Up on the eighth level it was only a furious Audette in the dirty boy's quarters, pacing around in scratchy pjs with her arms clinging across her chest and tears billowing down her cheeks in squiggly streams.
Boxers and socks were strewn about as if a tornado had touched down in the octagonal space only to attack undergarments. Crabbe inhumanely still had no curtains, and instead had elected to drape his green fitted sheet across two sides of his bunk, without worrying naturally that a huge, disturbing brown stain was smack dab down the center.
Draco's bed was neat and tidy, glowing in the darkness like a dreamy night light where he'd forgotten his sky illusion running all day.
She picked her way to the familiar light source through the minefield of clothing, rubbish, and what appeared to be a pornographic collection of magazines entitled such vulgarities as Witch's Titties, Snitch's to Snatches, and her personal least favorite adaptation, Fantastic Fanny's and Where to Find Them.
Downstairs the music turned up again and outlandish female laughing sent her absolutely into the darkest depths of despair, resentment and humility. The sound of him conversing with those same sixteen year old girls, who were probably cackling at her expense and reactions, was enough to induce a serious bout of scarring heartbreak and anger.
She had been so, so wrong to run off and kiss Theodore, and even more wrong to punish Draco to the moon while keeping her own mistake a secret.
There was nothing to do but wait.
And maybe snoop. Just a tiddlywinks.
Realistically, when was she ever going to be left alone in that room again? The opportunity was just too rare.
With her ears pulling back at the sounds of his creamy voice rising and falling below, she carefully opened his rustic side drawer.
Nothing that out of the ordinary; the glowing, lavender first place champions medal of course, partnered by multiple notebooks filled with bizarre sketches of a tall wardrobe and ancient runes she couldn't hope to decipher, a cracked clock on a golden chain, dried up black raven quills...
Towards the bottom of the drawer she relocated Pansy's moving photograph of them dancing at fifteen and briefly considered shredding it before reminding herself that it had been their first real fight and not to do something so rash while worked up. She'd already thrown a poker at a girl's face; the limit for crazy had most certainly been reached that eve.
However: that was not the only photo of Pansy's.
He too had been in the habit of collecting photos from the hostile little wench, but as Audette flipped through the faded, stained and dog eared images she was surprised that they were literally all of her.
The first one was of sixteen year old Audette with braided hair, holding a hand up to block out the photograph being taken on an average day in the Great Hall. Her face was unravelling with a mildly irritated and nonchalant smile. On the back in Pansy's squirrelly scripture was written; She's getting suspicious. Last one for a while. Learn to deal with your disgusting obsession.
Another one was of Audette's scandalously beautiful entry into the school talent show eleven months prior in January, where she'd put on a ballet performance - forced by her mother, naturally. Sections of her bedazzled pink tutu had broken off into awe striking, fluttering, tiny golden butterflies throughout the air as she'd twirled majestically. Her long hair had been twisted into a tight bun with a tiny pink crown atop. This specific picture was quite aged down, suggesting he was perhaps, most infatuated with that particular memory.
Others were virtually meaningless; Audette dangerously spilling multiple people's cauldrons in potions classes, her and Guy arguing over the ownership of a cerulean sweater with beaded gems in the sunny second floor corridor, Audette alone in the library embarrassingly smacking her forehead with a huge textbook over and over because she obviously didn't understand the material.
Halfway through the thick stack of tiny, glossy pages she found herself tilting her head in adoration at a capture of her and Draco in third year, situated in Divination class together at a rickety tea table with a stained red table cloth and a cloudy crystal ball.
That semester he had been arguably transitioning through his awkward teenage phase, styling his hair straight as an arrow and parting it down the middle. Not that the style detracted too much from his physical charm, but looking back on it she couldn't help but clamp a hand to her mouth and shake her head at the stark reminder of how much he had changed over time.
Now at eighteen his entire presentation was sleek and slender, dangerous, and practically worthy of an Armani advert.
Young Draco had young Audette's hand in his, both of them having shirked off their green outer Hogwarts robes down to their grey sweaters in the stifling Divination tower. Draco's sleeves were up to his elbows, his tie loose and messy around his neck.
A classic jeer was dominating his features as he provided the most outlandish and farcical excuse for a palm reading. As a result they were both laughing hysterically, Draco's nose crinkling as he fought through fits of giggles to finish his sentence, sliding his finger down the lines of her palm. She couldn't recall the nonsense that he was feeding her at the time, but it was apparently enough for them both to go red in the face.
