Work Text:
Do You Remember The First Time?
‘Well - yeah, obviously.’
‘Go on.’
The taller man looked at her from behind the video camera and raised an eyebrow. The shorter one in sunglasses (they were inside, for god’s sake!) held the fluffy microphone just out of shot and looked bored - although it was hard to tell.
‘You really need me to remind you?’
‘Just tell us..!’
Had it not already been so busy in the small studio, that remark might’ve been picked up on, but no one seemed to take any notice. The man - though he still looked incredibly boyish in the right light - holding the camera flicked his fringe out of his eyes and waited, smirking in anticipation, long finger poised over the ‘record’ button. She took another drag on her cigarette, then leant back against the hard purple sofa and started to talk.
‘Well.. it all started back one long summer, with an anorak..’
---------
They’d known each other for a while beforehand. She’d moved to Intake a couple of years earlier, and had seen him around the local sixth form. He was well-liked, but not particularly popular; he’d always erred on the side of indie and so was consequently thought of as a weirdo by most. A nice weirdo, but a weirdo nonetheless.
So naturally, as the hormones kicked in and people started going off in pairs for a fag and a snog behind the bike sheds, the weirdos were cast aside in favour of the lads who downed pints in one go and had the shortest haircuts and scored the most goals at the county pitch on a Sunday afternoon. All the pretty, popular girls flocked to the bloke who could shout the loudest and thump his chest the hardest and beat the most men in an arm wrestle. ‘Niceness’ didn’t count for anything anymore.
However, even though she was meant to be one of the popular ones - at least, all her friends were - she didn’t stop talking to him just because he wasn’t into football. She quite enjoyed their chats about music - he was in his own band, actually - and it made a change from Linda and Kelly jabbering on about how “manly” Steve - or whoever it was this week - was at the pub last night. But she didn’t think anything of it: she had a reputation to protect, after all.
So when he asked her to come over one afternoon to listen to some records, she mumbled some excuses about going shopping with a friend - but in noticing the slight disappointment on his face, asked him if he was going to the party tomorrow. He brightened at the thought; and told her excitedly that his band would be playing - along with the local DJ, of course. She said she’d be there, and walked to the shopping centre feeling strangely flat, as if something big had just occurred without her fully realising - that she was now walking away from.
She had time to think while wandering around Meadowhall: her red-haired friend insisted on looking at every skirt and every top imaginable before quizzing her sternly on which ones went together, and which ‘wouldn’t even make last year’s catwalk, love!’ (She’d never really understood fashion, to be honest, and thought it ridiculous how much time was wasted over it.)
So by the time she stepped out of the stuffy centre, having come away with nothing except a strangely patterned anorak she claimed her dad would like, she deeply regretted not going over. She sighed inwardly as her friend gabbled in her ear the entire way home, thinking that he probably did have some really cool records and, by declining, wasn’t she just proving she was exactly like everybody else? She vowed, as she walked up the driveway, that tomorrow would be different. She wouldn’t let something as stupid as popularity get in the way - not anymore.
But she was wrestling with her thoughts the next day while walking along the damp pavement to the party. ‘He’s nice. He’s really nice, and you just don’t want him to feel lonely. Just like you wouldn’t want anyone to feel lonely..’ She trailed off, suddenly able to recall many people that deserved to feel lonely.
The sky looked ready to crack in two and she looked down at her outfit, doubtful that velvet was that waterproof. She stood still on the pavement, deliberating whether to run back and grab a coat but risk being late, or just brave the weather and hope the sky didn’t cave in before she got there. She looked at her watch: it was already 3:45, and the house was at least another 10 minutes away. She felt the first few drops of rain soak through her dress - there was no way she was ruining this number for some house party.
So she turned and ran back to her house, cursing under her breath with every step for being so disorganised. She hadn’t the time to choose anything, so just grabbed the nearest thing that looked waterproof and ran out again. It was, unsurprisingly, the shapeless thing she’d picked up yesterday in the shopping-centre branch of Oxfam. It was quite a nice shade of brown, actually, but not something you’d be seen dead in at a house party, even a shit one.
