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Simple Kind of Life	By : everlong Category: Individual Celebrities > Adrien Brody Views: 5532 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Adrien Brody. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Simple Kind of Life
- 1
Title: Simple Kind of Life.
Author: everlong.
Summary: It's easier to give up than to fight for what you want. But he won't let her.
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing(s): Adrien Brody/OFC. Not a Mary Sue because I can't write sex and include myself. I truly can't.
Feedback: Truly desired.
Disclaimer: NEVER EVER HAPPENED. EVER. I KNOW, 'CAUSE I WAS THERE.

---
“What are you looking at?”

He folded his arms across his chest and stared her down, keeping his gaze cool and his demeanor hot. This wasn’t happening, was it?

Yes it is, he told himself. Believe it.

“Not much.”

“Wonderful. I see the mature part of the evening has begun, hasn’t it?”

They’d been fighting like this for weeks. Quiet exchanges of words, short bursts of anger and resentment and misunderstanding pouring from their lips like the quiet flow of a leak in a sieve. Today had been an exception until she’d thought of an interesting point while considering if apples and oranges would mate, if they could.

“Perhaps,” she went, leaning against the wall casually at the end of the kitchen and keeping her fingers in her mouth to muffle the words. “Perhaps we weren’t meant to be.”

He hadn’t seen her stroll in, hadn’t heard her, and had his back to her as she spoke the words; upon hearing them, his body stiffened severely, as if shocks of white-hot electricity were currents in his veins. He stood up and turned to face her, his eyes wide and his hands tangled in his wild anime-inspired hair.

“Not meant to be? I was fucking made for you. I can tell by the way your pussy curves to my dick.”

He’d yelled the words, screamed them loud enough to cause people on the street below to look up, some of them laughing. It was the first time he’d ever yelled at her, and, at that one sliver in time, she thought that she might have been right. He wouldn’t yell at her if he loved her. He’d said so himself.

“Why do you fucking talk to me that way,” she said quietly, barely heard over the random bursts of growls that erupted from him.

Her words weren’t a question; she knew the answer. There’s nothing better than hearing him say it. He paced the room like a long, lean cat, breathing heavily. Calming himself, coming down off the high.

“Because it appears that it’s the only fucking way I can get through to you, dear,” he said derisively, quietly as he took a seat on the bench just a few feet from where she stood. He pushed his hair back, and it stood on his head like dark soldiers. He looked up at her.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because it’s evident that we’re not working. You and I, us, we’re not working. We haven’t been for a while.”

“But that’s my fault. I’m never fucking here, am I?”

“I didn’t say that, Adrien. You did.”

He stared at her a moment, watching her cloud and blur and turn into a smear of green t-shirt, black jeans and brown skin. He shook his head and looked away, his eyes finding the floor as he felt the tears roll from his head.

She leaned back against the wall. This wasn’t happening, was it?

Yes it is, she told herself. Believe it.

Closing her eyes, she listened to the short sobs that kept the room from being quiet as a tomb. Who was crying? Were they the only ones? Surely the walls were bleeding tears, too; surely they needed comfort. They’d seen everything that passed between the two bodies from the moment it all began, saw all the kisses and the words and the love and the promises and the sex. They knew it all, and were as much a part of it as he and she. She pressed herself against the wall and said Don’t Cry. It will stop hurting in a little while.

“Would you believe me if I said that I wanted this to work?”

“I never said I didn’t believe you, Adrien.”

“That sure as fuck is what it seems like, Marin. I’m trying here. I want to make this better. I’m not letting you get away from me.”

“I’m not a fucking kite, Adrien. You can’t keep me and bring me out to play when the wind is strong.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Just stop it.” She pushed away from the wall and walked into the kitchen, hoping he wouldn’t follow her and knowing he would.

He appeared at the doorway, quiet, bare feet shuffling. “I don’t want to lose you. I made a sacrifice, a huge sacrifice to keep you in my life and to be with you, and it’s like you’re fucking ignoring it.”