Audette watched herself ignorantly and innocently lean her head onto his shoulder as he spoke, and the delirious smile that spread across his face was so heart throbbing he almost looked drunk - leaning his head on hers in return as he blathered on with the silly story-telling.
It was so precious, the goofy friendship that they did share at the core of it all, that she began to tear on the spot.
Now the snooping had progressed far past a tiddlywinks and blundered into a tiddlymonster.
She dropped the pictures with emotions swelling in her chest and dug around greedily, flipping through his class schedules, combs, cologne...until she came across a small leather journal with metal bindings.
Bingo.
Childish entries from his youth - from as far back as eight years old - sprung up on the tan parchment pages; intimate, personal and definitely not her business, yet she could no longer contain her intrigue.
Audette smiled through surprisingly talented sketches of house elves and landscapes, and a very daunting looking angular castle.
A loud bang in the rotund staircase outside of the eighth level boys dorm startled her clean out of her hospital slippers as the voices of an oncoming boy and girl threatened to expose her.
She dropped the journal onto the floor just as they passed by, heading higher to the ninth or tenth level, remarking loudly about plans to perform indelicate acts upon another.
The book had plonked down with a small written entry opened, dated for the month of September during their first year. The writing was unrefined in both rhetoric and design, leaning towards rude chicken scratch if anything.
September 1991,
Surprisingly the girl from the freaky glass biome has been placed in Slytherin.
She confirmed once again today that she is a chaotic basket case by running the Weasley moron down in flying lessons. Too bad she missed "Perfect Potter".
Her name is Bellarose and she makes my skin crawl. She's an embarrassment, and it is beyond reason why she is even in Slytherin, nor how she can be so presentable on the outside but absurdly spirited within. As if the audacity of her insolence will get her anywhere.
She ties bows in her hair like a stupid doll and wears inconvenient gloves, even during potions...probably because her finger nails are ugly like a common hags.
She's mad as a hatter and her laugh is irritating and unrelenting; it completely distracts me every single class. I will have to jinx her in the morning.
I take guilty pleasure when she cries because her eyes grow even greener, like the first leaves to unfurl in Spring.
She has no business being so pretty, perhaps a deforming jinx will be best.
Audette's cheeks blushed warm with flattery and adoration at just how boyish the entry was, a wide, humored smile blooming on her face. He would surely be mortified if he caught her flicking through his childhood diary.
Another one. Why not.
She spun the pages at random. Someone had apparently grown a lot in the span of a few short years, improving his vocabulary substantially;
September 1994,
Nott and I have been spending more time conjoining forces this year. He's comprised of energy and acumen, and I find our sessions together to be challenging and visionary.
We managed to break into the strange room beyond where the westernmost fifth floor staircase terminates abruptly in the ceiling.
He was convinced that it was in fact not a dead end but instead a concealed passage. You can always trust Nott to decipher any puzzle with intellectual precision.
It turned out to be an abandoned Professor's office. We discovered a damaged Time Turner in the drawer of the desk, and Nott is certain he can repair it - imagine the destruction we could produce if that is the case.
I'm hoping to put his mind to good use against Potter and his pathetic posse, seeing as Crabbe and Goyle are as thick as concrete and just about as fast moving. Those Gryffindor ninnies have been nothing short of snoopy and superfluous.
Another whorl of the pages landed her in their second year.
January 18, 1992.
Gilderoy Lockhart is a blazing clodpoll. More like Defense with Dimwits.
He recently got his head stuck in a cage filled with Fwoopers and had to remove his earmuffs to break free. His banal eyes were swirling for ten minutes. I'm not sure why Dumblebore hired him in the first place but it's extremely amusing to watch big-toothed Granger drooling in the front row over a festering idiot.
Nott and I could teach that whole class better than that nansy.
At least Lockhart is enough of a clown to make the time pass quickly, and gossip says he made Potter sign fanmail for hours the other night. Perhaps the affair will teach Potter not to go around rubbing in his fame so much.
Potter thinks he's so smart, well he's a raging imbecile.
He's of the irrational impression that I don't know what Polyjuice potion is, or the fact that he and the wanking weasel snuck into the Slytherin common room right in front of me and then ran out while obviously transforming. I wish I'd come to the conclusion earlier so I could manipulate those blundering, meddling fools into believing I actually am the heir of Slytherin.