Still, she thought, beggars couldn’t be choosers when they were so indecisive about whether to have their hair up or not and consequently spent thirty more minutes than necessary in front of the mirror. She continued down the wet street, walking fast, but with a nagging feeling growing ever-stronger in the back of her mind that she was going to miss his set, starting at four, a fact she’d committed firmly to memory ever since he’d told her yesterday.
As soon as she realised she was so bothered, she decided to forget all about not fancying him; why keep pretending? She was pretty sure he felt the same - although, actually, no, she wasn’t sure, and she knew she couldn’t face the embarrassment of it turning out he was just being friendly. She didn’t know him that well, for a start, and - hey, she’d made it!
She was so glad at getting there before they were on stage - well, area of floorboards free from chairs, beer cans or discarded handbags - that she completely forgot about herself or what she must’ve looked like. Curled hair limp with rain, skin pink from exertion, once-silver trainers scuffed and dulled with dirt, not to mention the hideous brown thing, sleeves covering her hands. She weaved through the sea of glittery makeup, perfectly manicured nails and slicked-back quiffs to get a better view. The local band ‘Pulp’ were just being announced, albeit with slight disappointment as the local DJ was.. very popular among the ladies, shall we say.
He looked fairly nervous as the band took the stage, and scanned the small crowd, weighing up the atmosphere (growing more sour by the second) before alighting on her face towards the front. He immediately relaxed at the thought of one less person there who wanted to, it seemed, murder him for taking away their heartthrob. But then he announced the name of the first song, and proceeded to narrate a story of longing and lust for a girl who didn’t know he existed. Most of the songs were like that, actually. But what they lacked in complexity, they made up for in passion and commitment - you could tell his heart was in it, for sure - and the jolt of electricity that ran through her whenever he caught her eye seemed to agree.
By the end of the set, he’d won over about half the audience, and it was only the staunchest cynics who sat at the back with their empty bottles of beer and wouldn’t agree that the music was ‘quite alright, really.’ Despite the cheer that arose when the DJ was announced back on, she really thought he’d done well; she could see why they perhaps weren’t taken as seriously as other bands, but she found his unusual gestures and whispered passages captivating, and had enjoyed herself a lot more than she’d expected.
Nevertheless, she kept her praise light when she found him afterwards, as she knew appearing desperate was a sure turn-off. But she did bring him a much-needed beer, and stayed to hang out with the band in the small shed out back where all the equipment was placed. Again, she was pleasantly surprised at how decent and interesting they all were - and not really that weird, after a while.
Before long, she was left with just the singer, as the others had gone off in search of more drink. As they talked, she realised she hadn’t thought about her friends - who were presumably still dancing - all afternoon; now it was way past five and the rain had just started again. They realised they were going to have to face it at one time or another - it might as well be now. So she unzipped the anorak (god knows why she was still wearing it) and silence fell in the small room for the first time as he couldn’t help but stare at the wine-red and black dress that so nicely accentuated the curves he’d always assumed she’d had, but had somehow never noticed before. She laughed at the pinkish blush on his cheeks as they left the shed, holding the anorak above their heads until they entered the house again and danced together the whole night.
--------
In another time and another place, the woman stubbed out her cigarette and shifted on the sofa. She sighed, but not unhappily.
‘I’ve got things to do besides talk to you all day, y’know.’
‘Go on, Deb. S’just getting to the good bit now.’
The man kindly lit her new cigarette with his (as she suddenly found her pockets empty) then returned to squinting through the small camera mounted on a makeshift tripod in front of her.
‘..thanks, Jarv.’
Satisfied, she leant back again and returned to the rainy summer of ‘82 once more.
--------
The next day, they spoke for a while on the phone, compared hangovers and etcetera, but nothing happened. School remained as clique-y as ever, and unkind to those who were different, simply because they were. Her friends seemed oblivious to the blatant prejudices people who weren’t popular faced: automatically less of a person in society.