“That’s just the problem, Bro,” she said simply, turning on the tap and running her fingers under the cool water. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“No, you didn’t ask me to, but that’s not the point, either,” he snapped. Sometimes he marveled at the way that they argued. No voice ever raised, no wild gesturing and hostility. Just resolve. They’d always wanted the argument to be resolved, over and done with.

They could go back to being perfect for one another.

Perfect, apparently, was overrated or tired in this relationship, or both. He was going to fix that.

“What is the point?”

She stood at the sink, her head turned to face him, and he saw it, right there in her eyes; she was genuinely curious. Why were they staying? Why hadn’t they left already? Had they been wasting their time trying to keep the two of them together or were there just not enough ways to say Baby, I love you. Please stay with me.

“My point,” he said in a stage whisper, his eyes on the floor again and his hands in the loose pockets of plaid pajama pants. “Is that I love you. I’d give up anything for you, and I already have, and I’d do it again. I will do it again. But you’ve got to stay.”

She kept the curious look on her face, her eyes never blinking, her heart failing to start back up again. What did she expect him to say? ‘The sex is great, but yeah, I love you too, so let’s go fuck’? ‘I can’t be with you, you have too many problems’? ‘You’re a pain in the ass. We’re over’? She could accept his point. Did she believe it?

“I can’t stay. When I met you, Adrien, I told you that we wouldn’t be right for each other. You’re too perfect, too willing to be at peace with whatever the fuck you’ve discovered. I don’t want to feel like I’ve got to live up to anything just to be with you.”

“Don’t tell me you can’t stay, Marin. You’re going to stay. You love me, don’t you?”

“Yes, Adrien, I love you, but I’m not in love with you.”

“You were once. You will be again.”

She slumped against the sink slightly, shaking her head. Point... Pointless. Run, little girl, and it will catch up to you anyway.

“I’m going to bed.”

Before she could move to exit the room he was at her side. Digging his long fingers into the skin of her upper arm, pressing her between the counter and himself.

“I don’t love you the way I should.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I should love you the way everyone else in your life has loved you. Half-way, not too much, just enough to keep you alive. They made you hard and cold inside, and I should keep you that way, yes? Isn’t that what you’re telling me by saying that you and I aren’t supposed to be together, that we’re not ‘meant’?”

She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. She should have been afraid, but he was only talking sense.

“This is what you’re afraid of. I want you here with me, and love you more than anyone ever will. You can’t let yourself be happy? Too fucking bad. I’m going to make you happy anyway.”

She held back when he pressed his mouth to hers, balling her hands into fists, the thin cotton of his ribbed tank crushed between her hands, knots and knots. Could she refuse him? Of course not. Even if he were wrong. Even if he weren’t the only person who could talk to her this way and not be threatened. Even if just standing there just moments before and watching his eyes so full of hatred and tears for her behavior hadn’t made her want to stay even more than before. Don’t run, don’t cry. You can stay here. I’ll keep you safe.

Safe, apparently, was overrated too.

His hands pushed her shirt up her chest, over her breasts, and before he could remove it she pushed him away, tugged it back down.

“I’m going to bed,” she repeated.

She shut the tap off and shuffled out of the room, taking the long way around so that he couldn’t touch her.

*

She stood at the end of the bed, pushing her jeans down her legs as she stared out the bedroom door. He sat on the bench again, watching her intently as she stepped out of the jeans. He tilted his head. Sad little boy. Don’t long for what you can’t have.

She moved across the room and shut the door quietly.

*

She lay on the couch, eyes on the ceiling and her mind on another planet. The thin blanket spread across her body seemed only to make her more cold, and she shivered slightly. He was back.

The door opened mere seconds later and he walked in, all the way to the end of the couch. He stared down at her, his eyes scanning the blanket and her hair and face, her hands as they were folded on her stomach. He sighed, wanted to lay down with her, wanted to lay down inside of her and just pretend that ignorance and stubborn mistakes just wouldn’t happen to him. He seemed to be attracted to women with these attributes.

