Flexion

There's only so much you can take before you bend and break.

He was hitting every last nerve, strumming every single chord to irritate and annihilate the once flourishing feelings I had for him. In no way were they gone, but, well, suddenly they didn't feel quite like the crush I had or that sweet kind of feeling bubbling in the center of my stomach. Those "feelings" evolved into a challenging pressure in my chest, a tightening of my lower abdomen. I was finding it hard to breathe, hard to blink when I was around him.

But I knew that bastard wanted me that way.

I'd be lying if I said I was just some innocent little girl, taken advantage of--I wasn't. Actually, in a sick way, we were friends. Yet the chemistry between us was so severely magnetizing that we acted as if we were something much more than vague names attached to a face. We were so heavily drunken by our imperviously thick cravings for one another that "flirting" was hardly a fair term for description. Our behavior to the naked eye, however, completely contradicted these facts.

In fact, none of the other boys seemed to take particular notice to our games with one another, though I found my teasing to be rather apparent. Albeit, most of them were drunk off their asses by the time a very sober Milan and I decided to partake in our more physical taunts and triumphs. But tonight was a much different night; tonight was a night of victory spent in celebration. The Bruins had won themselves a Stanley Cup. This was to be maybe the third out of a string of parties to be thrown by individual players.

It just so happened that Andy decided on hosting a little get together at his pad--a large, relatively new house he had been eying for quite a sum of time. As any close friend would be, I was invited the moment he began compiling a short list of guests outside of the team to be had. A "big kids" party like this would only be home to a select few other woman, let alone myself. And even then, those girls were more than likely the super version of what I was. Still, I had my mind set on its prize. No cheap slut was getting in the way of that.

This relationship ends tonight, you teasing little shit.

To be quite frank, I have not ever been the type to fall for the long term bullshit that is a "relationship", nor have I ever been the type of girl to succumb to the amateur games of some hot shot punk who thinks he owns the place. But Milan--Milan was different than any ordinary man I had encountered in such a way. I mean, yes, I had the poor habit of playing with any prey not in the circle of my personal friendships, but that certainly did not exempt him from a little twist every now and then.

As a matter of fact, the whole shenanigan began a few months prior to their night of victory. Since the playoffs began, driving him crazy was at a clear stand still, which he mutually agreed to, for the sake of hockey. And that was horrifically weird to me all in itself; that I would simply have a civil conversation with him for all of five minutes to "cut back on the games" for the sake of concentration.

It was as though we put each other through torture for a sick benefit.

Thin lips twisted into a lush smirk at the thought. Every second of teasing and taunting was so worth the irritation and agony of a defeat against him anyhow. The knowledge, however, that neither of us were keeping score acted as a comfort in some respects. But somehow I felt like he was always in control, always on top when it came to pushing buttons--and at pushing "buttons", both of us excelled marvelously.

"You look as forcibly attractive as ever." Warm breath kissed the naked nape of my neck, long hair pinned to the left as usual. A large hand slid comfortably on one side of the bar counter at my front while the body of the tower of a man behind me pressed with a concealed eagerness at my back. I could feel the muscles of a well-built abdomen twitch against the thin fabric of his street clothes, thin designer shirt not really meant to hide much.

"And you look like a clean-cut douche, as usual. Savvy trying to dress you again, hot stuff," I shot back with a back handed complement of my own. If you could even try to call it that.

"How long did it take you to do your hair? Two hours. You've never quite seemed like the type to be all that graceful with a straightener." With a sly smirk, Looch completely ignored my greeting to brush a calloused finger over a small burn on the already sensitive shell of my ear. I winced, glaring at him with what pure hatred I could muster before attempting to hod my calm and focus on the drink Andy gave me not five minutes prior.

I inhaled sharply. A set of cool, drink-touched lips brushed against the burn, cooling and at the same time irritating the tender skin. It wasn't any severe burn, so at most it simply tingled with discomfort, but the sensation of the boy's lips to that skin sent my heart ramming against my rib cage and my bottom lip directly between my teeth. His tongue swept over the blazing skin before he blew a long, thin, frigid stream of cool air in his wake.

"You've got goosebumps, missy."

