B e i n g F e l i c i t y

He rolls his eyes again and sighs that tiresome sigh that always bothers you whenever he expresses he’s had enough. If the circumstances had been different, you would have given in and let him have his way, but this particular time you were bent on winning.

Apparently he’s organised a surprise trip for his out-of-town girlfriend to come and stay with him for a few days while she has time off work, but couldn’t hold it in any longer. You wish he’d told you sooner, so you could have had enough time to sway him and get him to call her up in whatever god-forsaken state she lived in and tell her to stay where she was. But it’s too late for that now. He’s due to pick her up from the airport in an hour.

Surprise?

Hardly.

Gnawing your own arm off sounded better.

Once you all had been introduced to her for the very first time months ago; a rebound that was dangerously keen on becoming his second-wife; you could have thrown up twenty-seven years worth of food right then and there.

She was gorgeous of course; she’d tell the group countless times how wonderful Mike was, how handsome and talented he was until you felt like you wanted to cut your ears out with a blunt knife and let the neighbours cat go wild with its claws in your eyes. Sure, she seemed nice, but you knew better. She was only hanging about because her beloved ‘hunk-of-cuddles’ happened to have a hefty bank balance. You were sick with disgust.

You had wanted to tell him that he was worth more, that there were better people out there for him, that he deserved the best; but you couldn’t hurt him like that.

You wanted so badly to open his eyes to the real woman she was; a gold-digger, a hideous beauty with the charm and power of seduction to keep him blind and in the dark.

But you couldn’t.

Because he needed her companionship; for what, was beyond you. But you knew deep down that his heart still belonged to Anna, first-wife, first-love, the woman who left him torn apart when he wouldn’t choose her over his famed career.

In the beginning, you blamed the whole marriage dissipation solely on her. But soon enough you came to realise she was hurting just as much as him, your best friend; because she was sick of going to bed alone and waking up to an empty house day after day. You had liked her too. She brought out the best in him.

Now, you find it difficult to believe that he and the latest woman in his life are soon to be celebrating their one-year anniversary. She’s had him around her little finger for that long?

“It’s no longer in my hands. She’s on her way as we speak. End of conversation,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest, as if to put a barrier between the two of you, “You obviously don’t like her and no good can come from you conversing with her. Just don’t speak to her, don’t say a word. Am I clear?”

“Whatever...” you mutter, walking towards the front door as you crave leave.

You hear him sigh again behind you while you take your jacket from the coat-hanger, and a warm hand squeezes at your shoulder, begging you to leave your presence where it is.

You come face to face with Brad; a stern fatherly look to his face that fails to hide his saddened eyes.

“Can we go the night without these sorts of tantrums?” he asks under his breath - but it comes as more of an order, and with another reassuring shoulder squeeze, he takes your jacket from your grip and sets it back on its hook.

You sigh, defeated for now, but you make a promise to make the loudest, most angered exit if she so much as puts a hair out of line.

Throughout dinner, your eyes stay pinned to your plate as you take the occasional bite of food, ignoring her annoyingly high-pitched giggling and stilling the urge to vomit when she flicks her long brunette hair over her shoulder and smiles at Rob. Hell, you swear that woman is after him.

Rob notices it too, but is smart enough to be revolted by the real woman within. Fortunately, he’s the type of person to know his boundaries and stick by them, and he’s the type of person to see someone for who they are - sitting under his gaze gives you away without the slightest room for warning.

And he loves Mike, all of you, and the loyalty involved in that love means he wouldn’t dare do a thing to hurt him.

You are aware of the small quiver of a grimace that she is quick to hide whenever someone at the table talks to you, and you keep your conversations short in hopes of getting home faster. It doesn’t work of course, so you spend the rest of the night trying to devise plans of action and little excuses to escape. And when you all move to the living room to watch television and chat, you visibly cower uncomfortably back into the recliner you sit in as Brad stares you down, wordlessly telling you to suck it up and be polite.