They were forever trying to set her and a friend up with men they’d met at the pub or in town, but she never actually liked any of them. No, the only one she seemed to like was - well, him. She found herself searching for him along the corridors, in the canteen, everywhere, much to her friend’s annoyance (that she hadn’t been paying attention to some thrilling story about wearing the wrong pair of shoes to a disco and consequently feeling “terrible, like I’d just committed a crime!” all night.) Needless to say, she was past caring.
As the weeks passed and exams loomed, they saw each other less and less. She hardly had time to think about anything else, even though her friends mocked her for studying so conscientiously - or should they be “friends” by this point? Spending what little free time she had with them was a total drag, anyway.
Then one day, when she was passing the park on her way home, she saw him talking to a very exuberant, excessively made-up girl who stood in front of her ‘townie’ friends, all huddled in a little group near the asphalt playground. She tried not to stare as she went past - it was his business, it wasn’t like he was her boyfriend or anything - and nearly made it past him without any further disturbing thoughts, but not before seeing, out of the corner of her eye, the mouthy girl kiss him full and hard on the lips, before turning and strutting back to her friends, laughing hysterically. She got the impression it was some kind of bet, though she only caught snatches of dialogue, mostly childish jeerings of ‘four-eyes’ (she doubted they were intelligent enough to come up with anything else) and something else about hoping she hadn’t caught ‘freak syndrome’ now, whatever that was.
In a bout of teenage anger (because it was incredibly wrong that some people could just go around and do whatever they liked with no remorse or acknowledgement of the other person’s feelings) and envy (the airhead got to kiss him before she did), she shoved her hands in her pockets and didn’t give the park another glance. But if she had, she might’ve noticed the look of despair on his face as he sniffed slightly and picked up his glasses they had so cleverly knocked to the floor, glad not to have been completely beaten up this time. But instead, she looked straight ahead, even as his eyes passed over her figure disappearing round the edge of the trees. Just another day - but not in paradise, far from it.
She didn’t look for him the next day in the canteen. She didn’t look for him at all. In fact, she tried to forget about him completely, and exams were a good distraction. They helped quell the nagging feeling that she was being a total dick and that he probably - no, definitely - didn’t even start it: but the sharp pang of betrayal-mixed-with-guilt-for-feeling-this-betrayal still stuck until late July, when school was over and she found herself lying awake in bed one night, unable to sleep even though it was nearly 1 AM. She blamed the heat, but it could just as easily have been her mind that just would not let go of this thing that happened nearly a month ago and the fact she was still thinking about it meant - well, she didn’t know what it meant, but it wasn’t good, and - right. This had to stop. She got out of her sweaty, itchy bed and went over to the window.
The glass, despite the room’s stuffiness, was refreshingly cool against her cheek. Her own reflection: hot, tired, lonely, stared back at her as she struggled to make out some faint tree-like shapes in the light of the moon, then a figure, stumbling along the pavement. Probably just another idiot coming home from the pub, she thought, and went to close the curtains again when she heard the man call out brokenly:
‘Deborah..! Deborah, please..!’
Had it been any other voice, or any other name, she would’ve ignored it, but no, it was his voice and her name and - oh fuck! Could it really be him? Did he even know where she lived? Apparently so, and questions such as these raced through her head as she ran down the wooden staircase and opened the door. Thank God her parents were away.
Light spilled out onto the steps and illuminated the tall figure of a man clad in nothing but a dangerously short anorak who threw his arms around her as soon as he saw her. His face was damp against her warm skin, though for once, it hadn’t rained in weeks. There was no question of leaving him out there; there never was. She hugged him back, sighed and shut the door behind them.
It was a while before they pulled apart, and despite the abruptness of it all, she felt something tight inside her being slowly unravelled as they stood embracing in the hall, him bending over to accommodate the height difference (she didn’t dare look down). Only now did she realise how long it had been since she had hugged someone and actually enjoyed it.
