It's probably fine. Everything is probably fine. She sits down on the bed. He's looking at her now. Like he's waiting for something.
"You okay, dude?"
"Yeah. I think so. Why wouldn't I be?"
"I dunno, you're kinda...freezing up on me."
"Right. Yeah. Sorry."
They lie side by side on the bed, facing one another. Rebecca leans forward a little and kisses him. This is so weird. Not bad, but definitely weird. Nice weird? He kisses her back easily, following her lead. His lips are slightly open, like an invitation, so Rebecca flicks her tongue against the inside of his mouth.
The kiss deepens and Rebecca finds herself leaning over him, shifting to be on top of him. She rolls her hips, getting into it. Robert's hands are by his sides. He's barely moving.
Rebecca leans back up, giving him space. "We don't have to do this, if it's too weird or you don't feel like it or whatever. Y'know?
Robert frowns in confusion, "Do...you not want to do this anymore?"
"No I do." Rebecca lets her eyes wander over the man underneath her. "I definitely do."
Robert smiles a little.
"You just seemed...I dunno I mean you don't seem very...into it, I guess. So. Y'know. We could always just watch bad tv and throw popcorn at the screen like normal or whatever."
"I'm fine." Robert assures her.
"Okay so...um...maybe we should take a step back? What...I mean...shit this is awkward. How can this be...less weird?"
"Did I do something wrong?" His voice isn't outwardly quiet or nervous but it's flat and toneless and his eyes are doing the...the fucking thing.
"Shit. Fuck. No, you didn't do anything wrong. That's...the whole point is for you to get comfortable with this stuff so like...what makes you comfortable?"
He sits up and folds his knees close to his chest. He's quiet for a moment. "I don't know. I mean if I knew..."
"Right. Okay. So what should we avoid doing?" Rebecca tries.
"Um...nothing too intense? I mean we still have the pitcher in the fridge if we really need it but I definitely would prefer to avoid that. I guess if this is really about getting me comfortable it'd be best to avoid pain in general...definitely no blood." He's in his own little world at this point, blissfully unaware of the look Rebecca is staring at him with. He's smiling slightly.
"Shit. Okay. Now I think I need a minute." She says when it seems like he's done talking. She takes a few deep breaths. This is...this is raising questions that she doesn't really want answered. She's starting to worry that this is answering questions she doesn't really want answered.
When she's feeling a little more steady she says, "Why don't I try something and you can tell me what you think?"
He nods and leans back again. She maneuvers herself over him and leans down to kiss him again. "Kissing alright?" She double checks.
"Yeah."
She kisses him gently, starting at his mouth and moving down along his jaw, lifting back up and pressing kisses against his chest, running her hands across his body, watching for reactions she can go off of.
Certain motions get a soft smile that definitely seems positive. For example, a wavelike motion pressing their bodies together. She doubles down on that and he whimpers slightly. She's about to ask if it's a good noise or a bad noise (If it's a bad noise she is going to feel so, so guilty about the feelings it's giving her) when he asks, slightly breathlessly "Is it alright if I move too?"
"Yeah" Rebecca nods, "Yeah of course"
They roll against one another and smile, making noises somewhere between panting and nervous or relieved laughter.
They should take it slow, tonight, obviously, not go all the way.
Hesitantly, Rebecca moves her hand down between them and presses against him. The noise he makes is so sudden and wounded that she immediately pulls back. "Still okay?"
"Very." He nods a little. Oh. Okay. She returns her hand to its place and strokes him, it's a long, steady motion, then back up, pressing at a place just beneath the head that draws out more of those not-quite-hurt whimpering sounds.
"Can I?" He asks. She's not sure exactly what he's asking but-
"Yeah." His own hand runs over her body and down between her legs, running his fingers in gentle circles. He finds her clit and her own motions stutter. She forces herself to focus, to not stop moving. His own movements barely waver, even as his breath comes in shorter and shorter gasps, and he's wriggling against the pillows.
Everything is rushing inside her now and Rebecca twitches against him.
He's relentless now, latched on to her reactions and she's not sure how it happens but she's half moved half fallen off of him back beside him. She reaches out for him again but before she can touch him she's lost in a hot sliding rush of sensation.
"Shit" She says when she's more or less recovered and reaches for him again.
He falls back onto the pillows, face contorting as Rebecca returns to the motions. He's...whispering something.
"Still okay?" She checks.
He nods, eyes closed, and Rebecca steadies her grip, setting a slightly faster pace, spreading a bit of precum over him to ease the friction.
She actually sees the way his face completely relaxes and slackens before she feels the warm sticky feeling spurt over her hand.
She lets go and lays down on his chest, listening as his heart-beat returns to normal. He nuzzles against her, hiding his face in the crook of her shoulder and she runs a hand up and down along his back.
"You're so warm," he says, voice content, and soft and reverent and trembling slightly.
Her clean hand combs through his hair. "So...that go okay?"
He nods against her, still snuggled close.
"This is the best, though." He admits.
"What, cuddling?"
Another nod.
"Okay, great. Then let's cuddle the shit out of you."
He laughs softly and she maneuvers them into a slightly more comfortable position.
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Every conversation with my mother follows the same structure.
It begins with an unrelated topic.
Which leads into an admission of emotion. I make it with baited breath, wondering if this time is going to be different. If this time, promises will be kept.
The admission leads to a broken promise. Because she does not listen. Not properly. Instead it becomes a recollection of her childhood. Of my sister's life. Of everyone's pain but mine.
I try to steer us back on course. For once the air in the room is for me. I am not going to waste it untangling the web of someone else's hurt.
She does not let me. She gets defensive. The blame shifts to me.
I remind her that I am a child, not a parent.
I tell her that sometimes, your best is not good enough. I do not tell her that she was the one who taught me that first. I tell myself that next time I will. (Since every time is the same, I won't.)
Something in her face tells me she might finally understand what I'm saying.
But then she lowers her gaze and presents she does not see.
And since children imitate their parents before anyone else, I do the same.
I tell myself I won't ever end up in that situation again. I say to myself that I will avoid all of those minefields because there are things I will not say to her and there are truths she cannot accept.
A few days, weeks, months, later, a conversation starts.
It is about an unrelated topic.
I leave wanting to scream until she realises how imperfectly everything has turned out. I don't.
every conversation with my mother is like watching a film that follows the same plot as every other one the network aired
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