Suffering the odd gag deep in your throat when civil questions arise from Phoenix about her home, work and social life break the air during advertisements, you try desperately to take old words of Joe’s advise into consideration - you try to be nice to her, for Mike’s sake, to show you’re willing to go out of your comfort zone for him. But seeing the guys look to you expectantly, nodding towards her and giving you a confident kick in the ass with their eyes makes you cringe.

“So uh...how long are you staying?” you ask her during the next segment of infomercials. You want to die when you feel Mike burning holes into your face - okay, so it hadn’t come off in the way they would have liked. Okay, maybe if came off in a ‘don’t-ruin-my-weekend-by-sticking-around’ sort of way.

But she smiles, completely ignoring your more than obvious dislike of her, and answers your question. You already knew the answer; Mike had told you beforehand. Actually it was a dumb question, but a safe one none-the-less, one with an outcome that wouldn’t surprise.

You slap on a fake smile and nod as she finishes.

“Well, I hope you have a great time here,” you say as sincerely as you can make it sound.

You’re overwhelmed by the expressions of utter relief that cross the boys’ faces; especially Mike’s, who simply breaks out into a meaningful half smile, one that lets you know he’s appreciating you and that he loves you more for trying.

And you feel good for a while.

That moment soon fades when Joe starts up a conversation with her, and you watch with secret sympathy as Mike attempts to cuddle closer to her, but gives up when she moves away from him and shifts to the end of the sofa, more interested in what Rob has to say when he is sucked unwillingly into the discussion; and again you can’t be screwed staying around. The last straw is when you see the same abused-puppy look on Mike’s face when his affection goes unreturned, and you leave the house when Brad finds the balls to admit the day is finally catching up on him.

“I can’t stand that woman!” you scream as Brad drives you home. Although he won’t say it, he agrees with you one-hundred percent. It hurts him to see Mike this way as much as it does you.

“Jesus, I’d be a better girlfriend than her!” you go on, tugging roughly at your dark locks and growling, trying to suppress the anger bubbling around inside, “How can he just sit through that like he doesn’t exist?!”

Brad sighs tiredly. You don’t expect answers, after all they are more statements than questions. Statements you want Mike to hear.

He smiles easily in farewell when he drops you home, just as glad as you that the evening is finally over.

After peeling clothes from your weary body, you drown yourself in the cool sheets of your bed and fall asleep, worries troubling your mind as it falls away into darkness.

When you wake in the morning, you groan at the discomfort in your chest from sleeping on your stomach, and roll to lie on your back instead, sighing as you stretch yourself across the bed and resorting to resting your eyes for a moment longer.

Bewildered when a mono-toned beeping erupts from the bedside table, you slam a hand against it, and finding to your puzzlement that the alarm continues to disturb your morning ritual of re-entering the consciousness, you move and find the offending device on the opposite bedside table, and using a perfectly manicured finger, you press the button with a frown.

Receiving no relief from the silence that fills the room, you barely avoid screaming as you flee from the familiar surroundings before taking Mike’s car and racing to your home.

You realise your clothes fit differently as you walk across the front lawn leading up to your house. You look down hesitantly to see what you’re wearing; pale pink pyjama bottoms and a clinging singlet (that clearly leaves nothing to the imagination) of the same colour, along with Mike’s robe of which you’d carelessly thrown on while on your way out of his house. Well, you had to admit, at least you weren’t naked.

That would have been an entirely different story.

You bang your fists frantically on the wooden door, wincing when your hands start hurting but stepping back when the door flies open and there, stands yourself with an expression much like the one you feel you’re wearing.

“Why is this happening?!” he yells; she yells with your voice, going viciously through your clothes drawers and trying to find a shirt to cover up with. You love walking around shirtless, but this comes as a shock to her; she is used to covering up. Woman can’t walk around shirtless as freely as a man. There are...other factors involved. Namely breasts.

Breasts which you now have instead.

“I don’t know-----” you cut yourself short after hearing a female voice instead of you own.

