Dirty Little Secret
Cause I've relied on my illusions
To keep me warm at night
But I denied in my capacity to love
I am willing, to give up this fight
- Sarah McLachlan, "Dirty Little Secret"
So little baby, you better stay set
Play with fire when you get too wet
So set me down and leave me be
You'll get a devil when you unchain me
- Ghost Of The Robot, "Dangerous"
He never thought it would go this far.
Fantasies are one thing. They are confined, sealed, safe in your head where no one can ever see them. He supposed people fantasized about all sorts of things--from moonlit beaches to rape scenarios to their girlfriend's little sister.
Either way, he doubted he was the only one who'd ever had a Lolita fantasy, those ripe young lips surrounding his.. ahem, little soldier. It got his blood pumping just to think about it. Tangling his fingers in her long brown silky hair and pulling her head towards him..
He shook his head to clear his mind as though it were an etch-a-sketch and glanced down to where Dawn sat with her feet on either side of her, painting his toenails purple while diong her math homework. So innocent. So small. So like a little girl and not a woman not a woman at all. Not like her sister, but man oh man did she have a woman's body. Rounded breasts and curved hips and legs for days and days. Not like Buffy, not like his stick figure girlfriend with the body of a twelve year old and sharp jutting hipbones that actually hurt when he pumped into her.
This is not a safe place, his mind told him, not a safe place at all. Riley Finn, you dog. You pedophile. You sicko, psycho, wannabe babyfucker. Fantasizing about a girl, a girl who hasn't even finished puberty yet. So what if her hair lays just so against her porcelin skin? So what if her breasts are full and wonderful and all you want is to bury your face in them and cup them and stroke them and jesus christ think about anything else. Think about elephants, about demons, about Buffy. About anything other than your sixteen year old babysitting charge.
He shook his head again and this time Dawn looked up from her task.
"Are you okay?" her voice concerned, her brow wrinkled forward.
He choked out something that sounded like a yes. Something that could have been a maybe. Something that really meant no, nuh-uh, no way, not at all. He wasn't okay, he'd never be okay if he didn't get his mind out of her pants.
She stood up and sat on his knee like a little kid and he broke out in a cold sweat, hoping she wouldn't slide back and feel his hard-on pressing into her little backside.
It was all so innocent.
He wiped his forehead and forced her off his lap, much to her chagrin. She snipped at him that she was going upstairs and he better not follow her, which was his cue to trail her into her bedroom. The sweat came back. Her room, a sacred spot to be worshipped in quiet awe. The bed where she slept. The books she read, the posters she looked at, and the things she touched daily.
Riley gulped. He picked up a stuffed unicorn and tossed it back and forth, from hand to hand. "What's wrong, kiddo?"
"Don't call me kiddo," she snarled. "You don't even like me. You don't hug me anymore, you barely even talk to me. You're a jerk and I hate you!"
He sat down in her desk chair, knowing she was right. Knowing that his obsession with her had rendered him unable to perform the big brother tasks that were, at the core of it all, his duty.
He moved next to her and ran his fingers through her hair, his hand shaking. She looked up at him with wide anime eyes, from underneath long thick lashes. And she kissed him.
His eyes closed and he fell into it, swirling and spiralling down into the deepest hell he'd ever known. He pulled back like he'd been burned with a hot poker and looked at her accusingly. She'd been testing him and he'd failed. Now she would tell her sister and he would live forever with this sin he had commited.
He leaned in suddenly and kissed her hard, sliding his tongue past her parted lips and running her hand through her hair. She kissed him back with passion and laid back, pulling him on top of her.
Wrong wrong wrong, he thought. This is all wrong, this shouldn't be happening, this isn't me I'm not some pervert but she tastes so good like strawberries in summer. As though that made it okay.
His leg forced its way between her thighs and she was the one who pulled back now.
"No." So simple yet complex at the same time.
"No?"
"No," she repeated firmly. "I don't want to. I just wanted to see what it was like to be kissed."
So there it was, then. He'd been used by a sixteen year old. He looked at her accusingly once more and excused himself, her taste lingering on his lips.
Would she tell?
But more importantly.. would he care?
That night, he fucked Buffy hard, pushing her into the mattress and ignoring the pain in his hips. He closed his eyes and did not kiss her, did not want to taste the vanilla of her soft mouth, did not want to compare. Something in him had been unleashed, something dark, something that refused to be forced back into a cage.
Something dirty.