‘C’mon.’ she said, leading him to the sofa and sitting down. She offered him a blanket for privacy, which he accepted, holding a pair of glasses with smashed lenses in one hand and a near-empty bottle of - well, something - in the other.
‘Care to explain why you’ve suddenly turned up at my house at 1 in the morning?’ she said, smiling slightly, although it was perfectly easy to deduce what had happened just by looking at him. Naked, apart from the anorak, clutching broken glasses and an almost definitely black-market alcoholic drink, and a panicked, tear-stained face harbouring a fresh, blotchy bruise on his cheekbone: only meant one thing.
‘..well.. ah came t’give you yer coat back..’ he slurred amicably, with an accent more pronounced than usual as he made to take it off.
‘Oh - hey, no, you keep it on for now..’ she said, patting him on the shoulder, before looking closer at his face. She moved to brush over the reddish-purple patch lightly with her fingertips, and saw him swallow and the tears glisten in his eyes.
‘D’you want some ice for that?’ she asked softly. He nodded and called out to the kitchen as she went to find some: ‘It was t’usual guys.. broke me glasses down at the King’s.. spiked me drink too!’
He laughed a little hysterically and held aloft the dark liquid - or what remained of it - as she came back through and held the ice to his cheek. He wanted to wipe the tears from his eyes but suddenly felt very tired and leant heavily against her other hand, which’d absent-mindedly started stroking his slightly sticky forehead under a dark-ish fringe.
A very small ‘thank you’ left his lips as she gave him the ice pack to hold. ‘I’ll go and get you some clothes n’ you can change down here while I make up a bed, okay? And no more of that.’ She took the bottle from him and smelt it before throwing it in the bin in disgust. His fingers trailed down her arm as she got up, and a sort-of disappointed ‘ohh..’ sounded more intensely than either of them expected around the quiet room. She blinked, then went off in search of a t-shirt and pair of shorts that might fit him.
As she climbed the stairs, she knew she shouldn’t think about why he was here, or why he’d chosen her; he was just here now and she had to deal with it. In fact, she almost felt bad leaving him alone like this - I mean, God knows how he got back from the pub - and right on cue, a bang came from downstairs, followed by a muffled ‘ow!’ ‘Y’alright?’ she called from above. A moment passed; then: ‘yeah!’
She quickly returned with the clothes, and turned around to give him some privacy while he stood, stark naked, in her living room, more than halfway to passing out. She didn’t actively look, per se, but if she happened to see the odd reflection in a mirror, for instance, then she wouldn’t turn her head. Even totally out of it, he was still pretty gorgeous, she thought, as he came up to her wearing the t-shirt back to front but otherwise clothed.
She helped him up the stairs - no easy task - and after what seemed like a monumental effort, reached her bedroom and made the fatal mistake of assuming that he’d sleep on the airbed, but as soon as she laid back down he crashed out next to her. She didn’t blame him - but after a while, his touches, no matter how innocent, were telling of the way he felt about her - there was no denying it, even though she tried.
‘Hey, Jarv - are you sure it’s not just the alcohol?’ she whispered, after a few attempts to cuddle closer into her. ‘Nu-uh.’ came the muffled reply. ‘I like you.. Ah - always ‘ave done, just.. never got round t’tellin’ ya..’ With that, she laughed and thought: why not? It was nice to hear it said, even if it probably meant nothing - he was utterly inebriated, after all - and nothing ever happened afterwards, like always. Having said that, she wouldn’t rule out the possibility of this occurring again.
So she slipped her arms round his slim frame, and cradled his head in her chest, like she’d always imagined doing. ‘Mmm..’ He seemed to like that - very much - and she repressed the urge to giggle childishly at his erection, which was now firmly pressing into her leg, but they were far too tired to do anything about it. Within minutes, all she could hear was him breathing softly against her, and the last thing she remembered saying was: ‘You’re gonna have a pissing ‘eadache tomorrow, y’know.’ His hair was surprisingly soft and tickled her face slightly as she curled up next to him and slept like a baby.
