Almost Drowning in Her Sea

~1400 words :: LotRiPS :: Elijah/Hannah Wood :: 7/2/07
Elijah’s going away to college in the morning. There’s a lot of last-minute packing. There’s a lot of ‘last’s.

The living room’s a mess, and the kitchen, too, sink overflowing with dishes despite the trash can full of paper plates and plastic cups. Elijah feels bad about leaving it all for Hannah and Mom to clean up tomorrow, but he’s still not finished packing.

Even though Mom’s said over and over they can mail him anything he forgets, he can’t stop double-checking (triple-checking, really, or quadruple, even) to make sure he’s got everything. He scans his room, looking for anything he might have forgotten. The phone charger’s still plugged in, and he pads over to where he kicked off his jeans earlier, digs his phone out of his pocket, and flips it open. Still showing a full charge. No one’s going to call during the night (and he’d only get pissed off if they did), so he turns it off and drops it back on the pile of clothes before stuffing the charger into his laptop bag.

Clothes, he’s not so much worried about. He wears the same shit all the time anyway; Hannah says she’s embarrassed to be seen with him, but she still drags him out to the mall and the movies and pretty much everywhere, and when people think he’s her boyfriend, she never corrects them.

So as long as he’s got his jeans and a couple of shirts and his jacket, he’s cool. He’s got more than that packed, but if he were to forget, it wouldn’t be a big deal. It’s the stuff he’s worried about. Laptop, external hard drives, iPod, TV, X-Box (he’d’ve packed the PS2, too, except Hannah said he couldn’t take both systems, even though they do technically belong to him), and more cords and plugs than he can keep track of, not to mention the boxes of books and comics.

His dorm room’s going to be a little crowded with all this shit, but he won’t be home again until Christmas, at the earliest. What if he suddenly finds himself wanting to reread the entire run of Sandman? He can’t not pack them. And besides, the more stuff he takes now, the more he takes each time he comes home for the holidays, that’s just that much more of his life that’s not here anymore, that much less he has to come back for after graduation. He just hopes his new roommate hasn’t packed as much.

Fucking roommate, man. Why couldn’t he have gotten a room of his own? It’s so unfair that freshmen have to share. He hasn’t had to share a room since he was little and Zack was still living at home. But when he’d looked at apartments on Craigslist, they were all way out of his price range, even the ones where he’d be sharing a two-bedroom place with four other guys.

Even if this Dominic guy turns out to be cool and they become, like, the bestest friends ever, it still won’t change the fact that sharing a room’s a pain in the ass.

He should go to bed. He’s got a long drive tomorrow and an early start, but fuck, he’s all keyed up. A drink’d help. Vodka or something to knock him out, if there’s anything left after the party.

There is vodka, it turns out, though the only thing he can find to mix it with is some apple juice that smells pretty potent itself. It’s all right, though. He’s not doing the mouth-swirling wine-tasting thing anyway, just chugging it, and he gets more the aftertaste than anything actually going down.

Hannah’s on his bed when he gets back to his room. She’s sitting there with her legs crossed at the ankles, hands planted on the bed behind her and her chest thrust out, looking like she copied the pose from some softcore porn site, like she’s been practicing all night since the last of the guests went home. Her hair’s mussed and she’s got on this lacy little red nightgown he’ll bet anything Mom doesn’t know she owns and suddenly Elijah is very conscious of the fact that he’s not wearing anything but a t-shirt and briefs.

She should look ridiculous, all skinny and red-eyed, looking like she’s been crying and might start in again any minute now. She doesn’t look a bit sexy, not the way she’s trying to anyway, but his dick’s interested.

Gulping down the last of his drink, he sets the glass on the bookshelf and shuts the door behind him. “I was just about to call it a night,” he says, and he’s kind of surprised he can manage that much coherence, because the vodka’s gone straight to his head and the blood’s gone straight to his dick, and he’s already halfway across the room before he knows it, pushing her down in another blink of an eye.

She wraps her arms around him, clutching handfuls of his t-shirt, and her voice trembles a bit when she says, “I’m gonna miss you.” She starts to say something else, but he hushes her with a kiss. Maybe it’s only his own mouth, but she tastes like maybe she’s been drinking, too.

It’s fucked up. Your little sister’s not supposed to drown her sorrows when you go off to college, he’s pretty sure of that. If they were a TV family, she’d be happy to get rid of him. And maybe it’s his own fault, because he’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to fuck your sister, either, but he can’t stop, he can’t, and that’s why he’s gotta get out of here.

She’s crying again now, but her nipples are hard, poking up through the flimsy nightgown. Big nipples for such small tits. He sucks one right through the silk or whatever it is and she arches up underneath him, making these little noises that get louder and louder and sound so good he just might shoot his load right now, but he mutters, “Shut up, man, you want Mom to hear?”

It’s quiet after that, just the occasional squeak of the bedsprings, and when he finally reaches down between her legs she’s soaking wet, right through her panties. He groans and tugs them down, drops them on the floor and shoves his briefs down around his hips. He’s inside of her so fast, and it’s a good thing, too, ’cause he’s not gonna last long. He fucks her hard and fast and bites his lip when he comes. She holds him tight as he shudders, and says his name under her breath.

He pulls out, pulls away, pulls his underpants up and stretches out on the too-narrow bed. “You still on the pill?”


“I gotta get to sleep.”

He feels more than sees when she gets up, his crappy old bed rocking with the movement. “I’m gonna miss you.” Her voice is small and doesn’t sound like her. He can hear the sound of Kleenex pulled from the box: one, two, three. He turns to look and she’s wiping herself up, tossing the balled-up Kleenex in the trash can by his desk, her wet panties in her other hand. She looks younger than sixteen.



“I’ll miss you…”

It’s almost a question the way she says it, but he can’t give her the answer she wants. He rolls onto his side and props himself up on his elbow. “I’ll see you at Christmas,” he says finally. “It’s only a few months away.”

He flops onto his back again, and she says, “Yeah,” and there’s the creak of the door opening, the click as it shuts. He stares up at the ceiling, the sleepy vodka-and-orgasm haze making his vision blur. Might as well not have his contacts in. He should take them out anyway. Go brush his teeth and piss.

When he stretches, his hand brushes over a wet spot. Maybe he can pack a few more boxes in the morning; there’s still room in the car. If he stays at school on holidays, maybe he’ll get to have the room to himself for a while.

Fucking roommate, man.

It’ll be worth it, though.