“I love you,” he said quietly, turning and leaving. He didn’t want to wait around for her to pretend that she didn’t love him back.

“I love you too.” Whispering was such a great thing.

*

“How could you think that we’re not meant to be? Wasn’t our chance encounter enough to convince you?”

She thought back. Yes, it was an incredible coincidence that they’d met again in L.A. after meeting in New York. Especially when you considered that for the seventeen days, six hours, twelve minutes and forty three seconds that passed in between those two encounters, they’d thought of nothing but the other. Lasting impressions are a motherfucker.

“I don’t know. Yes. Maybe.”

“You’re flip-flopping. You’re not a flip-flopper.”

“Don’t tell me what I am.”

“I’ll tell you what you are, alright. And guess what? Guess, you have to guess.”

“What?”

“You’re still in love with me.”

He got up from his position at the end of the couch, making his exit. “And I’m not deaf, either,” he added.

She looked away.

*

“Why won’t you even kiss me goodnight anymore?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense to kiss you when we’re not together.”

“Oh, we’re not together, eh?”

“No.”

He moved to his feet and crossed the room. She thought he was leaving.

Instead, he pinned her against the pinball machine, pinned her flat and pushed his hand under her skirt gently.

“We’re not together,” he breathed into her ear, pressing his body against her breasts. “We’re not together but you won’t make me stop, will you?”

“You know I can’t make you stop.”

“But do you want me to?”

Long, deft fingers and her underwear were forgotten, and so were the open curtains and the cold glass beneath her body and her resolve to not let him get to her this way. He moaned, his body shuddering just a little bit as she shuddered a lot, and his fingers disappeared inside of her. Words. Didn’t she know English?

“Tell me that you want me to stop. Say it even if you don’t mean it.”

She whimpered, hung onto his shirt desperately, eyes closed and head back. He pressed his lips to her throat, could feel her pulse beneath his tongue, and kissed her, just enough force to keep her off her center.

“Stop... Stop. I want you to stop.”

Choked with tears, of course, were her words, and he removed his fingers from her slowly. He backed away, pulling her off the pinball machine. Why stop? Because she asked him to. Because she was obviously hurting. He couldn’t keep her if she felt this way, didn’t want to be the reason why she felt this way. But wasn’t he the reason anyway?

He turned to leave. Halfway across the room, he turned back and took her face into his hands, kissing her again. Soft, full of promises and never-let-you-downs and I-love-you.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, backing away and keeping his eyes away from hers.

Never mind the fact that it was 1:27 in the afternoon.

*

“I’m not doing this anymore. I’m going to pack up my stuff, okay. I’m gonna leave.”

She stared at the two cases that were lined up against the wall near the front door, then glanced back to him. “Are you... I don’t know that...” She stumbled for words.

What was there that she could say? I’m sorry that I’ve been such a bitch, and now that you’re leaving I want you to stay? No. She wouldn’t jerk his chain like that.

Would she? Could she? She had to if she wanted to maintain her sanity.

“I’m talking to you,” he snapped, his eyes closed and his face impatient. She came to. “I’m sorry, I spazzed,” she said quietly. “What were you saying.”

“I said that I love you.”

“Oh.”

And still. Still she could not tell him. Still, after all the fighting and hurt she’d caused by doubting their relationship, she still could not say ‘I love you’. Even if it meant that he might stay. She wanted that more than she wanted life, wanted him to stay more than she wanted to understand why she was such a confused, retarded bitch. They were just words. And she meant them. Just say it.

“Say it back.”

She glanced up at him in alarm. He was tired. “I want you to say it back to me, right now,” he demanded quietly, tilting his head and closing his eyes in that way he had.

Mortification. It passed through her just as easily as her blood flowed.

She felt cornered, and didn’t know how to react; just say it! Why couldn’t she say it? It were as if she had never been trained to speak the words to the one person that she actually did love, almost as if she’d never said it to him before. Doubt could do things to you. Say it to his face and this might end right now.

