Author's Note:

This is part 2 of today's double update. Angst warning! But hey, we all know, it'll be all OK at the end, right? ;)

Love you,

K. xx

***

Fiona stretched, and a sweet lush shiver ran through her body. She wiggled her toes and nuzzled her pillow. Except, that's not a pillow. She slowly opened her eyes, and lifted her face to look at the man - whom she was basically lying on top of. She must have shifted closer and closer in her sleep, tucked herself under his arm, and then creeped up and– Oh god, that's so embarrassing.

'Give me space, Fee.' 'Why do you always have to touch me, Fee?' 'Your hands are cold.' 'I'm not your hot water bottle, move your feet away.'

Fiona held her breath and started slowly sliding off him. And then his left arm under her twitched - and he scooped her and placed her back on top of him. More so, now both his arms were wrapped around her, her palms splayed on his chest, her hands trapped between them.

Oh god.

And he was asleep. Well, most of him. Oh... Your measly weight is on top of that part of him, and you've just squirmed on it. What did you expect? Fiona squeezed her eyes shut. Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it!

Oh god, he is very proportionally built, isn't he?

Shut up!

Fiona pressed her hands into his chest and started slowly rising, hoping to free herself from the bearhug without waking him up - and consequently pressing her lower half into him more. He made a low rumbly nose in his throat - and his hips bucked on the bed. Fiona painfully bit into her bottom lip.

Fiona, he's asleep. He can't say 'no.' You're taking advantage of him. The thought made her sober up immediately.

"Will," she squeaked. "Will, you're– You have to let me go," she said in a begging voice.

He hummed, as if agreeing, and pulled her down. She felt him press his nose into the top of her head.

"Please, let me go," she whined, tears rolling over her eyes. God, if only she were allowed to stay like this, and maybe touch him too, and– "Will!"

He hummed again, muttered something about coffee, and rolled on his left side, taking her with him, pressing his hips into her firmly. Fiona could almost taste blood from how hard she was biting her lip. She could feel the heat of his body, with her back, her buttocks, and her legs. She squeezed her knees, fighting the heady pull in her stomach.

And then she felt his body tense.

"Bugger," he spat out, and jerked back from her, pushing her off his left arm. "What– Fiona? Are you– asleep?"

"No," she squeaked, "I'm not."

Her voice broke, and a sob bubbled in her throat.

"God, I'm– so sorry," he growled. "Fiona, I'm–"

"It's alright," she said. Her voice was nasal. She still couldn't turn to him. Don't let him see what a slobbery, snotty cock-up you are.

"No, it's not!" he barked. "I'm sorry! Bloody hell... Please, look at me. I won't touch you, but–"

He will never touch you again. Another sob burst out of her, and she covered her face.

"God, I'm sorry." He sounded absolutely gutted. "Do you want me to leave, or–"

She quickly turned to him, and saw his face twist. Your eyes are probably red, your cheeks are wet, and your lips are shaking. Watch the man run from this.

"God, I'm sorry I scared you–"

"You didn't scare me!" she hollered.

Don't touch him!

She lunged ahead and wrapped her arms around his neck. He went rigid, and she thought his right hand was raised, like in a surrender.

"What–" he muttered, and she hugged him even more tightly.

"I'm sorry!" she wailed.

"You're sorry?" he asked in a bewildered tone.

"I'm sorry I'm not– not letting– letting you go!" She was now making those hiccupy noises that always started when crying wasn't enough anymore. "I'm sor– sorry!"

"For hugging me?" he asked in a suddenly sober voice.

"Yes!" she bellowed. "I'll stop– stop now!"

Another hiccup escaped - and then she felt his right arm lie around her shoulders, and his scorching left hand cupped the back of her head. Fiona made a mournful wailing sound.

"Don't," he said softly. "Don't stop."

She was shaking now, and he started gently stroking her head, making comforting noises.

After a few minutes, she was starting to calm down. The tee on his chest was wet from her tears, and she scrunched her nose in disgust and embarrassment. It was time to lift her face and talk to him.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She inhaled, bracing herself.

"I'm so–" she started, and he chuckled under her.

"Yeah, I know, you're sorry," he said, and she felt him rub her back between her shoulder blades. God, that's just so... tactile. "For hugging me."

"Well, you haven't exactly volunteered," she said and sniffled.

"I hugged you first," he said. "Without asking either. So it's a draw. We'll do better next time."

Next time?!

"Remember what I said about my Mum?" she whispered.

Do. Not. Discuss it. With. Him! Him of all people! He already knows you're a psycho. Do you want to give him the terminology to describe it too?

"She was ill," he said in a neutral tone.

Fiona slowly lifted her hand and touched the wet stain on his tee with the tips of her fingers.

"She would disappear... and then spend a week in some man's flat. Sometimes they were violent," she whispered. "And once she ended up in the hospital. And my Nana didn't let me go visit her. But then– I saw the bruises, and– And my Da told me later it was because she just– She couldn't help herself around men. And they liked her too, for the hair, and because she– let them. And when I worked in the pub, men would try to chat me up, and sometimes– touch me." She felt him shift under her. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't–"

"What happened?" he asked in a low voice.