Unfortunately I've been sidetracked lately by inappropriate ponderings. Bellarose sat in my lap last week without any invitation during the library study group for DADA, right as I had finalized memorizing the perfect hex to cast on Loopy Longbottom.
The absolute nerve of this girl; she has no sense of personal boundaries. I think she's obsessed with me simply because I spent ten minutes with her in that reputational snow globe.
She proceeded to point at one of Lockhart's bonehead publications in her hands, Wanderings With Werewolves. By familial association she was of the impression that my father knows a werewolf, which he does, and that is none of her concern.
She kept shifting her backside around and I had to shove her off because I could feel it happening underneath her. I'm quite certain the rejection hurt her moronic, feminine feelings. Good, because she has no idea the damage she's done by sitting where she did.
She is now a poisonous disease haunting my mind.
Well. Despite the fact that it was written by a dirpy twelve year old boy, that last entry was slightly wounding.
So then...what about recently?
She spun the pages to the boundary section of logs, only to find that they randomly dropped off in July of 1995. The writing structure had matured considerably, and so had his disposition towards her;
July 15, 1995,
I was delighted once more by the shocking specimen that is Audette Bellarose a month ago, at my birthday of all events, and my chest is monopolized by a scald which refuses to relinquish no matter what I do to rid myself of it. My heart is always in my throat and it is impossible to swallow away.
Even the wuthering afflictions of identifying gaseous giants with my telescope, trimming my broomsticks, and deciphering hieroglyphic runes does nothing to calm the crucifying chronological shift that represents day to night and back again.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Today I can't bare the passing seconds because it is her birthday.
The Manor is drab and cold, and Lucius is acting especially barbarous with that fucking cane. All I've heard for the last thirty minutes is the piercing bawling of deficient house elves downstairs, and as such I'm failing to successfully distract myself from wondering where she is because I'm effectively trapped in my private suite.
Logic would suggest she is in Spain with that cancerous prick.
Mother has diagnosed me with manic depression, once again employing her prestigious, make-belief medical degree, and I recalled that confiding in her is more fatiguing than confiding on these pages.
Mother is of the delusion that repeating obvious facts - such that there are multiple other options for pairings in the pureblood court - will solve my desirous devastation.
Mother is sorely wrong.
How could she fail to detect the obvious circumstances?
Audette is only growing more beautiful by the day, and it is sheer torture that I haven't been able to reinvent myself from an antagonizer to a possible suitor.
Nott must have leveraged my foolish wording that day in the common room against me, to convince her that I mean malicious intent. It's utterly insane the way she reacts the instant I try to advance; there's no space for communication like before, only an irrational explosion of fear.
The sensation of total elimination is on par with digesting hydrochloric acid.
June 5th - She arrived to Zabini's island with that backstabber, Nott, who I invited solely with the hopes he would bring her along. I'm sure he misconstrued the call as a sign of peace - which it is not.
I fucking despise that deceptive snake.
He knows exactly what he did and someday I'll do the same to him no matter how long I have to wait in the shadows. He will never see it coming until it is too late.
The greatest gift of the occasion was that Bellarose broke each of her father's rules at my birthday, prancing around wearing a tiny pink dress all night that I couldn't peel my eyes of off.
The feathery grace of that rare revealing fabric clinging to her skin monopolizes my mind still a month later.
Parkinson got the better of me on purpose right off the bat, dressing her in a skimpy white bikini which once drenched publicized her nipples underneath. All of those dogs were thinking the same thing the second she climbed that ladder like a goddess in the afternoon sun - it was disgustingly apparent from the drool on their chins.
She's as fit as I always imagined, with eyes as green as a slice of lime in the sunlight. Her stomach is flat and her breasts are supple. She smells aromatic and has dimples on either side of her spine above her buttocks. Her legs are glossy and smooth, and on her sides one can see her ribs when she breaths, just faintly operating below her creamy skin.
As soon as I bore witness to her nearly naked form I stood no chance of swimming due to the uncontrollable stiff in my shorts all afternoon. The physical madness was so lawless that I felt inclined to hide underneath a nearby set of trees, away from the pandemonium of the docks which would surely worsen the situation.
Her body is changing rapidly and so is my infatuation with her...it's no longer a question. Her curves are smashing, and better yet her personality is hilarious.
She's clumsy, stubborn, strange, and acutely innocent. She enthusiastically laughs at everything, and when she laughs she snorts and all manner of the affair is sensationally infectious. Audette's heart is golden and giddy, and the lens through which she sees the world is inspiring - so unlike anything I have yet to encounter in my own home.