The next day was Saturday, and neither of them woke up until 11:30 in the morning. Sunlight streamed through the opened curtains, and although it was always fairly quiet down her cul-de-sac, the faint sounds of neighbours chatting and children playing in the park could be heard from outside the window. She stretched, enjoying the warmth, and then looked beside her. The bruise on his cheek had darkened overnight, but he looked far calmer, despite his hair sticking up in all directions around the pillow. She checked to see if he was still asleep as she got up, and then, because he did look so sweet lying there in her dad’s old stripey t-shirt, pressed a soft kiss to his head before tiptoeing out quietly.
Downstairs, she busied herself by making a cup of tea, then decided to listen to the radio while drinking it. All it took were a few great songs played in succession to get her dancing around the kitchen - sometimes practised and cool, sometimes slow and sexy, and sometimes she just threw her arms up and jumped around ‘cause it just felt great. It was the last one he witnessed when he trailed downstairs at nearly 1 PM - and much to his amusement, it took a good 30 seconds for her to realise he was there.
‘..hi!’ she said, whirling round abruptly as the song ended. She ran her hands through her hair, somewhat embarrassed at being caught uninhibited.
‘Hello.’ he replied, smiling weakly as he stood in the doorway. He’d wrapped himself in the blanket she’d given him last night, and looked like he could really do with a cup of tea. She made him one - with two sugars - and they went through to sit on the sofa, where the dreaded anorak lay, untouched since the night before.
‘Look, I-’ He sipped his tea before running a hand over his eyes. ‘I’m really sorry about this - and - thanks, I guess - just-’ She could see he was struggling to find the words through his hangover.
‘It’s okay. There are worse ways to spend the night.’ She half-smiled, and looked into her mug of tea.
‘No, but - you didn’t have to - but you still did - I mean, it’s crazy - a crazy, drunk idiot-’
‘Naked.’ she added, with a hint of a grin.
‘A crazy, drunk, naked idiot turns up at your house in the middle of the night - you’d have to be insane to let him in.’
‘Maybe I am insane then.’
‘Insanely nice.’ - oh. That slipped out unintentionally.
A pause.
‘I felt it, y’know.’
‘What?’
‘When you kissed me earlier.’ The words felt as if they should be completely unnatural, but someone else seemed to have taken over the talking part of his brain lately. He was stuck somewhere around mid-June, at a house party ten minutes down the road from here, with a brown raincoat that he’d held onto to have an excuse to see her again.
‘Oh - that.’ She smiled coyly, then, realising no one had actually agreed to start kissing, shifted to face him on the sofa and said, more seriously:
‘Do - do you mind?’
His eyes widened in surprise. ‘No - uhh, not at all!’ He paused.
‘In fact,’ he said, smiling cheekily: ‘I quite liked it..’
‘Oh! That’s - that’s good.’ She looked into his eyes, which were a bit tired but otherwise a bright greeny-blue.
‘Cause I liked it too..’ she continued. ‘And - and I’m thinking… I’d like to do it again.’ Her head started to spin as they moved closer on the sofa. Was she really about to do this? Was this it? Her hand slid up his shoulder suggestively.
‘Oh - yes, please -’ he whispered out before he felt beautifully soft, sensuous lips on his - lips he’d wanted ever since she’d taken an interest in him. Oh yes, this felt so right: how long had he been waiting for it? Months? Years, even? Oh, god - it just seemed to build and build as she fell onto him on the sofa - her hands, soft, soft hands touching him everywhere - and every time he thought she was going to wind it down again, she didn’t - she just kept going, faster, heavier, sexier - oh, god, he was hard - ohhh, yes - and for once it didn’t matter that he couldn’t really see her, ‘cause he could feel her instead - her fingertips reaching down to massage his cock, and ohhh - that was so hot - jesus, he was gonna come, before she’d even - oh fuck!