"It only happened once. The man was drunk, and he caught me in the back, near the bins. I– got out, before he managed to do anything, and I ran inside, and Nate threw him out. And then, when we got married, Nate took over the pub, and I didn't have to work anymore. And the temptation was gone."

He was silent for a few seconds.

"What temptation?" he asked.

"I– I sometimes–" Don't tell him, don't tell him! He can't know! He can't know what you're like. "I liked when they complimented me, and even–" Shut up! "When they touched me," she finished almost inaudibly. "It's because I'm like her. Because I have these... cravings."

"What cravings?"

Listen to his voice! Can you hear how hollow it is? If you look at his face right now, you'll see the disgust and the contempt that you deserve.

"I always want to be touched, to be hugged," she whispered and closed her eyes. "And sex too. I can't– I can't stop thinking about it. It's like an obsession. I keep getting these dreams, and–" She felt tears draw hot streaks down her cheek. "And it's worse– with you. It's usually just fantasies, but– the thoughts are different this time," she said. "And I hugged you– and earlier, when you were asleep, I should've moved away. And I didn't."

Here, she said it. Now he knows.

"So, you like sex," he said. His voice was even. "You enjoy being complimented. And you– you hugged me."

Fiona lifted her head and stared at him.

"That's not what–" she started, but the odd expression in his eyes made her stop.

"That's not what's happening?" he asked and narrowed his eyes. He looks almost– angry? "Because I think that's exactly what's happening."

"But–"

"Was it Nate who told you you were obsessed with sex?" he asked.

Yep, he's definitely angry. More so, he's livid. She could almost hear him grind his teeth. And his eyes were like shards of blue glass.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Was it when you asked for a hug?" He's snarling. He's so furious he doesn't even sound human anymore.

"Yes," she exhaled.

"I'm going to break his spine," he jeered, and Fiona jolted. "You need to move away from me right now, Fiona. I'm–"

She scampered onto the other side of the bed.

"I'm sorry. I'm– I'm just really angry right now," he said. Every word like a rock falling on damp ground.

Fiona watched him. He lifted his hand - it was shaking - and rubbed his face.

"Fiona, it's none of my fucking business, but I think you need to see a therapist," he said slowly, jeering each words through his clenched his teeth. "Because I think your husband has gaslighted you. And if you were my sister, and only with your permission–" He's so angry that he's sniding, and swearing, and sneering, and talking three times as much as usual. "I would beat the fuck out of your fucking husband."

They sat in silence, and she watched his chest rise in sharp uneven breaths. He then closed his eyes and started inhaling and exhaling purposefully. It's something from his training probably, she thought.

"So, you think that I might be–"

"If you ask me if you're normal," he spat out, "I'm going to–" He cut off his growl, and shook his head. "Sorry."

"I am sorry too," she said quietly. "I'm sorry you have to deal with me."

He gave her a glare - look how much you irritate him! - and shook his head again.

"You just– God, you just don't–" Apparently, his enraged eloquence had run out. He went back to his dark furrow, and Fiona clenched her fists. "You aren't crazy, Fiona. It's normal to like sex. I'm no therapist, I don't bloody know what to say!" he exclaimed and jerked his neck.

"Sure, sure, of course. That's what I was saying! I'm sorry you have to deal with all this– nonsense. And of course you aren't my therapist. I had one, but it didn't help. Well, it was a couple's therapy, and–" She bit her tongue because he gave her an even darker glare. "Will, seriously, I'm sorry I just dumped it all on you." She gave him a shaky smile. "I feel horrible. And silly, I feel so silly now. Can we just forget all this? It's just all– such rubbish!"

Yes, yes, forget all this! Forget he knows. Forget you just told him you want him, that your cravings are worse with him. God, so much worse, it almost hurts. Like when he wrapped around you, and you wondered how it would feel to turn around and– Shut up! Just– run! Pretend it's not happening, and run! It's been just a day and half, and he's just a stranger! If you run now, it'll be as if nothing happened.

"Fiona," he said gravely, and she stopped sliding off the bed. "It is normal."

"What is normal?" she squeaked.

"What just happened. We slept together. And I haven't had any–" He stopped himself. "I had a morning wood. And you–"

"Find you attractive?" she offered, because he seemed stuck.

"Good to know," he grumbled. "Unless you start doing something dangerous, and it's compulsive– like your Mum," he added softly. "It's normal. You don't act on it, not with me at least."

"No, no, I don't ever act on it," she eagerly rushed to reassure him. Like a trained dog.

Except now it seems that maybe there has actually been 'training' involved. Do you want to be a trained dog, Fiona? Or do you want to think for yourself?

She leaned against the headboard and frowned. She felt his gaze on her face, and she looked up.

"I'll make coffee," he grumbled, awkwardly got off the bed, and left the bedroom.

Fiona remained seated, twisting the corner of the duvet in her fingers.