Our natural chemistry makes me want to both ruin and protect her. I can hardly breathe when she's around, and unlike with those other desperate tramps even a drop of her pure attention fills me with self-consciousness and awareness.
Bellarose is really the only girl who produces questionability in my quality of my appearance. I've learned to flirt with the lesser females to create envy and jealousy amongst them, but unfortunately it hasn't worked on her yet.
One positive takeaway of the passing event is that I believe Nott hasn't taken her valuable virginity.
I don't know why it matters to me so much, but I want it more than I want to shove Potter's face straight into a pile of mooncalf dung.
Yet she never writes me back, no matter how many owls I send to her residence. She's an impenetrable wall it seems, and Nott is guarding it like a hound.
Audette's eyes drifted away from the notebook in quirky jogs around the dark room. If he desired her virginity it was unfortunately too late. Also, she had never conceivably received any postage from Draco Malfoy.
By all accounts if she had it would be totally undeniable and influential.
She shouldn't have been shocked that like all young men he was engrossed with the physical attributes of girls, but what was astonishing was just how long he'd been furiously in love with her. Pansy was right; it had been right before her eyes all along and she'd simply invented her own narrative for his behavior instead of paying attention.
She decided it was best to quit while she was ahead and placed the journal back at the base of his possessions.
She shut the drawer hastily, laying in his bed with his black silk pillow on her face, hoping to suffocate - or at a minimum defuse the sounds of distant partying.
Again, nothing to do but wait and hope for his forgiveness. As if she deserved it after putting him through eight years of hell.
Wait, and think about the gigantic collection of all-things-Audette in the drawer, and the concerning journal entries he'd been developing in secret for just about a decade.
She fell asleep in the lavish comforter, having shirked off her sterile scented infirmary pjs to tug on one of his used white Hogwarts dress shirts over her white panties. He would either be very happy about this, or the latter, more likely outcome was that he'd flip and dismiss her for being too bold with his personal affects.
Hours had transgressed when she later woke up to the groggy tones of blitzed boys entering and milling around the smelly quarters, high and dopey. The conversation was ergo stunted and odd.
"Yah nah nah that's...I said my socks are separated cause some of them, and rightfully so, are not gonna forgive what I've done. Linens are sentient - think about it mate. You said-"
A disgruntled Blaise, "What did I say - hey, Goyle that's not a microphone, that's my banana for tomorrow's early practice. Give it back you sick fuck."
Crabbe, beside himself over a magazine with hardly any purpose besides sexual innuendo, "Witch's Titties! Who's ripped out Merlin's Little Mage, she's my...sjndbfjfjk."
Idiots. IDIOTS.
Audette rolled over onto her back just to catch Draco meticulously fumbling with his tie and looming over her.
At first Audette felt an overwhelming wave of painful anticipation hit her at the sight of him, before she noticed his eyelids were practically shut, and he was giggling ever so lightly under his breath.
There was a very loud and obnoxious female in the room that had followed them all up, screeching irritatingly, "Malfoy! Malfoy can I sleep with you?"
"Not even if this room were subzero and my survival d-depended on it. Can't-can't you see I've already got a slapping succubus?" he leaned down and slapped Audette's cheek then gripped her jaw tightly so she was forced to stare into his watery blue eyes, "You've been a very, very bad liddle girl Audette. I'm going to make you p-positively miserable." Then he was kissing her slovenly, his tongue ebbing in and out of her mouth in a way that made her forget all about the stinging slap to her cheek, or the five threatening weeks.
She tangled her hand in his jacket to pull him into the bed but he resisted, standing and hiccupping through his drunkenness, words drawling out in unrecognizable slurs from the usually immaculate boy, "Tagg it easy you *hiyu* sstrumpet, l-let me get undressed first."
Audette sat up silent and weary in the bed, eyeing down the stranger before her in his frazzled suit. He yanked off his tie and his pants, losing track several times of the basic task that was to undress when one of the other boys engaged him in pointless chatter.
Then five of the longest minutes later he slowly sunk onto the bed, flat on his back in just his boxers over the blankets with his arms bent behind his head.
Unsure if he would permit her to cuddle him she scanned his body ravenously; pronounced abs, his pecs, the thick veins in his arms, that deep 'V' of muscles leading into her happy place in his boxer shorts...
Audette watched him move with curiosity as he shoved his left hand into his boxers to scratch in some mysteriously masculine way, evidently unconcerned with her witnessing the crude action. Charming dirty-blond pubic curls appeared at the cusp of the fabric as he tented his boxers, and she absolutely could not peel her eyes away if her life depended on it.