A damp patch immediately appeared on the front of the shorts he was wearing, right under her hand. The momentary bliss was soon interrupted by the morbidly embarrassing thought that he must’ve appeared incredibly desperate to have come almost as soon as she’d touched it - through his shorts as well!
‘Shit - I.. sorry, it usually lasts longer than that..’ He could feel his face going red as he stared down in near-disbelief.
‘Hey, hey, s’alright. There’s no pressure.’ she whispered reassuringly into his ear, fingering bits of his hair and stroking his neck softly. ‘It’s flattering, actually..’
There was no reply.
‘Hey!’ said, taking him by the shoulders and forcing him to look at her. ‘Look-’
He blinked and squinted at her, then said quietly: '..I can’t, really.'
She rolled her eyes and laughed.
‘Okay, smart-arse - listen then. It doesn’t change anything. It’s fine - it - oh, come ‘ere..’
She pulled him back in, unable to resist his slightly myopic, puppy-dog eyes, and couldn’t stop herself from feeling his ribs through his shirt - mmm. He was gorgeously soft and warm. When she looked at him again, he still had a pinkish glow to his face, but was smiling at the brilliance of the situation: two kids, no parents, empty house, full fridge - he looked at the bookshelf - vast collection of records, and not just dull ones. Also, he’d just come - which was guaranteed to make almost anything better. She’d climbed off him now and was about to speak when he said ‘I’m just going to go and clean up’, kissed her softly on the cheek and went off in search of the bathroom, feeling more than a bit proud of himself.
She smiled at his new-found confidence, and hoped he’d stay for a bit longer - on the grounds that whatever he’d drunk last night might still be in his system - but mainly because she really, really wanted to touch him again (which was, she thought, a ‘perfectly valid reason, was it not?’). He came downstairs after a while with wet hair and smelling slightly of minty shower gel.
‘Umm - I took a shower - hope you don’t mind.’
‘No, it’s fine.’
A moment passed. Her voice took on a more questioning tone.
‘Listen, do you happen to want to..’
He grinned. ‘Yes, absolutely, but I need to go home and get my glasses before I walk into anything else.’
‘Oh!-’ She laughed, and then said, rather suggestively: ‘Before you miss anything else.’
‘And what exactly might I be missing, may I ask?’ He moved closer, and tried to look at her seductively, which she couldn’t help but smirk at. She twirled a loose strand of hair between her fingers, looked up at him and turned it into a dirty smile before she kissed him hotly and said:
‘I’ll leave that to your imagination.’
He leant into that kiss more than the first ones, savouring it, but knew he couldn’t keep going or he’d get another erection and they’d have to have sex right there - actually, that was a great idea…
‘Come on.’ she said, pulling away after another round of snogging. ‘You go get your glasses..’ His hand lingered slightly longer around her waist while the rest of him moved towards the door. ‘..and some condoms, and meet me back here in half an hour.’
He smiled as he left, but could hardly conceal his giddiness as he stumbled home. Not even the threat of the townies could bother him today - he doubted they’d recognise him without his glasses anyway (or, more worryingly, that he’d recognise them). But shit - he was about to have sex! Actual, proper sex with an actual, proper woman that would put his collection of exactly five out-of-date porn mags (which he had hidden meticulously between the mattress and the bedframe) to complete and utter shame. This was what he’d wanted for years - years ! - and it was about to come true: oh god oh god oh god!!
He reached home so excited that he’d totally forgotten about phoning his mother - oh god. He realised this just after his finger pressed the doorbell (as his keys were in a ditch somewhere near the pub, with the rest of his clothes, he suspected) and if he had thought about it for longer, probably would’ve made a run for it, but as he was deliberating, his sister opened the door and stood looking decidedly unimpressed, with her arms folded across her chest, in the self-important way 14-year-olds do.
‘Well ’ello.’ she said, with more than a hint of sarcasm. ‘Nice of you t’turn up.’
‘Yeah, sorry Sas, can’t stay-’ He pushed past her into the house, and made for the stairs. ‘Is Mum ‘ere?’
‘No, she’s out looking for you.’
