Hard To Explain | Cillian Murphy Fanfic

Warnings: No explicit smut, but mentions of sex-related anxiety.

Light filtered through the curtains as I stirred awake. Quickly realizing I was totally naked with Cillian beside me, I pulled the sheets over my chest and sat up, blinking away the brightness.

I usually felt somewhat miserable the morning after binge smoking. Nevertheless, this hangover was wholeheartedly deplorable. My tongue felt heavy and sandpaper-y. A wave of nausea burned through my throat.

Fuck, I thought, rubbing fists against my eyes as a surging migraine tore through my skull.

My knees creaked like rusty hinges as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, forcing myself to get up and hydrate. I found the boxers and top I'd been wearing last night rumpled on the floor, threw them on, and then trudged downstairs, a dull ache between my legs making each step stiff and clumsy. Hm. I wonder what could have caused that. 

Scout seemed happy to see me when I appeared in the kitchen, despite the attention I'd failed to give him yesterday. So, to keep myself on good behavior, I gave him a treat and let him outside, filling his bowl with extra food for prime measure.

I poured myself a glass of water and popped a painkiller before being assaulted by my reflection in the window. My hair was a tangled mess and the bags under my eyes could pass for a carry-on item. Additionally, two conspicuous love bites adorned the crevice next to my jaw...I'd have to inspect my lower body later. I guess it was a fitting portrait of what we'd done the previous evening. Or rather, what Cillian had done to me.

The feeling of butterflies spread through my chest as I reflected on any details I could remember: the image of his head buried in my thighs, of him tasting every drop of me, of our bodies in sync with one another. Never in my life had I allowed myself to come so unapologetically undone with another person. It's like he granted me access to a new realm. It's like I was...in love with him?

No. Nice try, but none of those feelings would've been possible without smoking that super-strain beforehand. And that's not to undermine the experience or to say that I didn't fully enjoy myself – believe me, I did. It's just that, perhaps my memory was a bit more embellished than the reality, with every touch and sensation heightened by the glorious effects of weed.

Not to mention the fact that this was the first time he'd gone down on me, which I was hyper-sensitive to seeing as guys didn't exactly rush to reciprocate in the past; Ronan wasn't even willing to do it, and would guilt trip me if I dared make the suggestion. 

The bottom line is that deeming myself in love with him immediately after this encounter would be rash and meaningless. It was a conclusion which needed to be drawn sober-mindedly, and I'm sure the experience wasn't as euphoric as my brain wanted to convince me it had been.

Right?

I chugged another glass of water and quietly returned upstairs, ransacking the guest bathroom for an unused toothbrush so as not to awaken Cillian. Once I felt refreshed, I tiptoed into the bedroom to find him already up with his back against the headboard.

He dragged a hand down his face and yawned with all his might.

"Did I wake you?"

"No," he cleared his throat, folding his arms over his freckled chest. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine, but my head hurts."

I climbed into the empty spot next to him and folded my legs up to my chest, pressing my forehead into my knees in hopes the sensory deprivation would alleviate the pain. Even after taking paracetamol, a stabbing sensation lingered in my temples. Unable to see anything except the inside of my eyelids, I flinched as his hand grazed the fabric of my crewneck – his crewneck – and slowly traced a calming pattern up and down my back.