“Well, until we figure this thing out, we have to lay out some ground rules,” she says, turning to glare at you with your own dark eyes. You flinch, previously unaware at how much your gaze can hurt.

“One; no checking me out,” she says, pointing at your body, “Two; keep touching to a minimum, especially in the shower. Three; eat healthily, that means no fat, no dairy products, go easy on the carbohydrates----”

She continues to rattle on, but your mind is elsewhere.

“What do I do about Mike?” you ask her fearfully.

Her face; your face; goes temporarily blank.

“Act as I would; and don’t touch him,” she snaps, grimacing as she finds a black tribal shirt and turns away to put it on.

“You really despise his company that much, huh?” you say bitterly, shaking your head and leaving the room.

You sigh tiredly when you arrive back at Mike’s place and shut the car off, pulling yourself towards the house and slipping inside. You see him sitting quietly on the sofa amongst a few blankets and pillows (that tart made him sleep on the couch?!), watching television before his eyes move towards you innocently.

“Where’d you go?” he asks.

Knowing your mouth is hanging open while you try to find an excuse, you barely whisper a response, something about going to buy a newspaper from the local store.

He frowns, seeing you’ve returned empty-handed, and you put it to him that the store clerk said they were all sold out; something about the front-page story being massively impressive. His carefree smile is back, and you sigh with relief when he lets the subject go in order to make some breakfast.

While you eat the healthy, tasteless food he’d so thoughtfully purchased for your body, keeping in mind what she likes to stay away from, you make yourself forget that you’re in the body if his girlfriend and talk to him like normal, like you usually do; he seems to feel better at this, and you catch the occasional lingered stare from his direction, as if he didn’t expect you to talk to him. You actually laugh together a few times, and you see that familiar glint in his eyes that you always saw when he looked at her. It makes you blush.

You go up to his bedroom in search of her travel cases. Finding them under the bed, you carefully unzip them, ready to throw them across the room if you find anything you don’t wish to see.

The first is full with a few piles of clothes; you can tell by the blouse-skirt and the shirt-trouser combos that are neatly folded inside that she has organised in advance what she plans to wear. For once, you praise her.

The second case contains underwear (you awkwardly pick out a bra and a pair of panties, then change the panties when you realise the bra comes with its own matching pair) and endless amounts of bottles and tubes. Scented body products, you realise to your dismay. No doubt that bitch will force you into a beauty regime.

Keeping your eyes focussed hard on the ceiling, you clothe yourself with a little difficulty, and cringe when you attempt to put the bra on. You try to put it on the way you’d always seen your wife do it; latching it from the back. But when you give up after numerous failed attempts, you hook it up around your waist (keeping your eyes as faraway as possible from the two fleshy intruders in your line of vision), then proceed to pull it up.

Once that mentally-harming ordeal is over with, you pull a button-down shirt on and squirm in your new set of clothes when you realise they have no room to move in. You dare to get a glimpse at your handiwork in the mirror; you can see perfectly now too - no more need for glasses; and you breathe deeply upon seeing your reflection. Despite your reluctance to be in the skin you’re in, you are happy with your appearance.

As much as you hate that woman, she has taste.

Content with your white-cuffed, white-collar pale pink shirt and dark grey wide-leg dress pants, you unbutton a few buttons at the top of the shirt. You have no qualms about showing off what you’ve got. Because it is not your body.

You walk into the bathroom with her hairbrush and deciding there’s not much you can do with hair or make-up, you run the brush smoothly through your long brunette locks and use your hands to flick your hair into a nice position.

Abandoning the hair-brush in the travel case from which it came, you leave the room in a pair of sandals to join Mike downstairs, walking uncomfortably and pulling at the seat of your pants, hoping someday to travel back in time and kill whoever invented the g-string.

As you step carefully down the stairs, Mike stops by the front door in the clothes he’d grabbed before you’d gone to get dressed, and stares at you with a silly grin playing among his features - eyes roaming in places you feel they shouldn’t be, but again you tell yourself you are her now, not him.

