RPF (other), Kristen Schaal/Jon Stewart/Tracey McShane, I'd fight a guy for you/I'd fight a girl...
When he came to her asking for a favor, she said "Anything," because that was the kind of person that she was. She didn't stop to think about boundaries and lines to be crossed. She didn't stop to think about semantics. She didn't stop to think about his definition of "favor" or her own definition of "anything".
On entering the bedroom, she wished she had. Tripping over her shoes as she kicked them off, tearing away from his lips with a gasp to see that his bedroom, like the rest of his apartment, like the rest of his life, was understated and tasteful, all hardwood, burgundy and shadows. The shadows. All the better to watch you from, my dear.
The big bad wolf was anything but. A beautiful woman, understated and tasteful. Burgundy and shadows. She watched from an overstuffed chair by the window, back lit by the city lights.
Kristen watched Tracey watching her for as long as she could. Jon's wife said little. They all said little. Really, what was there to say?
All Jon could say was "I'm sorry," a ragged whisper repeated over and over as he fucked Kristen into the wall bathed by the same city lights. She wasn't allowed on the bed. She knew that they were the kind of people who'd let their dogs sleep on the bed, but she wasn't allowed there. So she was fucked against the wall, her legs wrapped around him, hands on his shoulders, that harsh panting in her ear.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
It trailed off into a strangled moan when he came. That's when she couldn't watch any more, her eyes slipping shut, letting the shadows take her as well.
He said it again as he drove her home to Brooklyn.
"I'm sorry."
She was silent, digging in her purse for the crumpled pack of emergency cigarettes. Her pre-teen years spent camping in the mountains with the girl scouts. She was always prepared for the little things. It was the big things you couldn't do anything to stop that seemed to knock her flying.
"Could you not smoke? It's -- I quit years ago, but it's still tempting."
"Sure," Kristen said and lit the cigarette anyway, cracking the window open to let a chorus of honking horns in.
"Really. I am sorry. That -- I..." Jon trailed off and sighed. "That was a shitty thing to drag you into."
"I said I'd do anything. I meant it."
"She said she saw me looking at you like I was -- like I wanted to... devour was the word she used, I think," he laughed a little, nervous and hollow. "She got obsessed with the idea. I'm... things are kind of hanging by a limb at the moment. I haven't got a fucking clue what to do. I'm just getting desperate."
She craned her neck up to the open air and exhaled a pale blue cloud. She watched it fade away into the night.
"I wish I could do something. I really wish I could," she murmured.