Prose/Interrupted
A conversation between a draft, a writer, and the reasons certain fantasies keep appearing on the page.
Author’s note: Today’s Halls of Pandemonium Day#21 prompt asked us to let the muse interrupt the work and challenge the things we might be hiding inside craft, humour, aesthetics, or “good prose.”
Unfortunately mine arrived halfway through writing a Rocking the Second Act sex scene and refused to shut up.
(Content note for sexual content, body image, ageing, and the horrors of being emotionally perceived.)
—
Zack
By the time I moved down between her thighs, Veronica was already half gone with it.
Her skin was warm beneath my hands, chest still flushed from everything we’d already done. I kissed the inside of her knee, and she made that low, wrecked sound that hit me straight in the spine every fucking time.
I settled back onto my heels slightly, one hand sliding up her thigh as I got comfortable between them.
And I saw it, that tiny shift in her, the bracing.
I’d noticed it before, lazily. One of those things your brain files away without thinking too hard about it.
--
Oh. I see what you’re doing here, Wendy.
Sigh. Do you mind? I am in a flow here!
Nah, don’t mind at all. I just wanted you to know that I see what you are doing.
… Fine. I’ll bite. What am I doing?
You specifically rewrote the fantasy from “charismatic man who consumes women” into “charismatic man who notices women carefully.”
That’s not an accident.
Yeah, no shit. Can I continue?
Oh, please do.
--
Veronica didn’t mind being touched.
Veronica didn’t even mind being watched most of the time.
But this?
This angle?
Me down here looking up at her while she was spread open beneath me?
Something about it always made her go tight and wary for a second. Like the moment my body stopped covering hers and she was suddenly visible again, some instinct inside her started reaching for armour. Her stomach tightened slightly. Her hand twitched against the sheets.
Interesting. Not bad interesting.
Just… interesting.
Younger me would’ve used information like that badly. Pressed on the bruise until somebody bled emotion all over the carpet so I could feel powerful for five minutes.
Now?
Mostly I just liked teasing her.
And Veronica Lark was extremely fucking teaseable.
--
Snorts. Sounds like someone I know.
Fuck off.
--
“Look at me, V.”
Her eyes snapped to mine immediately, annoyed already.
“Why?”
I grinned slowly, running my fingers lightly through the soft, red curls between her thighs.
“Like the view from down here, Lark.”
That snort she gave me was pure Veronica. Half embarrassed. Half go fuck yourself.
She snorted. “Jesus Christ.”
But she stayed where she was – though I could practically feel the effort it was costing her not to reach for the sheet tangled around her ankles and drag it over herself.
I let my fingers drift lazily through her bush again, enjoying the way she glared harder every second I delayed giving her what she actually wanted.
“Honestly,” I mused, “first time I saw this thing I nearly had a religious experience.”
“Oh my god.”
--
Oh, MY god.
--
“No, seriously. Took me straight back to being fourteen with a stolen Playboy under my mattress.”
“Zack.”
“I’m just saying. This is premium vintage presentation. Full retro porn star. Very —”
“Are you going to talk about my vagina all night or —?”
I laughed softly against the inside of her thigh before kissing it.
“Bush,” I corrected. “Important distinction.”
Her entire face clenched with an intoxicating combination of second-hand embarrassment and laughter.
Which, naturally, only encouraged me.
--
Wow, you’re really going to go with a critique on grooming here? I mean, it’s bordering on a TED talk on why denuding the genitals is bad.
--
“Do you have any idea how aggressively refreshing this is?” I continued conversationally. “Everybody’s been out here looking like frightened little hairless cats for twenty years.”
“Please stop speaking.”
--
Please stop writing.
Nah, jk. This is really fucking funny. “frightened little hairless cats” – fucking gold.
--
“Nah. I’m passionate about this now.”
I grinned, running my fingers through the curls again just to feel her squirm.
“Please shut the fuck up.”
“Nah.”
She made an outraged sound and finally covered her face with one hand.
I laughed quietly at that, still stroking her absently while she glared at me through her fingers.
“You know,” I said conversationally, “interesting double standard here.”
“Oh my God, what now?”
--
Yeah seriously, what now?
--
“You make eye contact when you go down on me.”
Her hand dropped from her face immediately. “That is completely different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because… it just is.”
I grinned slowly up at her.
“Very compelling argument, Veronica.”
--
Not very compelling argument, Wendy.
--
My gaze drifted lower over the soft curve of her stomach and landed on the little square patches near her hip. I’d clocked them before, obviously. But only in the passing way you notice details on someone you spend time naked with.
This time I watched her notice me noticing them.
Ah.
Veronica exhaled sharply through her nose, already irritated before I’d even opened my mouth.
“What?”
I brushed my thumb lightly against one of the patches.
“What’re these?”
Her expression flattened instantly and she sighed.
“They’re hormone patches, Zack,” she said dryly. “You know. To stop me punching you in the balls every five minutes.”
That got a grin out of me before I could help it.
“Bit rude,” I murmured, settling more comfortably between her thighs, “considering what you were doing to them a few minutes ago.”
That got me a laugh and an eye roll, but the tension in her stomach hadn’t quite left yet. I could still feel it there beneath my hands. That tiny instinct to fold inward and away from my looking.
“There’s genuinely something wrong with you,” she muttered.
“Probably.”
I slid my arms more securely beneath her thighs, drawing her open against the mattress again, and for a second my gaze caught on her face instead of the rest of her.
Still flushed.
Still trying not to squirm under the weight of being looked at this directly.
--
Oh, here we go.
What?
You keep writing women who are terrified of being seen while simultaneously starving for it. I mean, that’s not even remotely subtle anymore.
Oh, for fucks sake.
--
“Look at me, V.”
The words came out softer this time. Less teasing. More instinct than thought.
--
You really do believe gentleness makes visibility survivable.
… can we not do this right now?
--
Her eyes flicked toward mine for barely a second before darting away again, and I felt the tension move through her body in a small, tight wave.
“I can’t,” she admitted quietly, like the words annoyed her.
That took a little of the smartarse out of me.
I rubbed my thumb slowly along the inside of her thigh once.
“Alright, Lark,” I murmured.
Then I finally shut up and put my mouth on her.
--
Hmm, yeah, I mean, I didn’t hate it. Not a bad chapter, all in all.
… thank you?
You know what the real fantasy is here, right?
No actually, I’d prefer very much not to.
It’s not “rockstar ravishes middle-aged woman.”
…ok?
It’s being looked at without punishment.
Because that’s the fantasy. It’s always been the fantasy.
And the really interesting thing?
You’re the one who punishes yourself the hardest.
—
Zack and Veronica are from my ongoing serial Rocking the Second Act. If you’d like to start at the beginning, Chapter One is here.
I think Veronica deserves a reverse harem!
Hahahaha fun :D irritating for you but fun for us to read :D