always. [riarkle one shots]

Hate

This takes place in the last half of their senior year, so after December which makes both Riley and Farkle eighteen since I've always pictured Farkle to be older than Riley.

Sentence Starters

Rating M: angst and sex

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COMPLETELY SURE

Words: 1099

In which the hate is mutual.

"Quiet, they can hear us," Riley moans into his ear after he lets out a loud groan that is sure to have someone bursting into the dark closet. He pauses mid thrust and shows no sign of moving. She can't help the pitiful whine that comes out of her mouth. He's thick and she's positively throbbing and all she wants to know is why the hell he stopped.

"Right," He drawls after a prolonged bit of silence. His fingers dig into her bunched up skirt, "I forgot, you have an image to uphold."

Riley breathes harshly trying to understand why it suddenly matters. They don't like each other. They haven't held a proper conversation since the sixth grade. They don't have the same friends and as far as she knows they don't have the same hobbies. She sits at the popular table in the cafeteria and he's probably never even set foot there.

"Minkus—" With no warning, he pushes back in effectively cutting her off.

He presses her further into the shelf she's been using as support, he lifts her up and strokes her at an angle that has her body humming. Wrapping her legs around his waist she threads her hands through his hair pulling him even closer.

"They can't know what you like to do. Can't know who you l-fuck." His breath is hot against her neck as he grinds his hips tantalizingly against hers. "Can't know who you are apart from that ditzy persona. They can't know the real you."

In a totally different situation, she would have scoffed. He didn't know her. Didn't like her, couldn't tolerate her. He used to be able to, once upon a time. But that was then and this is now. Now, he was just a weekly release. So who was he to say things like that? Who was he to assume?

"They can't know, can they?" She struggles to make sense of his words. Tries to focus on what he's saying and not on the way he's making her feel.

But right now all she can manage is a feeble, "I hate you." He falters in his movements, almost dropping her, but recovers quickly.

"I hate you too." He returns, his voice dripping with venom.

They don't say anything after that. His lips capture hers in a harsh embrace that steals whatever scarce breath she had. He's angry, they've been doing this long enough that she knows at least that. What she doesn't know is why? So she gives as good as she gets. She bites him, hard, rolling his lips between her teeth. Only when he groans, does she let go, her lips curl into a satisfied smirk.

He pumps his hips mindlessly and she forgets that she hates him. Latching her hands onto his waist she struggles to keep up with him. His stomach tightens when she brushes her thumbs over the abs he keeps hidden away under baggy t-shirts. He pinches her nipples over her blouse, the smirk falls and she's one step closer to a place only he can get her to. She knows he senses it when he ups his pace. The stars in her eyes are beginning to dance frantically, his strokes become sloppier as she struggles to stay quiet.

Getting caught would be so embarrassing.

His nimble fingers slide into the slick area between her legs, a couple of swipes and the world explodes. She digs her nails into his back, fighting the scream that is threatening to escape, completely disregarding their no marks rule.

There are only two rules. No lights. No marks.

It's less personal that way. They don't exist outside of this closet.

He tenses then lets out the pained groan he always lets out before he spills into her. The hot stream is muted by the condom he'd hurriedly slipped on. She takes all of it, her body complete mush. Completely spent he slumps against her, their heated sweat slicked bodies tangled together, his breathing just as ragged as hers. The chill that overcomes the sex scented closet is new. He extracts himself from her and she chastises herself for the way she instantly misses him. A wrapper crinkles then there's a zip and the clang of a belt buckle before the room becomes blindingly bright.

"See you around Matthews," his silhouette says. He's gone before her eyes can adjust to the light. The room descends into darkness once more. She sighs, dreading the return back to class, back to her normal life. She's fully clothed and readjusting her bra strap when the door slams open and a hand switches the light on deftly.

It's Minkus. Farkle Minkus. He stands in the doorway, his presence imposing, even with the geek getup he wears. Aside from his flushed cheeks and swollen lips no one would ever think that they'd just had sex. He stares at her, his brow furrowed in the way it always used to when he was debating something.

"What do you want?" She's never been one for silence. It's always bothered her. But never him. She recalls how much he used to love it. He could sit with a book and not say anything for hours. He'd let her babble on, her chatter never bothering him. But when he looked up at her with a frown she'd known it was time to zip it.

It had been them against the world, now it was him against her.

Not knowing how long he plans to stand there she pulls out her compact and fixes her makeup, taking extra care with her eyeliner. She's about to tackle the mess that is her hair when he finally decides to speak.

"From you," He eyes her up and down, his blue eyes are like an x-ray, taking their time he examines her from head to toe. His eyes are just as blue as she remembers, even if now she has to stare up to look at them as opposed to down. She crosses her arms over her chest, his electric gaze has her feeling more exposed now than she did moments ago. Her heart beats faster, it's probably just the nostalgia getting to her.

He finally makes it back to her face, it's impassive, it always is.

She knows he's found his answer when he sneers at her. "Nothing. From you, I want nothing." He slams the door behind him not once looking back.

Feeling like an idiot Riley snaps her compact shut before chucking it into her bag.

She hates him. He hates her.

It's never going to change.