"Cheeky fucker," I hissed back, sliding off of my raised chair and lifting Milan's arm as if it were a ribbon to duck beneath. The moment I sashayed my way away from him, the game was set.

He appeared pretty damn full of himself long before the sun even had the chance to set. We both got ourselves relatively intoxicated early on, simply to enjoy ourselves, before the real games would begin by nightfall when we knew everyone would be so fucked up that we could go unnoticed. The less of a distraction we had, the better. And it was also less for Milan to explain to the guys; you know, why we weren't in a back room somewhere banging away at each other like animals in heat.

Which was a really damn good question, actually. We seemed to constantly get so close to jumping one another, but never actually took the proper step to get there. My quick solution was simply that he had a girlfriend he wasn't telling me (or, I guess, anyone else) about. But deep down I knew, for at least myself, the truth was as simple as the existence of fear.

I didn't want to get in over my head with a guy like him. And doing anything more than the rather entertaining, though sometimes extreme, meaningless flirtations would be something beyond my comfort zone--and more than likely his as well.

Scoffing to myself and regaining poised composure, I slid up beside Brad Marchand and watched him beat the snot out of that Seguin kid at air hockey. With a score like seven or twelve to nothing, you'd think someone would either give up or at least officially lay down a mercy rule or something.

It seemed like minutes into the night had passed. Most everyone had "mellowed" to the best of their bodies abilities. There were, to my surprise, a pretty nice chunk of sober guys other than Recchers or Timmy for a change. Dad and Dad V.2 were the key-masters. (And you better believe Timmy continued his absolutely ludicrous impressions of a brick wall to keep everyone from his or her keys.)

I was actually in the middle of playing a slightly drunken game of foosball that somehow turned into a group game of foosbeer when I felt a familiar presence at my back. My chest felt tight as a hand brushed my hip, but before I could look back, Milan was already near the middle of the table, watching me with annoyed eyes. Already frustrated with me, I see, I mentally snickered, having made a note not to even try reciprocating his looks or gestures all night. It didn't help that I was a little more nervous around him as usual, but adding alcohol into the mix had me feeling a little too courageous for my own good.

With the wrong guy, apparently.

"Since when have you been so territorial?" I smirked, making a point of downing half a bottle of Aquafina before letting David take my place messing around with the others.

"What do you mean?" he raised an eyebrow, looking clearly unimpressed.

I let out a blunt 'pft' and poked him in the oversize chest. "You, sir, have been tracking me all night like a hunting dog."

"Why Krej, though?" My eyes widened slightly at such an honest question that I had no clear answer to. He let out a low snarl and turned his back immediately, throwing a hand up. "Forget it."

"Wow, wow, Milan," I started, "Are you getting soft on me or something? Since when do you care if I flirt with anyone el--"

I was flat cut-off by his hands roughly tugging my hips into him. I would have completely lost balance, sunken to my unprepared knees if it weren't for his impenetrable grip on me. We were damn lucky, I thought, to be in the nearby hall and out of sight, because all I could do was instinctively press my palms to his chest as his mouth sealed quickly over mine.

And it was funny to me.

It was funny that before then we'd done a lot of kissing, but it was never quite like that. It wasn't so sudden or under such circumstances. Is he messing with me or something? I felt the strength return to my knees as his grip eased slightly, allowing my feet to firmly plant on the floor. But at this point my arms were sliding around his neck, my body naturally gravitating into his, eyes shut delicately in the darkness.

He could have over powered me, could have been rough and come in hot, kind of like how I always imagined really kissing him to be like. But he held onto me in such a nervous way--not like I'd break or something--as if he'd been thinking this over, afraid to screw up. The sensation of our mouths sliding together left scorch marks over my skin that I had no idea could exist. His slick tongue tangled with mine until my back was pressed against the nearest wall.

This wasn't close to drunken fumbling.

"Wh-," I shook my head the moment he pulled back about an inch, "What was that?"

Deep brown eyes flickered over mine before he pressed another subtle kiss to my lips. His mouth moved in snake-like fashion to my ear before his body slipped away from my own and he whispered.

"You're the one getting soft."

I'm gonna dance with him tonight
All of my wrongs, no more wicked ways
Come back to haunt me , come what may
For all of the songs I hope to write someday
Looks like the devil's here to stay