“You look good,” he says softly, opening the door for you as you blush, somewhat blown away by his charm and gentleness. You usually would have laughed out loud at your best friend getting all soft and cheesy, but because his compliments were directed towards you, you take them in your stride and give him a friendly pat on the arm.

He temporarily startles you when he takes your hand in his on the drive to Brad’s, flashing you a warm smile every now and then when it is safe to take his eyes from the road. You know that he would patiently let your hand go if you were to pull it away, but you choose to leave it where it is; you are aware of the affection he needs, more so of the sad look in his eyes when he doesn’t receive it. You decide to keep him happy for now.

He is your best friend after all.

On arrival, you learn that she had found Brad’s number and called to ask if he could come and pick her up (because she didn’t know her way around and didn’t bother to learn where you all live). You’re thrown off guard when Brad holds the door open for you and places a kiss to your cheek. You want to giggle at his formalness, but stifle the urge and mumble a ‘hey’ as you grin madly. Then you get an idea and drag him away to his room.

The look on his face is one of pure fear when you close the door behind you, almost as if he half expects you to try and seduce him. But you rush to him and hold him by the shoulders as you gaze up (yes, up now) into his eyes.

“Something’s happened to me,” you say, and he tries to step away, hung on the idea he has in his mind, “Brad, it’s me, Chester.”

He cocks an eyebrow and his face twists as though he’s experiencing a sour taste on his tongue, “It is?”

“Yes, I woke up in Felicity’s body. She’s in mine,” you say, looking desperately at him in hopes of him believing you, “How can I prove it to you?”

“Um...what’s something that I’ve only ever told Che----you?” he asks.

You think hard for a moment, cursing when you hear Mike in the hallway asking someone where the two of you have gone.

You mumble incoherently as you seek something in your mind, then you look up at Brad smugly like a light-bulb has switched on, “You think Rob has nice shoulders.”

He rolls his eyes, “Yes, and he knows that----”

“You think he has more than just nice shoulders...” you say, crossing your arms and smiling confidently as he visibly pales.

He walks numbly behind you as you enter the living room, mouth parted the slightest. She motions you over with a finger, and you sigh as you sit down on the couch next to her and cross your legs. She gives you a look when you do this, but you sit proudly and nudge her legs apart, so that she sits more like a man. The two of you have everyone’s attention; thankfully Mike is using the bathroom. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Brad drop his head into his hands.

While the others are talking and Brad is making tea and coffee for everyone, she passes you a slip of paper and whispers into your ear about it. Rolling your eyes again, you try to put it into a pocket but find you have none, so you fold it up and place it down your bra, ignoring her less than happy response as you do.

“Always wanted to do that,” you say with a grin, enjoying how much you’re winding her up.

Brad places mugs of coffee down for the others, then returns with your drink, hesitating for a second before switching hands and giving you the coffee, and Felicity the tea.

She seems happier when Rob talks more enthusiastically with her; because he sees you; but when Phoenix speaks to him from the recliner across the room, he looks at her strangely, then he looks at you, troubled as to why he sees your body; her; as cold and hers ;you; as warm. You think maybe there is hope that he knows it’s really you behind the blue eyes, long dark hair, defined cheekbones and full lips.

When you get home after running a few errands with Mike, you retreat to the bathroom with the second travel case and the slip of paper she gave you earlier. You expected it.

The beauty routine you were told to follow.

Reading the list, you realise that she expects you to use thirteen different products. You sigh tiredly but do it anyway; the scent of mango-apple facial scrub and avocado and jojoba moisturiser isn’t half bad.

Then you face the unbearable.

Mike tells you he is wishing for sleep, and sets up his sleeping place on the couch; but you feel so bad, so incredibly guilty when you know that he’d love to cuddle up and fall asleep in the same bed as you. So...yes. You quietly tell him it’s okay if he wants to sleep where he desires, if he ‘finds the couch uncomfortable’, and you head upstairs feeling rather refreshed from your hour and a half of self-pampering, but low about your situation with Mike.

