American Horror Story One Two Three

She touches the most sacred parts of her in the black. She feels safer that way, even though she knows he's there watching. He wishes he could be the one making her buck and squirm under the sheets. So does she, though she's not ready to admit it yet.

She puts on Nirvana before she gets to work, knowing it'll draw him to her if he's not already there hiding in the shadows. She thinks he sounds similar to Kurt when he's belting in the shower and she's sitting outside the door listening, so she pretends it's him singing to her while she plays and sleeps.

He crawls into her bed when she's done and her eyes are shut. She lets him. Her hand by his face on the pillow, he can smell her and his mouth waters while fighting every urge to pull the digits in and suck the sent off. It's been ages since he's tasted her.

She lets him think he's getting away with being close to her; he lets her think he doesn't know she's letting him. It's a game they didn't mean to start, but either of them is too nervous to end it.

What would it mean? That she's absolved him of all his sins? That he's forgiven her for banishing him? They couldn't be sure what they'd become if they stopped this.

During the day, they avoid each other, but can't help themselves from watching.

When she's in the kitchen, he turns himself around and hides behind the dining room wall until she's taken her tea cup or noodles and retreated to the couch or her room.

He never sees her in the halls, she keeps herself invisible. She's afraid that if they bump into each other, everything she wants to tell him will fall from her mouth. He lets her have her way.

Sometimes he'll catch a glimpse of her playing with Beau in the attic. When the third to top stair creaks she knows it's him and she vanishes, feeling guilty after for abandoning the poor soul who didn't understand why she wouldn't stay when his brother would visit.

She stays in her room, unless there's a special reason for her to be downstairs with her family. She ventures to the kitchen only once a day and plays with Beau when she feels it's been long enough.

He tends to stay in his basement domain, in an abandoned corner away from everyone. He thinks about her, then about what he'd done, and when it becomes too much, he strips, opens the tool kit he stole from Charles, and finds different ways to kill himself.

Slit of the throat, cutting out his organs, opening up his arteries, anything he's feeling at that particular moment. He'd cut his dick off a couple of times too, since it was the weapon used for the destruction he'd caused.

After coming to, he walks invisibly and naked to the bathroom. He scrubs off his blood while he sings, she listens. When he's done, she goes back to her room and he'll see a small swoosh of her hair as he steps into the hall. Her door will close and he shakes his head.

Travis tells her what he does in the basement. She's sitting in the gazebo smoking and he finds her.

"Violet?" The pretty boy was looking at his shoes.

"Yea?"

"Do you know what he's doing?"

She takes a drag. "What are you talking about?"

"Tate. Do you know what he does in the basement?"

"No."

"Well I do, and it's really bad."

"What is your point, Travis?"

"My point is that he kills himself every afternoon. This is the millionth time I've turned the corner and seen him lying naked in his blood."

She rolls her eyes at the exaggeration with the word millionth.

"He's punishing himself for you. Doesn't that mean anything? He loves you like a lot, enough to cut his dick off and pull out his organs."

She perks up at the mention of him cutting off his dick. "Travis, go away."

She sits alone with that information considering it, then makes her way to her room. The shower is running and he's singing "Something in the Way". She sits by the door and stars to cry silently.

It becomes a part of her everyday routine. Eventually she stops crying and just listens. He discovers she's there from a muffled sneeze followed by a soft curse. He jumps out, leaves the water on, and throws open the door, but she's already crossing her bedroom threshold.

He tries many times to catch sight of her, but she's faster than him. He gives up and just lets her have her way, like always.

One night when he crawls in her bed, she snaps her eyes open and he's stunned.

It's something new. He starts to say something, but she puts a finger to his lips.

"I don't want to hear some stupid apology. I get it, you're sorry. And I am too for not realizing that you meant it. I know why you take a shower every afternoon. I know you're here every night. I will never be able to forget the things you've done, or even forgive you, but I'm beginning to cope with it and notice that you are ashamed of it."

He nods. She keeps going.