Then he rolled his handsome face to her, except to her surprise his demeanor was entirely devoid of threat now that he was masterfully inebriated.
His voice pitched mockingly, "I'm a proper lady! That's-that is what you sound like. Enlighten me, do p-proper ladies go around throwing pokers at p-people's faces? You're a force to reckon with, eh?"
Audette tittered, flickering her eyes elsewhere, "She deserved it, that foul troglodyte."
His gaze dropped down her attire, hiccupping madly, "You realize that word means...*hiyu* old-fashioned? So you're *hiyu* the real troglodyte. Have you been stealing my dirty laundry for bed? Wh-why are you in my school shirt?"
"It smells like you and I was sad, I suppose," Audette shyly shrugged with a timid smile and started to unbutton the garment.
Draco collapsed into a silly snicker, breathing through his hiccup attack and reaching up to pat her cheek multiple times. He nearly poked her eye out in the process, "Aww no it's okay sweetheart, I'll let it slide for a sexy *hiyu* minx like you, al-although if you really want it off I'm not arguing."
Like a lunatic drunkard Goyle could be heard stumbling into people's trunks in the center of the room, his blundering coupled by a suggestive sloshing of liquor whilst failing to recreate the awful chant the tenth year boys had invented, "Audette, Bellarose, she'll make you sweat and all you'll get, is corsSETS and hoes! Toes, toes, and toes!"
Audette frowned considerably, her fingers digging into the pine-scented blankets wrapped around her knees, "Do they not realize that their words are equivalent to swords through my heart?"
"Don't fret over that Wonderland," Draco's diamond eyes were seriously glassy, now pinching her chin over and over. He was clearly drunken to the point of being overtly sweet and affectionate, "They only tease because...you're so...fucking," he waved his hand around theatrically as if to swat away invisible buzzing nats, "You're forbidden, and too beautiful."
Audette frowned a goofy frown at the blatant compliment, fighting through the unnecessary urge to suddenly giggle, "So that might explain your crass behavior over the last few years."
"Obviously if I couldn't have you the only way to relieve the anguish was to make your life d-dreadful," he hung his head back and shut his eyes, and for ten seconds Audette was certain he'd gone to sleep like a chicken with a spinal deformity.
She stared bemused at the gorgeous boy who's jaw was seriously chiseled from the angle he was leaning upwards. Then suddenly he was back, blinking rapidly, as a wizard cracker exploded in the room and boys howled unhindered. The rank odor of burning fabrics filled the level.
Upon sniffing with intent Draco paused in place, a theatrical expression forming on his face.
"You...Merlin babe...my bed is...smells like a field of fffucking strawberries..," he blinked drunkenly several times as if the delicious scent he normally pined afterwards was burning his eyes and let out a series of exasperated breaths.
He groaned and rolled over so his head was in her lap, platinum strands fanning out around his head on the obsidian comforter, and Audette instinctively started to comb through his gorgeous pearly hair with her nails. She stared lovingly down at his batting long lashes and pointy features, and he sighed heavily as she pet his cheek, his hand running up her arm to grip onto her.
"I shouldn't have slapped you Draco, that was horrendous of me," Audette's heart panged as she tickled his scalp in a motherly manner.
A thin, very sad smile spread on his face, pressing his head painfully down into Audette's leg as he cleared his throat with the obvious and hopeless intent to come off suddenly impossibly sober.
His bloodshot eyes shot open to stare up at hers, lit up like sapphire pools by the swirling galaxy above, "Would you like to know something?"
His gaze shifted from her face to a porthole above Blaise's bed that led out into the Black Lake, "If you could not tell I'm-I'm powerfully in love with you. You're breaking my hear-heart with this Nott nonsense. I want you all to myself, Audette."
She smiled forlornly at his eager boyish gaze, expecting that he would not retain a single ounce of the interaction by the morning, "And so you shall, and you have my word that I will cut him out of my life. Would you like to know something? I found your photo collection of me."
His mouth dropped open with a teasing grin on his face, "Uh oh. Busted."
He sat up invigorated by some sort of excitable energy, crawling over her to pin her against the headboard, "You-you don't want to know what I use those pho-dos for, else you'd probably never speak to me again."
"How scandalous Draco, all this time you've been commissioning Parkinson? You're a rotten stalker," Audette started to giggle hysterically as he dove his hands into the blankets and tickled her everywhere, flattening her into the mattress.