Just as you’re about to fall unconscious, you feel him get in behind you, and he leans over and kisses your head gently before moving to his side and falling asleep.

Your thoughts are troubled like the night before.

Unfortunately, you wake the next morning in the same bed.

You watch mesmerised as Mike rests; you didn’t know it was possible for a guy to sleep so peacefully, so handsomely. Because he remains asleep, you watch him openly, smiling every now and then when he makes a little noise.

The alarm screeches into gear again, causing Mike to jerk in his sleep before he rolls away and bashes the clock with his fist. You laugh when he growls obscenities at the stupid thing, and he’s quick to roll back and pull you into his arms.

You lie there for a few minutes with his arm across your stomach and his head against your shoulder as he rests his eyes; and you don’t mind.

You do, however, mind when he starts kissing your neck, and even more so when he moves up towards your mouth. He gazes down at you for a moment, seeing your hesitation and being disappointed by it. He believes you think he will cause you harm.

If only he knew the truth.

He ever so slowly lowers his lips to yours, waiting for you to pull away but because you can’t find it in your heart to do that to him, you let him kiss you.

You expect it to be horrible; after all, you’ve never kissed a man before, but his lips are soft and inviting against your own, and you have trouble trying to convince yourself you’re not enjoying it.

He pulls away and you smile up at him, surprised at just how sweet and caring he is. You’ve seen him this way before, but never experienced it yourself first-hand.

He smiles back and kisses your forehead a few times. You know that’s all he wanted. A morning kiss. One he’s so obviously been deprived of for a good few months.

“Want to go out for dinner tonight?” he asks quietly, stroking your head and brushing his fingers through your hair. You were always touchy when it came to the hair, but because you didn’t have it spiked to perfection, you didn’t mind. In fact, it felt great.

So great you almost forgot what he’d said.

“Dinner sounds good,” you answer with a sigh, leaving your eyes closed as his hands continue to move about, caressing you. Your breath almost hitches in your throat when you feel his other hand move down to your stomach, where he barely slides his fingertips under your singlet and strokes your skin. You peak an eye open at him, “Shower calls.”

He reluctantly lets you go, but not before trying to convince you you’d like his company. You turn to frown at him, but smile when you see him grinning.

“You wish!” you answer in a very ‘Chester-like’ tone, and he laughs heartedly. You’re glad he’s feeling better.

When you get out, you dress yourself in her robe and dry her hair as much as you can, although it’s so thick it’s difficult. You enter the kitchen to see him making a coffee for himself. He turns around and asks if you’d like tea, but you politely shake your head and decide against it. You’re a coffee drinker, so you’ll have to go without.

“Nice shower?” he asks, genuinely interested. You bet he is.

You nod and smile it off, finding his innocent forwardness amusing as you seat yourself at the counter top.

Glancing at the miles and miles of blue sky outside, you sigh happily and stretch your arms out above your head.

“Fuck dammit it’s a beautiful day!” you exclaim, giving Mike a ‘what?’ expression when he turns and looks at you like you have two heads. He grins and shakes his head before placing plates of breakfast down on the bench.

“Chester says that,” he speaks softly, and you are somewhat surprised that he notices that about you, “Why’d you say that of all things?”

“Because Chester’s one cool guy,” you say, grinning from ear to ear. Mike smiles too, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You watch him and listen intently as he pours his heart out; his hopes, how he’d love it if Chester were supportive of his relationship with you and if he would really get to know you better. You know then that you’re tearing Mike apart as much as she is, and you’re instantly regretful.

“Ninety percent of the time your friends are right. Trust them,” you say, taking his hand in yours and looking into his face, “Trust their instincts. Even if they’re wrong, they’re just looking out for you.”

He looks back at you uncertainly, so you move around the kitchen bench, and deciding you’re not tall enough to embrace the way you usually would, you opt for the arms around the waist approach. He wraps his arms tight around you, and strangely enough, it feels wonderful. It feels wonderful to be held.

“How could he not like you?” he mumbles in your hair, and you sigh.

