love you goodbye | cl x reader
summary: on the day you're supposed to marry someone else, you give in to the pull between you and charles for the last time
content: m/f s*x, r*ding, angst.. lots of it
words: 3k+
He announces himself with two sharp knocks on the door. You don't turn around but your heart squeezes painfully in your chest anyway.
Your mother greets him with a smile, old affection slow to die despite you about to marry someone other than Charles.
"Can I have a moment with the bride?" he asks, voice not betraying him. But there's pain in his light eyes. She nods, a careful expression on her face before kissing him on the cheek. She squeezes his hand before she goes. Looks like she wants to say something but doesn't.
There's too much left unsaid, but you wait for the door to fall shut to turn around. You're not in your dress yet, just a simple dressing gown as your mother and you worked on your hair. You weren't as successful as you'd thought you'd be; too distracted by everything about to happen.
"Excited?" he asks, fingers restlessly drumming against his thigh. His eyes keep flicking over to the dress. Like he can't help but punish himself by looking at it. Like he can't stop imagining it worn on a different day, for him. And you. Just how you dreamt of for all those years when you were too young still to think about stuff like marriage and starting a family despite wanting both so so badly.
Where did it all go wrong? You know the answer of course, but looking at him, in his tailored suit with his combed hair and those same eyes you used to feel grounded by, you can't quite put it into words. What made you leave.
"Yes," you say, a little too late. But honest anyway. Your stomach has been fluttering all day.
He nods, accepts it without comment. Has learnt over time to take what you say as the truth and nothing but the truth.
"Why are you here?" you ask when he doesn't say anything. You can see it in his posture, how his bruised heart is beating away in his chest. How he's trying so hard not to snap and say what he really feels.
"I just--" he stops, breathes in. Out. Once and then twice more. "I need to--"
And then his lips are on yours and shock slips away too quickly for you to do anything but kiss back. Eager. And familiar and hurting. Not as badly as Charles maybe, knowing that your whole future is going to start beyond that door. A groom and guests waiting to celebrate your union as Charles watches on, but the pain is still there. In the way your hands slip into his hair. How you pull on the strands to have him moan and hiss.
It's enough of a distraction to have his hands fall away from your face. To your chest and down. His hands shouldn't feel as good on your skin as they do. As right. But they do and a part of you takes sick fascination in it. How you are prepared to promise yourself away to someone else and still think nothing compares to Charles' hands on you.
Your lips part and then he trails his mouth down your neck. Careful and soft not to leave behind any marks. He's considerate like that. Like he knows you'll have him here, behind closed doors one last time and he has accepted it. That he has no claim on you or your body beyond what you give him.
It's easy though, to let him touch and move you. Tug you off the small seat and against the edge of the vanity. Makeup bottles rattle when you bump the edge with your ass and then you're turned around and come face to face with yourself. And Charles to your back.
You stop for one breathless minute. Take in his flushed cheeks and glistening eyes. How even now, he looks beautiful in his suit. Regal. Like he belongs in it at the end of an aisle with flowers to your feet.
It's a nice fantasy, but one you have to close your eyes against. Your head bumps against the mirror softly. Fogs up as you sigh into the clear surface as his hands slip under your robe. Where you're already a little wet. A little turned on since you first glimpsed him in his suit.
"Fuck," he whispers, lips brushing your shoulder before he pushes off. Like he needs to see for himself. Your legs part a little more as you hold onto the vanity. Try to find purchase where there is none with Charles by your back.
His hand wraps around your hip. Squeezes the flesh softly before sliding around your waist. To your stomach. Where he rubs a couple of soothing circles into the skin. Traces his fingers down. Between your legs. Around your folds. Has your hips rock forward in two seconds flat. But he doesn't give in at first. Doesn't give you the satisfaction of touching your clit more.
You roll your eyes. Too impatient to play this game. Rock your ass against Charles' trousers. Where he's straining against the fabric already, just as eager as you feel. Rub your ass against him some more, have him stutter forward. Until he pins your hips against the vanity with his.
"Charles," you say, name easily uttered in the silence. It feels right, hearing it roll off your tongue as you ache for him. "Touch me."
And he does. Like it was that easy. Like all you had to do was ask for him to break. And give in like he's been wanting to since he knocked on that door.
He has you against the vanity. Right next to where your wedding dress is hanging. Shimmery and beautiful in the low light.