‘Shit.’ he muttered under his breath, searching his drawers. His mum deserved an apology at least.
‘Where you going anyway? ‘Aven’t you been out long enough?’ Saskia called impatiently from downstairs.
‘Look-’ he said - hang on, did she say condoms? Plural? Better bring three, just in case. Three? Was there really a possibility he would have sex three times? Would they even have time for that? He looked at the wall clock; it was already gone half two..
‘JARVIS!’
‘Alright, m’coming!’ He quickly pulled on a shirt and flared trousers, and deliberated taking a blazer but decided that ultimately, he’d just have to take it off again. He looked in the mirror, grimacing somewhat at the bruise, before running his hands through his hair. Right, he really had to leave now, or he wouldn’t make it and-
He rushed downstairs, almost tripping over a box of paints lying in the hallway - even though he’d found his spare glasses - and managed to pull his shoes on while holding the ball of borrowed clothes in the other hand.
‘I’ll tell her you stopped by then.’ Saskia said, eyebrows raised to the sky.
‘Umm - tell her not to worry, I spent the night with a friend and I’ve ‘ad to go out again, but I’ll be back by six at the latest-’ He fumbled with the front door lock in his rush to get away.
‘And those?’ She gestured in disbelief at the clothes he was holding.
‘Borrowed!’ he called from the pavement. ‘Mine - err, I lost mine..’
That last bit trailed off as he turned around and near-ran down the street, ignoring his sister’s puzzled cries of ‘You what?’ and the weird looks of passers-by - he was going to have sex and he didn’t care.
He was quite out of breath when he reached her house again, and rang the doorbell hastily, smoothing his hair as he waited. No need to appear ridiculously desperate.
She hesitated before opening the door, the same thought running through her mind. God, she was excited though. She opened the door and said with a grin: ‘Back for more, are ya?’
‘Hi,’ he said, returning the grin. He handed her the clothes, and nodded: ‘And - yes.’ She smiled. She was even prettier when he had his glasses on.
‘Was your mum okay?’ she asked, leading him in.
‘She wasn’t there, but I told Sas - my sister - to tell her I was at a friend’s. Hopefully she won’t be too mad.’ He sighed, and sat down with her on the sofa again. Immediately she said:
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘Umm - just some water would be great actually.’ Great? Water’s great now-?
She went to get some, then came back through and perused the records, thinking some music might help lighten the tone a bit, which had turned slightly awkward since they both knew exactly what they wanted to do, but realised doing it for real was something else entirely. Suddenly everything nice and sexy about it was pushed to the side, and the actual logistics of it and how they’d face each other afterwards seemed to overtake their excitement.
Eventually, she decided the bullet just had to be bitten and after putting the record on (some slow jazz of her father’s) she rejoined him on the sofa, reminding herself it was meant to be fun, not scary. He experienced momentary déja vu as she moved closer, knowing all he had to do was put his lips on hers but that now seemed like a mammoth task.
She could feel her heart pounding - God, this was worse than the first time! Why couldn’t she be sexy now? Why-
The second his fingers touched her face all of that went away: he kissed her blissfully with his soft lips, and she just melted in his arms. Nothing else mattered then, nothing except this boy, who was, in fact, just as relieved as her and she felt him physically relax as he pulled her closer onto his lap and held her body tighter against his, then focused directly on french kissing her as sexily as possible - or as sexily as he could: he’d only kissed four girls before (though she wasn’t to know that) but he had seen lots of movies. He stroked her soft wavy hair with fervent delight and felt a shiver go down his neck and into his toes as she licked his jawbone while simultaneously trailing a very purposeful finger down towards the prominent swell in the front of his trousers - Oh God, that was good, ohh..!
‘Please - oh, please touch me again-’ he whispered into her neck, voice hitching in his throat, eyes shut in concentration. She looked at him for a second: and suddenly felt a very strong jolt of desire when she realised she’d caused this level of arousal in someone, someone she liked so much, and when she then realised that he was completely and utterly hers, if for just one, beautiful moment. So she obliged, letting herself moan into his ear when she touched him: with her own crotch.. oh!