If only he knew the truth.

She hears about your plans for the night, so you meet her (secretly) at Brad’s place; Brad, being the angel he was, decides to take Mike out for lunch so that you and her can sort through it all without him being suspicious as to why you’re suddenly on speaking terms. Mike is rather reluctant to leave you all alone with just a TV for company, so it takes a bit of coaxing.

He can be so sweet.

When they are gone, you go to Brad’s bedroom where she is hiding out and start your plan of action.

Unfortunately, she suggests you wear something sparkly for whoever will see you with Mike, not for Mike himself; God, she could be so self-absorbed; but you manage to convince her that simple black would be more elegant.

And you hate her more because you have to wear a dress.

With a matching handbag, no less.

She suggests how to wear your hair; up with the occasional loose strand, and what make-up and perfume to use and how to apply it (she’d given you another full sheet of instructions in case you forgot). She also spends about ten minutes painting your nails. Finally, something you’re used to.

You catch the saddened mood she is putting out, realising she wants to be the one to go and glam it up, so to be as nice as you can you quietly thank her for the help and tell her that even though she won’t be there, Mike will be thinking of her.

She looks up from your shiny black nails (of which took more convincing - she wanted red for Christ’s sake - and you being the man abruptly said ‘nuh-uh’) and smiles.

A small true smile that clearly shows she appreciates your words.

When it is time to go, you hug Brad and he simply smiles, slapping your ass on the way out. You spin on him so fast, your hair slaps the other side of your face.

“Oh, I can’t do that? I’m sorry,” he says, turning away.

You try not to laugh. You really try.

You spend a rather discomforting two hours getting ready for dinner, most of that time being spent on telling Mike to leave you alone, that it is ‘necessary’.

After yet another struggle with clothing, you stand in front of the mirror much like the day before, flattening the black material of the strapless dress in places where it creases. Putting your hands on her voluptuous hips, you sigh happily before checking the list over and mentally scratching out the last thing on it as you rub a little gloss over your ‘midnight rose’ lipstick - a pale shade that looks natural but adds the slightest tint to your lips. You’re sure that the glossy lips and the dark shades of brown smudged around your eyes will knock him dead, that and her tanned shoulders of which are on display with the dress that reaches below her knees.

You trip and fall to the bed when you strap the high heels on, knowing you’ll make an embarrassing scene when you go over on your ankle outside the restaurant, so you go against her fashionable judgement and stick with the black strappy sandals you wore the day earlier.

You grab the little black handbag full of the accessories you were told to bring with you (in case of emergency) and leave Mike’s bedroom with a sigh of confidence.

Stepping down the stairs with a hand against the railing to steady yourself, your eyes meet his as he waits handsomely for you at the bottom, wearing a smart black suit and dark blue tie (that you know he wore to enhance the almost unnoticeable tint of blue through his jet black hair). His lips fall apart the slightest bit and again you blush, even more so when he leans in and kisses your cheek, nibbling gently at your ear as he speaks soft and charmingly into it.

“You look gorgeous...” he whispers, the tiniest evidence of a feral growl rumbling away in the depths of his throat. Instead of backing away, you lean into his touch when he caresses your cheek - you even lean in when he gently kisses you, savouring the feel of his lips feather light on your own. You exchange a smile, a deep one that holds more meaning than of that you’ve ever shared, and he comments about your lip gloss and how he doesn’t wish to mess it up. He walks to the front door and opens it, holding his arm out for you as he reveals the cold air and twinkling night sky outside.

“Dinner awaits, babe,” he says with a soft grin. You suddenly realise you are female again, acting out as his girlfriend until you can find a way to get back to your original flesh.

And it disappoints you.

Because you love the way he now treats you so gently and the way he looks at you. But you remember he doesn’t see you, he sees Felicity, his lover, not you; Chester, his male best friend.

Dinner tastes great and rids you of the hunger in your belly that salad after salad cannot fulfill, but you remain wishful and deep in thought, wishing he could see you, properly see you in your own skin again, but wanting to have another day in her body so that you can have that wistful gaze and loving affection you’ve become so familiar with.