His pants are down by the knees and your robe is hiked up by the thighs and there's a certain desperation you've grown to recognize in the way he grips your hips. The way he intertwines your fingers of one hand to places against the mirror, like he wants to leave a trace behind. That he was there. Making you feel good, desired, on the day you're promising yourself away to someone else.
Someone that is not Charles. Who despite you breaking and ripping his heart into a million tiny pieces, is here. A steady presence to your back. His cock hot and heavy in you. Filling you just so to have you moan and whimper his name with every deep stroke of his cock.
Your eyes meet in the reflection and it's like he can't bear it. Having your eyes on him when he makes you feel so so good. Because he knows it won't last. The same way you know it won't. It's a silent agreement, one that sits heavy between you as he snaps his hips into you. Body opening so beautifully for him despite it.
It always has. You can't imagine a time your body won't feel like a live wire when he touches you.
It's worrisome, thinking that Charles of all people will remain the sole reason your body trembles the way it does now, but at the same time it seems... right. Why lie to yourself when your body would betray you no matter what? When you wrap your free hand around his wrist on your hip and pull it around your waist? Between your legs. Where you're dripping now, stretched around his cock.
You moan, the sound hoarse as he touches your clit again. Rubs circles into the tender folds. Has you arch your back a little more.
He looks lost to the pleasure when you look back up into the mirror. Eyes almost completely closed as he looks down. To where he disappears in you. Where you're wrapped around him, tight and wet and so so close to coming on his cock. His hand falls away from around your waist. Comes to settle on the small of your back before he pushes down.
You fold easily. Feel him slip in that little bit more. Just enough to nudge your g-spot. Just enough to have you see stars where before you could see the gentle slope of his jaw. How his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks.
Pleasure zings down your back. Pulled tight like a rubberband about to snap. Has been for some time. Pretty much since Charles' thrusts have tapered off into a deep grind. One that has your toes curl against the carpet.
"Touch yourself," he says at some point. And it's like a switch has been flipped. Your fingers move with practiced ease and then Charles pushes in, pushes close. Until he can kiss the back of your neck. Nibble at your earlobe.
The sounds he makes get you there in the end. How the air seems to get punched out of his lungs every time he bottoms out. Like he's surprised by how good it feels. How good you feel around him, even after all that time.
You come with his name on your lips. Where it belongs, you think for one breathless moment, guard all the way down until your body trembles from oversensitivity.
He stops then. Still hard. Still desperate to get off.
Your eyes meet again and then he pulls out. Turns you around. Grabs you by the wrist. Fingers of that hand still glistening from where you touched yourself.
His cheeks hollow around the digits and your eyes flutter a little. Pleasure still coursing through your veins. Especially now, seeing him suck your fingers clean. He always enjoyed being on his knees for you. Said he loved your taste. The way you just couldn't help but fuck yourself on his tongue. Use him until you got off.
Your fingers slip free and then you're kissing. One hand wrapping around his cock. The first touch has him gasp against your lips, but you don't stop. Move your hand instead, slow. Flick your wrist in that way you remember him liking.
He tumbles into the bed with you on top of him.
And it's a practiced move. This dance. Falling into bed together. Him throbbing in your hand until you manage to pull your robe off. Drop it to the ground. Careless. Too focussed on feeling his tip nudge against your slit.
You don't draw it out. Slip down his dick, until he bottoms out. Until his hands fly to your waist. Like he has to restrain himself from fucking up, into you from the get go. You wouldn't mind, but this is good too. Perfect even. A little like a religious experience.
Better than one in some ways, having him looking up at you as you look down on him. Feeling the way he throbs in you. Buried from tip to base on the day you're getting married to a cheap imitation of what you and Charles have. Had.
You grind down, relish the feeling of being filled the way you are. Gasp and moan when he fucks up into you after all. Restraint only getting him so far before he snaps. You came once already after all. Charles is rarely selfish outside of the bedroom, but here, right now, he can't help it. Can't help wanting to cum in you, have you tremble on his cock.
"Not fair," you mumble, voice quiet as you look down at him. His beautiful face. Those flushed cheeks. But the kiss you draw him into contradicts anything you could have followed that up with.
It's a deep one. Filthy much like everything you've done so far and your hands are making a mess of his beautiful hair. Twisting and pulling on the strands until the product seems to melt away entirely into a sweaty mess. One you're starting to turn into as he continues to move his hips up. As you continue to stay still. Have him be the one to do the work.