The phone shrieked beside them, making them both jump half a mile in their embrace: of course, this was real life, not a film. They looked at each other, despair growing on her face when she realised it could only be one - well, two people..
‘Hello?’ she answered, reaching across the arm of the chair for the beige telephone with a silent ‘I’m so sorry.’ Her face turned more and more somber as the call went on - she couldn’t seem to get a word in. Eventually, by which time his erection had pretty much gone, she managed to hang up the phone and sighed as she flopped down beside him. ‘I’m so sorry.’ she said again. ‘But my parents are at a service station just down the road. You’re going to have to go.’
‘Yeah.. S’a bit early on for me to stay for dinner..’
There was no point trying to hide his disappointment. She tried to console him by stroking his face, and then said:
‘Course.. We could always meet up after.. Not here, obviously, but..’
His face lit up. ‘Where?’
She smiled. ‘Park Hill, at ten. Round in that little garden, by the-’
‘By the bandstand.’ he finished. He knew it well. It was perfect: quiet, undisturbed, great view of the city… ‘I’ll be there.’
He got up and made to leave - but couldn’t resist kissing her one last time. He was feeling more and more like Romeo as the minutes ticked on.
‘Hope it goes alright with y’mum.’ she called, as he was leaving.
‘Oh yeah.’ He frowned momentarily, before waving. ‘See y’later!’
‘Bye!’ She shut the door, then secretly blew a kiss at him through the frosted glass, even though he’d turned away. ‘Fucking Juliet.’ she thought, as she readied herself for her parents’ imminent torrent of sickly sweet stories about posh hotels and suchlike.
Her gaze fell on the sofa. 'And move that bloody anorak!'
--------
‘How did you feel then?’
The woman flicked her slightly wavy fringe out of her eyes and smiled.
‘Nervous. But excited, very much so.’
As he was reloading the film, she asked him:
‘And how did you feel?’
That caught him off guard, and he looked up from the camera into her intense eyes, so similar in colour to his own. He felt a strangely familiar urge to do something he hadn’t done in a long time - but decided it probably wouldn’t be proper. Perhaps if the studio was empty…
The shorter man beside him coughed and adjusted the mic nearby. The taller one bent down over the camera again and shrugged, giving nothing away:
‘Oh, y’know: same as you.’
--------
Later that day, having made their respective excuses (I’m having an early night) to their respective parents (totally oblivious) before climbing out of their respective bedroom windows (both handily equipped with neighbouring trees), they made it to the hill with a few minutes to spare. The night was warm, gloriously so, and the sun just starting to set as they met in the little garden near the faded bandstand, sheltered from view by trees on all sides except one, which gave them a backdrop of the glittering, smoky city below them, against a cloudless, starry sky.
Almost wordlessly, they undressed and stood there for a minute or so with no expectations, enjoying the freshness of the night air against their warm skin. It felt far more dramatic, doing it out in the open, like they were rulers looking down on their steel kingdom from far above. And it felt completely natural and innocent to lie down in the grass, among the flowers and tiny midges, and just touch each other, simply because they wanted to. She completely forgot about her life at home, at school, or with anyone else - as did he. They were too absorbed in the feeling - and no one else was nearby anyway. The night - like that summer - seemed to last forever, time warping into a lover’s golden paradise.
--------
‘But no paradise lasts forever - at least, not in this life.’
Then there was silence. The man behind the camera gave her a look that told her he too was back at the hill on that long summer’s night: the night that belonged to lovers. (so show some respect!)
But it, like that night, couldn’t last. He switched off the camera and said:
‘That’ll be all.’
‘Cheers.’
She looked at him one last time over her shoulder as she left. He met her gaze - and fantasised for a second about blowing a secret kiss to her back as she walked out of the studio, lit a cigarette, and made her way home.
‘Romeo & Juliet, my ass.’ she thought.