e. (epalmer) wrote in mcdermott_game, @ 2009-07-30 22:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | callas, callas/eric, eric |
Who: Callas and Eric
What: Eric stumbles over to Callas's dorm room, slightly (or more than) drunk/high.
Where: Callas's dorm room.
When: Backdated to July 24th.
Rating: PG-13
The dorm rooms were not exactly big enough for a party, but Eric had decided to have a few people over anyway. A few girls, fewer guys all crammed into his room, drinking and having a decent time. Wait, his and Griffin's room. Griffin was a pretty decent dude, he had decided, all things considering. He didn't get in Eric's way or really give a shit about much stuff at all. Worked perfectly for him.
After several beers and a several shots in his system, the alcohol officially began to kick in in a way that he could feel it. It made him more outrageous and bold than usual, but it didn't drastically change his personality or anything. Once the room started getting too small for him, he decided to go outside and toke up. A girl tagged along, and they shared a joint before Eric decided that he had to go see Callas.
He knew where she lived because he had looked it up on the campus directory a few days ago. Sort of creepy ... yeah, but whatever. He had been curious. And after their interlude at the bar yesterday and her crazy confession, he hadn't been able to get it completely off his mind. Yeah, the random sex he had had last night helped a bit but still. To drop a bombshell and then peace out like that? That was so ... so him. Except he would have done it just for the hell of it. Motherfuck.
Soberly, Eric probably wouldn't have headed over to her place, simply because (for once) he'd be at a loss of what to say. But drunk/high Eric knew that the pot and alcohol would talk for him if need be so ... fuck it. He ditched the girl without explanation, and soon enough, he was knocking on Callas's door.
Callas had settled in for the night, intending on doing her homework and then possibly signing on to the internet. She’d had an email from Michael sitting in her inbox for three weeks, and it was time to answer it. Time to use some of that bravery she’d been trying to get back to admit to him that she couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t play cat and mouse via email or leave one another ten thousand voicemails. Or at least he couldn’t.
She had decided that Stanford would have to go in its own neat little box, and it was never going to be mentioned again. The future she thought she would have was gone, and she was never going to get it back, so why bother? And that meant putting Michael in that same box.
But first she had to answer the email.
She’d been staring at it for half an hour, chewing her lower lip, when there was a knock at her door. Callas frowned, eyebrows puckering as she considered not answering. She wasn’t dressed for company and her roommate was out for the weekend, gone back home. She’d have peace and quiet only if she allowed herself it - and yet because she knew she didn’t want to face the email or its harsh truth, she rose from her seat, brushing crumbs from the chips she’d been eating into the garbage. She was in her pjs, but anyone who was coming was bound to be a girl and therefore probably wouldn’t care, right?
Wrong. She opened the door to find Eric standing there. Callas inhaled, feeling her chest tighten. “What are you doing here?”
"Just saying hi. Are you gonna let me in? Thanks." He pushed past her, and then once he was in, surveyed her pajamas with a grin. "Look at you, all cute," he practically cooed and that tone of voice was one that was only ever uttered with some sort of hard alcohol in his blood.
He noticed the bag of chips which looked highly appealing, and so he approached them, taking a handful and popping one in his mouth. Once swallowed, he took the seat she had been in before and then finally stopped moving. "So, what's up?"
Callas was still at the door, surprise registering across her features before it turned to that perfect blankness she’d gotten used to giving people over the summer. She turned to follow his movements, placing a hand on her hip. “One, I’m not cute, and two, didn’t we just end this yesterday?”
"No. You ended it yesterday, and then stormed away before I could say a word. Which doesn't really work for me, so..." He shrugged. "Not like running ever solved shit, Callas." ...Says the boy who avoided his twin sister as much as possible because he simply didn't feel like dealing with her.
Callas closed the door behind her. She had two choices: she could kick Eric the hell out of her room (a Bex approved choice) or she could listen to the demon sitting on her shoulder and actually talk to him. Her eyebrows rose with disbelief. "I'm sorry? You want me not to run from you?"