His eyes never once leave your face but his hands remain restless. They come up to your tits. Trail down your waist to your ass. Have you arch into them eagerly before he gives your ass a light clap. One that stings. One that turns the skin hot beneath his hand. Where he grips you, almost owning. If it weren't for the wedding dress hanging from the vanity. If it weren't for the silver ring around your finger -- one that's not identical to the one Charles gave you back then, when you were dumb and in love and taking on the world seemed like the easiest thing to do with him by your side.
How young and naive you were back then. You're still young now, but more jaded. Changed in a way that allows you to fuck your ex on your wedding day. You'll be thinking about this later, when your groom zips down your dress. When he kisses your skin and thinks he's the only one that has touched you that day. When he thinks it's him you think of, late at night.
It's a secret you and Charles will share. One he'll leave with as he watches you walk down the aisle.
He pulls you down into his lap. Quick. A little rough as his fingers dig into your sides. Like he could tell your mind was elsewhere and he couldn't have that happen. Not when he's in you. When he's the one making pleasure slowly coil in your stomach again. It's embarrassing almost, how quick he gets you where he wants you.
But you can tell he's close too. In the way his eyes glisten. How his thrusts turn sloppy and you're the one back in charge. When he's so close to cumming.
You move your hips up and down. Smile, strained and with a moan withering behind your teeth when he thrusts up once. Twice more before his fingers dance down your stomach and to your slick folds. His thumb draws over the stretched skin of your cunt, where you're wrapped around him again.
But his eyes remain on your face. As if he has to look at you falling apart. Memorize the way you look riding him.
His fingers feel heavenly on your clit when they slip back up. Better than yours, because they're Charles'.
When he cums in you, you do so a second later. Follow him over the edge until pleasure snaps. Until it overwhelms your senses. You fall forward, spent, despite your hips twitching back and forth on his softening cock. Bury your face in his sweaty neck. The collar of his crisp shirt ruined.
Your name is whispered into the space above your head. Quiet. Unsure. Like Charles doesn't know what you just did despite his cum slowly trailing between your legs.
You pull off, but don't move away. Stay like that, wrapped up in his body for another moment. Rub your forehead against his chest. Scared what you'll find when you look up. What truth Charles will have unveiled to you with his eyes.
He's an open book to you. Or used to be, but the shuttered look on his face isn't what you expect when you roll away. Into the space next to him. Where he's one warm line against your naked body.
You feel terribly exposed suddenly. With him still in his suit for the most part. With his eyes being unreadable. Lips pinched together like he has to stop himself from saying something.
You shrug into the robe again. Try to find security in the soft way it caresses your body but all it reminds you of is how just minutes earlier Charles had touched you. How his hands had cupped your breasts and his lips sought out yours.
When you stand up, so does he. And it's quiet between you. Now that the sound of each others names have stopped slipping off the others lips. You move, try to put space between you and the bed. Almost sit back down at the vanity, where even now, a mark is left behind. The one your intertwined hands left behind.
"It's a beautiful dress," he says from behind you, voice quiet. You nod, eyes trailing over delicate lace and beautiful folds just to your side. Your husband will love it but he won't appreciate the thought put into it before pulling it off your body tonight.
"I would have loved it," he adds. Doesn't meet your eyes as he does. You don't know what he'd find there anyway. Pain, maybe? For doing this to him? To yourself? Your mind's a mess, but one you appreciate over grasping what you just did.
His hands tremble a little around the buttons of his wrinkled shirt, still made up for the most part. You sigh as you step in, a distant rehearsed memory prompting you to help him like you did so many times before. At events or before important meetings with Ferrari.
"You would," you agree, "You would have loved to see the way it shimmers in the light as we danced."
He hums, pained and then grabs your wrists. Clears his throat before dropping them again. Reminds himself that he has no right to touching you anymore. You would have let him. You would have even kissed him again. Or for the last time. Whatever version you like to tell yourself. All you really know is that you already miss it, the heat of him on your body. How he filled you.
There's evidence of him on your skin still. Between your legs. Slowly trailing down the soft skin of your inner thigh. But it's not enough to trick your brain into believing you'll ask him to stay.
You couldn't, even if you wanted to. It's too late, you tell yourself.
A part of you knows that you'll have to tell yourself that one over and over.
_
Later, after you've showered, after you've washed away all traces of Charles, watched what you two did swirl down the drain and your mother touched up your lipstick -- the ghost of Charles' mouth on yours still warm -- you walk down the aisle and towards a new future.
One that doesn't have Charles standing on the other side. Instead, he's sitting in the second row to your left and he admires the way your dress shimmers with every step just like you said he would.
