Title: Windows, doors
Info: Degrassi, Emma/Snake, post-Another Brick in the Wall. NC-17.
Emma knows how to keep a secret. Its something that no one really had to teach her, she just feels it inside of her like a drug. It fuels her, makes her high. Holding the words inside of her.
So after the fifth time Snake insists that there was nothing going on between him and Darcy, she just shakes her head, slides her hand across the back of his neck and says “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t care for you to believe?”
But he stiffens and shakes his head. Its not going to be this easy, she knows this. She knows from experience, from living with him. From seeing him with her mother, from seeing him with her. But now it’s different.
Her mother is gone, off at Grandma’s with Jack, and Emma just wants Snake to feel alright again. She wants to tell him to shut up. Tell him to stop making her breakfast, stop flipping the channels. She’ll say:
“Look at me instead. I don’t care about what happened with Darcy, or what didn’t happen with Darcy. I don’t care about mom, or Jack or school or anything like that. Don’t think about you or me or what the rules are. Just look. Look.”
And for once, he does.
He sees her mile-long legs disappearing into short pajama shorts, slinky top curving to all the right places, and he doesn’t want to, because isn’t that what this is all about, proving that he doesn’t feel this way?
She knows him too well, she knows he isn’t just going to give in.
So she gives in for him. She washes the dishes that he makes dirty with cooking and after they’ve sated that hunger, they fall into the couch, her body tucked into his and she feels it, he can’t deny now, because she feels his body respond to her.
She knows now that he’s been watching all along, that he’s heard the words she hasn’t said. “Look at me”.
Snake grabs for the remote and flips off the television, scrambling away from her, his arousal evident even now, and he mumbles an excuse. “Getting late,” he says, and she watches his mouth. He’s kissed her mother with that mouth, touched her with those fingers.
And where is her mother now? Gone? Emma snorts, shakes her head. “Come on, Snake. You know its only 7.” But she stands too, tosses the blanket down. She doesn’t need it anymore. She can feel the heat rising through her.
He’s told her to be strong, and now, when he can’t be, she’ll be the strong one.
A tilt of her head. “But if you’re tired…”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, Emma.” Backing away. But the beer he had with dinner is making him clumsy and he trips against the sofa, sliding backwards and down into the cushions once again.
“Look at me,” she says, hands at her sides. She’s still wearing her outfit from school, a miniskirt of jean and a top of loose cotton, fitted at the bust, but loose around her hips. “Look at me, Snake.”
And he does, swallowing with great effort.
Eyes meet, and she smiles, pressing her lips together gently. “I know you’re innocent, Snake. We’re all innocent.” And she straddles his lap, causing a sharp intake of breath, causing her to settle against him, sparking a thousand explosions inside of her.
Just the briefest of touches.
Her hands move to his neck, his strong shoulders, and his, moving on their own, to her hips. They ache against one another, the wetness of her panties causing him to grow stiffer.
Emma slides a hand between them, freeing him, and his eyes flutter shut, his head turned away. She sets her teeth, shoves her panties to the side and positions him. “Look at me,” she demands.
And he does.
And he does.