Title: Bygone
Category: General Fiction/Fan Fiction
Genre: Angst, AU
Rating: M
Pairing: James Reid/Ice
Length: One-shot
Word Count: 1,400
Summary: It used to be about them. But now, it's just about her and about him.
Disclaimer: All the events and instances portrayed in this story are only the product of my imagination. Any resemblance to an actual incident is purely coincidental. (Except maybe for the names.)
Warning: Mature content ahead. Read at your own risk.
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Bygone - used to; former; old; previous
...
Being married for two and a half years, they used to do a lot of things together. They bought a house, loaded it with furniture and appliances, decorated it with fixtures and filled it with memories of a happy married life. They traveled from place to place, explored different cities, visited plenty of attractions and toured at a long distanced-vicinity. They've gone to adventures, organized parties, tried contemporary things and met new people. And they also made love.
They practically did everything together, joined in the hips, as hopelessly in love husband and wife as they were. That was until they fell apart.
Her husband, James Reid, inherited the family business, and she, Ice Reid, started fulfilling the dreams of having her own boutique.
It was unavoidable. The former president of the company fell sick and dumped everything to his son. The employees, the board of directors, the benefactors, they all relied to him to run the business leaving him no time for himself, which was the same as having no time for his wife.
On the other hand, Ice was ecstatic. Opportunities rarely pass by so when it came, she grabbed it at the speed of light and never let it go. The everyday planning made her tired, the long preparation exhausted her, and the extended devising worn her out. By the time she arrived home, she had no energy to make a dinner or to tend to her husband.
They were both drained, fatigue and weariness evident from their faces. They had no time nor liveliness to talk or to exchange stories or to do the things they used to do whenever they reunited.
One night became two, two nights became a week, a week became a month and a month became months. They agreed to not nullify their marriage contract, it would only take too much of their time. They're currently separated but not divorced.
There are only two things that bind them together, one is the contract, the other is sex.
Sometimes, she comes home, sometimes she doesn't. Sometimes, he comes home, sometimes he doesn't. But there are rare times that they come home at the same time and when both of them are present, they do it.
Tonight, Ice comes home.
Tired and dreary from work, she makes her way to the kitchen to fetch some refreshments. She sits and relaxes herself at the bar area of the house. She can feel the drowsiness, the soreness of her muscles and the call for a rest. But, her top concern is not one of the things aforementioned above. She needs something, someone, and hopes she can attain it tonight.
She waits. Until the usual time of his arrival, she waits. With a preplanned excuse if ever, she waits. Through the period of her meditation, she waits. And when it is only five minutes of the assumed hour, she goes to shower to clean and prepare herself.
The water is tepid, not too cold and not too warm, yet she feels hot... and bothered. It has been a while since the last time. Naturally, she had seen other men in the span of their separation and undoubtedly, he dated other women too. However, when it comes to it, she only goes to him. It's not about loyalty, it's about familiarity.
She picks a nightdress that is not too revealing but still provocative. It's just like her personality, a little reserved but still wild. As she goes out of the bathroom, she sees him, dressed in suit and acting so proper. She sits back at the bar stool, drinks at her juice and sets up her game face.
"You're here." He says after a full minute. It's not a question nor a complaint, it's a statement.
She hums while taking a glimpse at him, not missing the lust-filled eyes ogling at every part of her body that is exposed, or the tone that is perceptibly clouded with desires and wants and everything on that line, or the heavy breaths resulted from the thoughts and ideas of the things they can - will - do.
She stares at him, direct and inviting. He walks to her, slow-paced and suggesting. She stands, and the next thing she knows, they are at each other's throat, sensually and sultrily. His hands find its way inside her lingerie and her hands are busy undoing his necktie.
It used to be about the art of seduction, complete with meaningful gazes and smiles that sept through the heart. But now, it's just about a word then a confirmation or an indicative glare that had more than a meaning, sometimes a tap in the shoulder.
In a matter of seconds, she is undressed and he is on his pants with his belt discarded on the floor. Their hands do not roam and caress but are not still. Instead, they go straight at the region where it gives more stimulation, they applied pressure exactly where it's required, and they emphasize precisely where it help make the mood even steamier. There's no wasting of time, no fooling around, no dilly-dallying.
It used to be about the playful teasing, the slow passionate and appreciative kisses, the expressive and consequential looks, the touches that lingered and ghosted all throughout their bodies from the most trivial up to the most sensitive parts. But now, it's just about focusing and giving the attention only to the parts where it's supposed to be.
The two of them trudge to the bed, lips firmly attached and limbs complicatedly tangled at each other. Without further ado, they advance straight to the point. As both of them work together, the pleasure that built up from earlier is now starting to increase enormously. They pant, let out low growls and scream moans of pure delight.
It used to be about the whispering of encouraging words and sweet nothings, the soft uttering of their names and endearments, the declaration of deep affection and fondness. But now, it's just about the swearing and curses, the demand to go faster or harder or to keep going, and the snarl of satisfaction and contentment.
Ice is already feeling the coil on her stomach. Slowly but surely, it is entwining and twisting around as they move not in sync but with coordination. After a deliberately powerful thrust, she finishes first with a hard bite on her own lip and a tight grasp on the ivory bed sheet. Not long after, he reaches his peak while shutting his eyes and mumbling a breathless fuck.
It used to be about them. But now, it's just about her and about him.
It used to be about doing feats to please her or performing acts to arouse him more, about offering her excitements before stepping into borders or giving him a lot before taking a few, about making sure that both of them were getting their needs and wants and everything they could give. But now, it's just about going on their own paces, without any warnings or reassurances, they just get into action trying to satisfy their own selfish selves.
It used to be about the the love marks on almost every part of her body or the bite marks mostly on his shoulder, sometimes on his neck, which they considered as the seals of ownership. But now, it's just about the hickeys, marks, and blotches that prove their crave and lust and lechery.
It used to be about making love, about promises of forever, about unending declaration of love and attachment. But now, it's just about sex, about exchanging nothing but formalities, about drawing a line they forbid each other to step.
After a few minutes of catching their breaths and regaining their composures, they both stand. Ice goes back to retrieve her clothes and dress herself and James makes his way to the bathroom.
It used to be about the cuddles, the snuggles and the embraces while murmuring I love you and I love you more after the euphoric act. But now, it's just about making herself look decent and either sleeping on the guest room or leaving the house without even saying a single word to her husband.
...
