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04 May 2014 @ 12:12 am
[Glee] Better Or Worse I Am Tethered To You  
Titolo: Better Or Worse I Am Tethered To You
Fandom: Glee (conta ancora come tale, assurdo).
Personaggi/Pairing: OFC, menzioni di un paio di OMC e di Blaine.
Rating: NSFW
Warning: Het, Angst, Lemon, Self (quite obviously), Leoverse.
Wordcount: 1313
Prompt: 02. America - Gianna Nannini
Disclaimer: Glee non mi appartiene, ma tanto è appena vagamente una cosa, in questo 'verse XD Annie, Adam e Leo sono miei e della melting_lullaby, e io ne faccio quello che voglio \o\

BETTER OR WORSE I AM TETHERED TO YOU

She just got off the phone with Adam, and she feels drained. There’s nothing in the world that manages to accomplish the task of wearing her out quite like Adam does. It must be some sort of superpower, some special ability only he possesses. It’s probably part of what makes him so irresistible to her eyes, which is very unnerving.

Sighing deeply, Annie turns on her side, resting her head on her fluffy pillow. She just can’t understand the guy. She can’t understand if he’s really stupid or just pretending not to see the obvious, or even if he sees and understands everything, and just doesn’t care. He confuses her so much. She can’t make sense of nothing about him, and he’s the first and hopefully only of his kind to have such an effect on her.

Yet another reason why she just can’t stop thinking about him, apparently.

He was upset about Blaine and Leo, obviously. He always is. Annie hasn’t known Adam for long – a little less than a couple years, now – but she got that, already: Adam’s head is divided in boxes, the biggest of which contains only Leo, and eats up a lot of space in there, to the point that there’s isn’t much left for the rest of the world. So whenever he’s really happy, or really sad, or really angry, or any other strong feeling, powerful enough to move him, there’s always Leo involved.

Which makes Annie so fucking angry, to be honest.

She breathes in and out, closing her eyes and pressing her face down against the pillow, inhaling the soft, delicate scent of freshly washed linen. She’s got to calm down. She shouldn’t be angry about this. She shouldn’t let Adam unwillingly and unconsciously tie rage to the thought of Leo. That’s just unfair – Leo has no fault in this. He doesn’t even know what he’s part of. He’s happy, together with his boyfriend or whatever he considers Blaine to be these days, and he has no idea what Adam feels about him.

Much like Adam himself, actually.

The fact that he’s so oblivious to what he really feels about Leo never ceases to amaze and enrage her. It’s funny, on one hand, ‘cause the whole thing is so clear it’s just ridiculous that Adam can’t see that the only reason why he can’t cope with Leo being with somebody else is that he wants him for himself. On the other hand, though, it’s just frustrating. Annie wishes he’d come to terms with it, once and for all, and said it out loud. So she could… she doesn’t even know. Surrender?, maybe. Or just make peace with the thought. The thought that most of the time, despite how hard she tries, not only he doesn’t consider her as girlfriend material, but he doesn’t even see her.

She shakes her head quickly and growls out of frustration, turning on her stomach and hiding her face against the pillow. This is so annoying. And so embarrassing. And not being able to accept the thought makes her so angry with herself. She shouldn’t rely that much on his attention. She doesn’t, with anybody else! She doesn’t care about anybody else’s eyes on her, but Adam… he’s something else. And the fact that he is, that no matter how hard she tries to kick him out of her head she keeps thinking about it, she keeps wanting him to see her, and want her, and touch her, that just makes it even worse.

It’s one thing not to have him. She can survive that.

It’s so much worse that he just doesn’t care.

Feeling the familiar sting of rage tears behind her eyelids, she turns on her back and opens her eyes, staring at the ceiling. She hates to feel like this. It makes her feel so stupid, so disappointed in herself. It frustrates her, and frustration never fails to bring a sudden urgency of blowing some steam off in the easiest, quickest way possible.

She loathes to be horny for all the wrong reasons. It’s an excitement that doesn’t bring her any satisfaction, not even when she ultimately manages to get off. It just brings more sadness.

But rage is worse, and she knows that, if she doesn’t take care of this right now, rage is just gonna rise and rise, until she has to break something. And she doesn’t want that.

Closing her eyes, she tries to concentrate on something good. Fantasies always help her. It can be anything. They’re people without faces, and they all want her. They want only her in the world, and their voices without sounds speak to her, make her feel adored, make her feel desired. As she touches herself through her skirt, pressing her fingers against the fabric between her legs, she undoes the first couple buttons of her shirt and slips her fingers underneath, rubbing one of her breasts slowly.

She’s not really in the mood for this. Her nipples are soft and oversensitive, and she frowns when she rubs them with her fingertips, ‘cause the feeling isn’t pleasant. “Come on…” she tells herself, annoyed, “You just gotta get through this. Just get into it, and then it’s gonna be fine.”

Back to the people without faces, the voices without sounds. The hand on her breast isn’t her own, it’s one of those people’s, and the thought sends a pleasant shiver down her back. She closes her fingers and squeezes, she feels the sweet softness of her flesh give in to the pressure of her fingers, and she licks her lips, resting back against the pillow with a faint sigh.

She keeps stroking her breast, her fingertips moving in circles around her now hard nipple, as she slips her other hand past the waistband of her skirt, through layers and layers of fleecy fabric, until she feels the soft cotton of her panties. She moves past that too, reaching down, stroking herself with the tip of her index finger.

She’s wet. She wasn’t expecting it, and the feeling forces a lost moan out of her lips. She parts her legs slowly, arching her back to push her hips up, meeting the movement of her finger over her clit. It’s hard, sticking out like a little button, and she presses it down and then moves in circles all around it, her hips thrusting forward, pleasure pooling up in her underbelly.

People without faces. Voices without sounds. People wanting her. Voices. You’re so beautiful, Annie, you’re so sexy. I keep thinking about you, Annie, I don’t know how to stop. I want you so much. I wanna fuck you so bad. Can I fuck you, Annie? Can I fuck you?

And there’s Adam’s face. There’s his voice.

Her whole body jerks forwards as she shakes like a leaf in the fit of sudden pleasure that comes with her orgasm. She parts her lips and lets go of a strangled moan, her eyes wide open on the white ceiling of her bedroom.

She can still see Adam face. She can still hear his voice. It’s like a nightmare that doesn’t want to end, that keeps toying you around, making you believe it’s over and then striking you again with double the strength.

It’s exhausting.

She falls back on the bed, one of her hands still between her thighs, the other still wrapped around her breast. She lets go of it, and closes her eyes again, swallowing hard.

This isn’t just going to end, she knows that. This isn’t just going to go away, to wear itself off and then fade out like a distant memory.

As she takes her hand out of her panties and wipes what’s left of her climax away with a tissue, she wishes she could wipe away what’s left of Adam inside of her mind with the same easy simplicity, but she knows she can’t. And she tries to find some comfort in the inevitability of this, but she finds none.
 
 
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