Before she could turn to run away again, he grabbed her arm. Jerked her hard against him, and she stumbled forward, grabbing his starched shirt and hanging on as she steadied herself.

“Say it back, goddamnit. Why can’t you tell me you love me? Why?” He words were hot on her face, his eyes piercing and pleading and desperate, and she could do nothing but cry. Emotionally wrecked, fucked-up child. Tell him you love him and maybe the darkness will go away.

“I need you to tell me that you love me, goddamnit, Marin, please say it.” He shook her; maybe the sense would come back to her that way, he thought.

His voice stayed quiet, but held a resonance that was much louder than screaming. She wanted to cover her ears, except that she knew it wouldn’t go away, and she knew that if she did she might lose her nerve.

Just say it.

“Just say it. Tell me, please!”

Just say it.

“I love you, Adrien.”

Shock. There was that electricity again. He immediately released her from his tight grip on her arms, and she sort of crumpled, the way paper does in the credits of that one cartoon. She dropped back against the wall, crying desperately and trying to keep herself on her feet as she steadily fell. On her knees on the cold floor, her hands pressed to her face in desperation.

And she hadn’t stopped saying it.

“I love you, Adrien, I love you, I love you so much. I love you. Don’t leave. I don’t want you to go because I need you.”

And this is what it feels like to have your chest explode, he told himself.

He watched her as she held onto herself, knees curled into her chest, her eyes closed. “I love you,” he repeated, much quieter under her sobs. He pulled her to her feet. “I love you, Marin.”

“I love you, Adrien, I do.”

He could see it all happening.

She would stumble into him. He would pull her closer, until her soft breasts were pressed against his chest tightly. He would feel her nipples through the material of their clothing, would long to feel it on his skin. He would remove his shirt, and hers. She would work his belt, would lose her skirt, and they would stumble back to the bedroom.

And it happened, just like that.

She could see it all happening.

They would push through the door, he would kick it closed behind them. She would keep her arms around his neck tightly; his hands would skim her breasts, he would hold them like rare fruit or crown jewels. She would kiss him feverishly, would push him back to their bed and would straddle him. She would lean back and he would look up at her, would say that she was beautiful and that he loved her, and then she would kiss him again. “I love you too,” she would whisper, and he would smile widely.

And it happened, just like that.

He slid his hands over her body, rolled her beneath him. Blankets were pulled up over their bodies, and her hands twisted his hair into a standing position on his head as he lifted her thigh. There were his fingers again, long and talented, and she clung to him tightly, closing her eyes as he made them disappear. His name from her lips like prayer, his mouth on her breasts like worship.

She opened her legs wide, shifted hips forward and kissed him again. His warm flesh against her own made her wet with anticipation, made her long for those lost moments she’d given up in a vain attempt to prove that she could survive without this, without him. His fingers massaged her scalp tenderly, his teeth on her lips as slowly, slowly he slid his cock into her.

His body relaxed, almost as if it were at ease in its heightened state of pleasure. For moments that stretched years into the future, they lay there, his throbbing erection deep inside of her, their arms around each other, their breath on one another’s skin. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes, smiling that small, bewitched smile of his as he blinked, as tears fell like rain to mingle with her own on her face.

Slow, in and out. He drove himself into her, a slow mantra of movement as she pressed her lips to his clavicle, licked the skin there and felt his pulse under her lips. That was their thing; kissing the pulse. It was significant to the way they sucked the life from each other with their love, with their sex and their challenges and their happiness. Breathless, lifeless. It was a goal.

His hands between her legs again, he teased his fingers over her again and again, smiling down at her as her fingers curled into his hair tightly. It was a dream, all of it, a very real dream, the dreams that come true; a slow cloudy haze passed over the two of them, held them in their state of bliss because it was where they belonged.

There was nothing missing now, was there?

-*-
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Simple Kind of Life