He ripped back the blankets and straddled her, his fingers absolutely everywhere under the white collared shirt that was swimming on Audette like a dress. He kissed her, his mouth tasting of burnt smoke and amber liquor, but Audette was not about to complain.
Montague hooted out in the room, "Careful Malfoy, Barmy Bellarose might throw a full fist."
Hormones wavered through the air and slowly the tickling reduced to slow, sensitive swirls on her skin and gentle groping.
Then they were kissing with passionate care and light moans. "Oh fuck, your c-completely naked under there huh?" Draco hushed in a hoarse voice as his warm hands roamed over her breasts.
He sat up, wobbling drunk to pull closed all of his curtains, the action only riling up the gossipy boozy boys.
"Rail her, rail her, rail her," they started to chant in unison, banging their fists off bed posts and trunks.
Draco snorted and buried his face underneath Audette's chin, kissing her delicately and breathily. His hips began rocking back and forth to grind his hard member against her panties, "Should I rail you, Audette?"
Audette blinked up at the illusionary bed canopy.
On more than one occasion he'd told her just how important their first time meant to him, and although there was a tingling flood the volume of the Nile between her legs, her intuition told her to begrudgingly prevent it happening, "Aren't you too inebriated, Draco? And after that awful fight earlier which still feels unconcluded?"
He sat up to wince drunkenly down at her, confirming with his body language alone that this was certainly the case. His face was hot and flushed, his eyes red, and the smile on his face was loopy and uneven, "Hmm. I'll-I will allow you to take advantage of me any day, Audette. Let's get this off, shall we?"
Without warning his hand tangled up in his dress shirt and with terrific influence he ripped it, at least six buttons violently popping off the article which split open top to bottom to reveal Audette's bare chest and panties. Draco whistled dramatically, "Fuck, you truly are my d-dream girl."
Audette breathed sheepishly as the cold air nipped at her exposed body. He yanked the shirt down her slim shoulders on both arms to her elbows, then cupped her breasts multiple times, returning to plant his boiling lips on hers.
His left hand dropped between her legs to finger her very roughly. His hot skin was pressed against hers, and Audette started to pant and curl her toes up as things got wildly out of control with the seriously wasted boy.
He rubbed her clit, his thumb digging into her tummy as he besmirched her, and to her surprise all of his slurring seemed to disappear with the increase in his heart rate, "Take your panties off. You make me so fucking hard and I've waited long enough for that tight little kitten."
"Draco I'm screaming to, but I couldn't possibly do this with you while you're-" Audette gasped against his lips as he tore her panties as well; once, then twice until the garment gave up the battle, and tossed the wrecked fabric out of his curtains.
Surely there would be a fabric burn on her skin in the morning.
Her heart thudded a mile a minute as he dug between their legs and suddenly his hard cock was out the front of his boxers, and he was stroking it against her entrance.
"Oh my, oh my," Audette shut her eyes blissfully as he rubbed the head of his huge pulsing member up and down her pussy. He muffled her whining with more sloppy kisses, and for the first time she understood exactly how difficult it was for him when she tried to initiate sex and he tried to alternatively resist.
"Oh Draco, stop, you must stop. This is not the right time," she pulled the rip cord at the very last second when his hips began to push back and forth to sink inside of her. She planted both of her hands on his chest and pushed him back and he froze in place, his eyes shut and his teeth biting down on his bottom lip.
"Fuck, you're right, you're right," with a heavy sigh he rolled off of her and fixed his boxers. She sat up as he covered his eyes with his bent arm, "Do you feel violated?"
"No, of course not. I simply want you to recall our love making. If you're still enthusiastic in the morning you may claim me then," Audette timidly cuddled up against him, pulling his comforter up around their naked bodies.
Within moments he was gone, his arm sliding down around her waist and sleeping behind his eyelids. She kissed his face and his chest multiple times before closing her eyes as well, but it was a long while before she was able to pass over to her own dream world.
She was burdened by the raucous volume of people shouting in the room beyond, and by the notion that he had only been so docile because he was frightfully hammered. In the morning it would likely be a very different story, and in the weeks to come as well. There was still a serious conversation to be had that would be seriously uncomfortable, and Audette was dreading it.
To send her off into a set of lovely nightmares was a comment from the childish girl in the room, "This is going to be so fun to watch. That jealous toad has no idea what he did tonight - if she did, they'd already be split up."