"I don't know what this means or makes us, but I'm really tired of this hide and seek/I spy game we've got going."

"Me too."

"I appreciate you for letting me have my time to think. I've decided that we can be friends again. I don't know if I will ever say 'I love you', but you are not allowed to say it to me or rush me into anything. If you do I'll disappear."

She already knows in the back of her mind that she wants to tell him she loves him still anyway, regardless of what she just said.

He does too, but, as always, he lets her have her way. "Thank you." It's all he can say.

"Okay."

She rolls over away from him; he stares at the back of her head. They don't sleep, just listen to each other's unnecessary breathing. Kurt Cobain is not wailing softly from her speakers that night.

The sun creeps in, she decides to get up. He watches her move, long tee shirt, one of his actually, hiding the half of her he hasn't seen in years. He remembers it perfectly and mutters as the blood rushes south.

She hears him curse and laughs. She bends over to pick up pants off the floor, letting him see she isn't wearing underwear.

"Uh, Vi?" he chokes

"Yes?"

"Could you not do that?"

"Langdon, I'm not doing a damn thing." She swings her hips more than normal as she walks out to the bathroom.

They sit on the floor.

"H I P to the end of your 'Friends' to make 'friendship'."

She scoffs. "Why can't you ever let me win?"

"Cause that isn't fair."

"Well then why do you have to be fair?"

"Cause you're not."

He has a point and she knows it. She isn't being fair or following her own boundaries. She's sleeping in only underwear while he has to be in a shirt and pants, snuggling up to him, and kissing him on the cheek before bed. In the middle of the night, she rolls over and backs herself up, pleased in the morning when she feels him against her.

The one time he tries to touch her, she bites a chunk of skin from his arm. She spits the flesh on the floor and pushes him out of her bed; she doesn't want blood on the sheets.

"OW! JESUS!"

"No touching."

"But-"

"I said no, Tate."

"Okay." As usual, he lets her have her way.

She does what she wants. Some nights, he's forced to lie there, listening to her breathe heavy and mew lightly. He puts a hand over himself, afraid of her seeing it and to jerk off. She takes him by total surprise the night she actually sighs his name. He isn't sure if she really said it and she senses his hesitation.

"Tate," louder this time.

"Vi?" he whispers.

She groans. "Touch me."

"No."

She sits upright and glares at him. "No?"

"Yes. No."

"But-" He shuts her up, mashing his lips to hers and she doesn't fight. He knows just how much she wants him now. He gets up and pins her down in such a fluid motion that her breath hitches; he nips her collar bone in response. He's coating her in sloppy kisses, rushed and needy. She's making all the right sounds and moving her body.

It's cold when he rips her underwear off, the air hitting her slickness makes her shiver in an amazing way. Carelessly, he tosses the shreds of fabric somewhere behind him. The second he breathes on her she bucks. He holds her hips down. One, two, three.

She's shattering. He attacks her like he'll never eat again. He missed her sweetness. She comes hard in minutes, soaking his face and her sheets. He looks up and grins at her, hands still on her hips and her mess glistening on his lips and chin in the faint moonlight.

An impish smirk is returned to him and he fumbles to get out of his boxers. The shirt comes off easily and he settles between her legs.

They're breathing hard. One. Two. Three. He pushes; she yelps and claws his back.

"Did you miss me?" she huffs.

"Of course. Did you pretend it was me all this time alone?"

"Always."

She clenches and flutters around him so many times she's lost count, she is getting light headed and her vision spots. He rams in and out, she doesn't complain. Over and over she comes, saying his name like a prayer. He is a God and is saving her from herself. Her eyes close and open, head tilting back and forward, but his gaze never leaves her face.

One. Two. Three. She comes again and he does too this time, pushing himself so far in her that she digs her nails in his arms and screams.

He lies beside her; she tosses a leg over him and curls into his chest.

"I love you."

He kisses her head and then strokes her hair. "I never stopped."


End file.

American Horror Story, Angst, Romance