"I don't want you to run from me," Eric clarified with a nod, kicking off his sandals and pulling himself up to cross-legged position on the chair. "You have some really shitty history, and I don't know what to do with that. Seriously. But I'm not just going to like, ignore you so whatever. Deal with it."
She was looking at him as if he was out of his mind. He had to be drunk or high or something, because that didn’t make sense to her. “You know, if I actually expected you to care about me, I would be offended,” Callas retorted dryly. “Eric, what do you want from me? You know I won’t sleep with you and yet you persist on showing up here and telling me you won’t ignore me even if you have no desire to try and fix me. What do you want out of this? What do you get out of this?”
He hadn't stopped to try and figure that out yet. For everything Eric was, he didn't endlessly pour over his own thoughts or try to discover his motive for everything. So her question threw him for a bit of a loop, and it showed in that he stalled for a moment. And then finally, "I have no fucking idea. What does it even matter?"
“Because if you don’t get anything out of it, you have no reason to want to be here.” Callas knew enough about guys like him to warrant that assumption. And yet there Eric sat, challenging the rules. She folded her arms over her chest and sat primly on the bed, crossing her legs at the ankles. She wanted to ask him again to explain, because she didn’t get it and she wanted to know. Was this payback for not being able to just do what he’d wanted?
"And yet..." He grinned, and it was looser than usual, thanks to all of the mind-altering substances. He accompanied the sloppy grin with a sloppy shrug. "Here I am. So what's that say?"
Callas didn’t know, but she moved closer, regarding him from her position. “Eric, are you drunk or high or both?”
He idly flicked at a foot. "Uh. It's Friday night. Of course I'm drunk and high."
"Will you remember anything I tell you now?" she questioned. "Or are you not one of those kinds of drunks?"
"I'm not nearly fucked up enough to black shit out, trust me." He made another lunge for the chips, shoving his hand in the bag. "These are good fucking chips, by the way."
"They're Lays potato chips. I doubt they're really good." She went to move the bag away from him, pulling back. "And you'll get crumbs all over my floor."
"What are you doing?" Eric was genuinely hurt and offended by this. He clutched them tight against his chest. "I will personally come clean the crumbs! Now let me eat."
She tried, really she did. But that look coupled with those words just made her laugh. "Oh, Eric. Fine." Callas reached out and deliberately ruffled his hair like he was a twelve-year-old before rising from her seat to go grab a soda from inside the closet.
"See?" He grinned again as she ruffled his hair. "You like having me around. You can't even deny it. You'd probably like it more if you weren't so crazy attracted to me, but..."
From her bent position Callas snorted, rising up once more, sodas in hand. "Yeah, like you aren't, Eric, so really ..."
"I'm just saying. It's not like me hitting on you would have caused you to melt down or whatever if you hadn't felt tempted by me." He carefully plucked a chip out, ensuring it was perfectly round. "Right?"
She was offended by the words 'melt down,' and knew her tone would go hostile before the words came out of her mouth. "I didn't feel tempted by you and I did not have a meltdown. I just ... got an email which reminded me exactly why I needed to stop doing this with you."
"Who emailed you?" he demanded. Jesus fuck! Did he have some sort of cockblocking stalker? Motherfuck. And at her last few words, his eyebrows went way up. "And what were we doing?"
Callas glared at him for half a second, eyes darkening as she regrouped. “We were … I was … Christ, Eric, you know what you were doing, and what you were trying to talk me into. You may be blond but you’re not stupid.”
"I know what I was doing," he agreed, taking note of the dangerous look on her face but choosing to ignore it. "But what were you doing?"
She held back on doing something distracting, like hitting him, or kissing him (because with Eric the line between the two was going to always be very fine, she could tell), and settled on rising from her bed to fiddle with it, smoothing the lines of sheets and comforter until they were perfect. “I was losing my damn mind,” Callas shot back. “Clearly.”