You catch him watching you several times and question him.

After a sip of red wine, he stares at you while he fights with his own thoughts, and he leans in the smallest bit so you’ll hear him.

“You’re not yourself,” he says, and you flinch, hoping he doesn’t figure you out but on the other hand, hoping that he does.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“You’re different somehow, and I can’t quite put my finger on it,” he replies, “but you’re a different that I know...”

You begin to feel that he is aware you’re there, that it is you inside that he feels so warmly towards, but you continue to listen to what he has to say.

“These past couple of days have been great, we haven’t been this talkative or intimate for...god, I can’t even remember the last time this happened,” he goes on, speaking softly as he tugs on a spike of his hair, “...You were kinda cold for a while there. I’ve missed you...”

You come to the conclusion that she really is heartless, that she freezes him out and doesn’t let him too close - and how the hell are you supposed to do that? He’s your best friend, you can’t hurt him that way, but then again, it is the deal you made with her.

She’d be steaming from her ears if she knew you were letting him half as close as you had allowed.

You smile in response, knowing there isn’t anything else you can do in this situation, and you feel so incredibly terrible when he turns back to his dinner with that look of suffering on his beautiful face.

The two of you eat the rest of dinner in an awkward silence.

When you leave the restaurant, he holds the door open for you with his eyes firmly attached to the ground, and you quietly thank him and walk out.

You watch him as he walks on his own to the car, deciding you can’t leave it like this and you grab his hands and pull him to you.

He is temporarily startled, even more so when you lift your head to kiss him. You raise yourself on your toes to reach him, finding his height advantage over you a little annoying now, and you kiss him but lower your feet back down when he leans into the kiss and slips his arms around you. Although he is troubled by you, you know that he is taking this as another chance to have you in his arms, for it’s obvious his relationship with her is in a place where she is refusing to put out any affection whatsoever, so he’ll take it while it is being offered.

You feel a passionate warmth flourish within your chest when you feel his tongue for the first time, and you are unable to quieten a desperate moan when he holds you tight, making you feel small and helpless and at his complete mercy. His strength brings you a wonderful feeling of security, one you haven’t felt in a long time, and the way he strokes his thumb across your cheek, like he is touching a rose petal and doesn’t want to bruise it, is enough to make you want more of this gentle side of him that you’ve hardly known.

You used to think of Mike as friendly, boyish and tough in male company, but now the words you associate with him are soft, loving, and willing to make you feel as cared about as possible.

Somewhere along the present moment, you lose yourself in him when he gently pulls your arms up around his neck, softly trailing his fingertips across the backs of your hands and arms as he moves to wrap his own around you and pull your body closer against his.

You close your eyes, relishing in the sexiness he possesses as he kisses and nibbles noisily at your neck, before he rests his chin on your shoulder and simply holds you as you attempt to suck some air into your system.

“I don’t get you,” he breathes, clutching at your body as if he feels you are slipping away, “I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I know,” you reply when you find your voice again.

“Then why do you distance yourself from me?” he asks, pulling his head back so he can see you, “Is it something I’ve done?”

You shake your head, wanting him to know that the blame for Felicity’s selfishness does not lie with him.

“Has something happened to you?” he asks, and you immediately look up, hoping he’ll search your eyes and answer that question himself, “You can tell me, y’know...I’m here to talk, always. I’ll understand, and if I don’t, make me understand, just please don’t keep pulling away from me...”

Knowing you can’t tell him - not yet anyway, you kiss and nuzzle at his neck, quietly asking if the two of you can go home. After a moment of dolorous gazing at you, he reluctantly agrees before kissing your lips and walking the rest of the way to the car. He briefly turns to look at you, gently touching a hand to his lips and mumbling a quiet ‘wow’ to himself, and you can’t help smiling and cocking a very knowing eyebrow.

You know he wishes you would confide in him, just once, but you can’t, no matter how badly you want to...

To be continued...