His eyes followed her hands as they made nice, straight lines on her bedding. She had sort of nice hands, he decided, as he felt his mouth dry out a bit."So..." He shrugged. "You were tempted then. You can admit it. Got any water?"
“Bottom of the closet. Go get it.” She dismissed him with a wave, not considering anything else but hospital corners. And since she was not satisfied with the efforts the first go around, she pulled back the comforter and started all over again.
His rise from the chair was not exactly graceful (untangling his legs was a little bit of a mission while highish/drunkish, apparently) but he made his way to the closet anyway and grabbed for a bottle of water. He usually only drank it cold but he didn't care right now. He chugged the entire bottle before his eyes went back to Callas. "Stop it. What are you doing?"
“Fixing things,” she murmured, distracted by the pattern of lines. No, it was wrong. Callas frowned down at the bed before glancing back at him through her bangs. “That goes in the recycle bucket, you know.” The green plastic canister issued to all the dormitories was on her roommate’s side of the room, a concession to Callas having to keep their mutual cleaning supplies with her things.
He rolled his eyes and threw the bottle vaguely in the direction of the recycle bin. He didn't look to see if it made it or not and instead hurled himself onto the bed, destroying all of Callas's work. "Stop it," he said again, straightening himself up to a sitting position beside her.
She yelped in protest, staring down at him in dismay. “I didn’t allow you to sit there, firstly. Secondly, I was trying to straighten that!” Her hands were on her hips, mostly to prevent her from reaching down. He did look comfortable, and peculiarly, like he belonged.
"That is stupid," he told her with a nod, his eyes landing on an empty water bottle on the floor. Guess his aim was shot right now. Oh well. He focused his attention back on her. His fingers moved from his lap to hers, crawling idly up one of her pajama-clad thighs. "What were you doing before I came?"
Her intake of breath, she felt sure, was audible to both of them, ragged around the edges like Eric was getting to her. Callas kept her features blank, looking back at him. She had no way of knowing her eyes were still dark, the sheen almost inviting, at that moment. “I was concentrating on my work.” She allowed the feeling of his hands on her for five seconds, counting them out slowly in her head - one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi, five Mississippi - before swatting lightly at the hand, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to get the point across. “Hands off, Eric.”
He did pull away his hand, but he turned his head and angled his body so he was properly facing her, leaning in enough so his face was inches from hers. If it hadn't been blatantly obvious that he was drunk and high, the smell of his breath and the redness of his eyes would have been dead-giveaways. Still, he was able to access his most charming smile. "You sure you mean that?"
“Now, Eric. You know it would be better if you weren’t off your game, don’t you think?” She smiled sweetly at him. “Besides, something about marijuana just screams that you’d dissatisfy me with the effort.” Callas patted him on the thigh in mock comfort, the gesture forcing her to turn inward slightly to meet him.
And as soon as she did that, he took the opportunity to kiss her. Because he was so not off his game! And because why break their streak now? And because he was horny and she looked really, really good (well, she always looked good and he was always horny, but details). Apparently her flat out telling Eric last night that this was all over had fallen onto deaf ears. "Dissatisfying?" he murmured.
She bit her lower lip, the pain a little reminder that she had to say yes, had to focus on making him leave rather than giving in. “Yes,” Callas answered, but it was unsteady, and she knew it.
And Eric was pretty fucked up right now, but he caught it too. "Liar," he muttered before going in for another, deeper kiss. Callas's lips had become so familiar to him lately, and so now his own lips fit in perfectly with hers. And he was sure if she just ... got over everything, that their bodies would fit together pretty awesomely too.
There were expletives tracing through her thoughts, because the way Eric was kissing her she was forgetting how to say no, how to be defiant and furious and kick the hell out of him for touching her that way. She had been able to resist Michael when she’d been sober, had resisted other men. Why the fuck not Eric, why now? He was kissing her, not harshly, but firmly, and she’d been letting him take the lead, the response slow and hesitant because she had been fighting it. And now she capitulated just far enough to open her mouth and trace the seam of Eric’s lips, teasing flirtation in that move.
Eric knew he was a good kisser (he had had more than enough practice, after all) but Callas was too, apparently. It took a good kisser to coax out a slight moan from him without doing anything more. A thought popped into his head that maybe it wasn't the kiss, but the girl but he was quick to dismiss that. Dumb drunken thoughts and all. His tongue slipped into her mouth easily, and his hands followed by slipping up the back of her shirt.
She hadn’t been prepared for that, nor prepared to fist his t-shirt as if that could drag him closer than they already were. His hands were cooler against her warm skin, sending a trickling shudder down her spine. Damn it. What the hell was she supposed to be doing now? And why do it when she could let the kiss go on, a dance that belied her protests for the perjuries they were?
He had somewhat expected her to push him away, not bring them closer together but he absolutely was not going to complain. His hands slid further up her back, the skin smooth, and he expected to meet resistance with her bra, but there wasn't one. Made sense, she was in her PJs and all and ordinarily that would make him grin like a motherfucker but instead he just get going. He cupped her breasts lightly, still expecting to be pushed away at any moment although he wasn't acting hesitantly because of that.
She froze, the act’s unfamiliarity catching her off guard. For the space of several heartbeats, Eric had the freedom to do what he wanted, touch her in a way that she only now began to understand she wanted him to. It was because she wanted it that she panicked, scrambling to shove him away from her. “Eric!”
He had expected it, and still, there was an undeniable surge of disappointment. His hands came back down to his lap and he was annoyed. Swallowing, he let out a sigh and flopped back down on her bed, kicking his legs a bit. "Callas," he returned, his tone half exasperated, half bitter.
She stared down at him, not a little frustrated herself. “Does any of what I told you register, Eric? I can’t do this. I can’t let you touch me inappropriately no matter who wants it or why. I can’t, and you keep pushing that line like… like you don’t even hear me.”
Eric laid silently for a while, eyes closed, probably giving off the impression that he'd fallen asleep. And he was super fucking tired too (he always burnt out so much faster when he was drinking...) but instead, he was thinking. And finally he said, "Whoever that guy was, he fucked you up. Sucks for you, really. But how long are you gonna let it keep fucking you up?"
Callas reached down, intending on yanking him to his feet and throwing him out of the room. She could have done it, too, and so stopping for half a second and pressing her palm against his shirt was not in the plan. “You have such a typically male attitude toward sex, you know that?”
Her hand felt good on him, he realized, eyes fluttering open for a second before shutting again. His voice was becoming noticably deeper and gravelly, a surefire sign he was on the verge of falling asleep. "Someone's gotta uphold the stereotype."
Oh, that did it. Her hand tightened into a fist, and she yanked with all her might. “You are not falling asleep on my bed, Eric. Get up!”
"Why nooot?" Apparently a sleepy/drunken/high Eric was not above whining but he could not fathom the idea of trekking it back to his dorm, where people would still probably be anyway. "I'll leave you alone for a week.'
“A promise you will not recall in the morning, or whenever you decide it’s convenient to bother me,” she said, a dry note to her voice. Callas shook her head. “Up, Eric. Now.”
"Make a note and I'll sign it," he tried again. "Come ooon, Call."
She sighed, looking down at him. "You know what? Fine. Whatever. I'm going to spend the night elsewhere then. Touch anything - anything - and I will kill you."
He probably would have made some sort of lewd joke if he had had the energy for it at the moment, but he didn't. Instead he adjusted his head so it was better fitted to the pillow and before he drifted off he managed a surprisingly sincere, "Thanks."
Callas observed him falling, and thought to herself that when he was close to sleep, Eric actually looked younger, more vulnerable. It was a good thing he couldn’t fucking use that, otherwise it would get to too many other girls. As it was, she just rolled her eyes at her own stupidity and began to pack up to go elsewhere. The RA on her floor, Julie, was a nice enough girl that maybe she’d let Callas stay the night; she didn't dare bother Bex or KJ with this.