A Slow Build

Author's Note:

Terribly sorry to release this chapter so incredibly late! I know how frustrating reading an abandoned story can be, so I promise that I won't abandon this one! I have things mostly planned out, but I'm writing this as I go so chapters may continue to be few and far between. In hindsight, I wish I'd posted this chapter back in October '08, as it was mostly completed by that point... Hopefully the next chapter won't be nearly as tardy, but please be patient with me~! :D



This chapter starts off with a racy segment, so please turn back now if you are offended by depictions of a sexual nature. (Though I doubt that you are... unless you took a really wrong turn when you landed at AFF.) That section is one of the main reasons I took so long with this chapter, and I debated removing it altogether... but in the end I've included it, so I hope it's not too strange or out of place.



Thanks to LOVELUST, cu-kid (congrats on completing Brier Wood, I loved it!), and A.T. Flight for reviewing, and also to those who rated! I honestly didn't expect to receive any reviews, so I really appreciate it.







A Slow Build





Chapter 3: The Girl Who Wasn't Chubby

(08/08/2008 - 05/29/2009)





It was Friday, the first day of the long weekend. Hovering on the edges of sleep, Fanny smiled at the luxury of being able to wake up slowly and savour the remnants of her dreams. Last night's had been torturous and teasing, leaving her with illusory mental images of a decidedly more naked version of her elevator ride with Quentin. Her body tingled as the ghost of Quentin's voice sluiced over her like a wave of warm honey. She smiled to herself, wriggling her body against her sheets in a mixture of sleepy contentment and sensual rapture, connecting the dreamy images with her memory of the male voice.



Fanny.



The voice of dream-Quentin caressed her again. As much as she’d always considered her nickname to be unflattering, somehow Quentin had managed to thrill her each time he’d spoken it the previous night. Remembering the smooth cadence of his voice caused a rush of heat to pool in her stomach. She bit her lip, felt her body aching to be touched. Waking up a little more, her hands slid into familiar action. And in that moment, on the tail end of her erotic dreams, it seemed perfectly natural for her to imagine the touch of the man who’d starred in them.



She imagined that she felt his elegant hands in place of her own, slipping boldly beneath her clothes and running confidently over her body. His hands wrenching her pyjama bottoms down her legs and diving into her damp panties. His fingers spreading moisture over her sensitive folds and sliding against her opening. His brazen ministrations heating her skin and promising her an exquisitely satisfying release.



He circled a damp digit from one hand over the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her thighs. One finger from his other hand slid between her slick folds. A second finger soon joined it. He pressed harder against her clit while that pair of fingers pumped faster, deeper. His smooth voice whispered against her ear, urging her on. She wanted to surrender to the building pressure he’d created. She wanted to reach the pinnacle, then to tumble over the edge and into sweet climax. Come on, come on, come on, she chanted silently.



Then her wrists began to ache, and the fantasy faltered and faded. She scrunched her eyes closed and tried to concentrate again, but the sure touch she had imagined was gone. Instead, she was left with her own inept and tired hands. Determined to prolong the pleasure, she continued going through the motions. The sensation in her delicate bud increased until stroking the sensitive area seemed impossible to continue. Had she felt a little twinge down there a second ago? Was that it? As in It? She wasn't sure. Her movements slowed to a halt. The oddly unsatisfied pulse between her legs answered her.



Shit. She removed her hands from her underwear with a sigh. Suddenly the afterglow of dream-sex faded. Now she felt bereft instead.



What was she doing wrong?



Fantasizing about Quentin had probably turned her on more than the smut fiction previously had, but it seemed that even this wasn't quite enough. Now she felt a little guilty for using Quentin as fodder for her masturbation fantasy. She couldn't feel guilty for imagining him at night; dreams were unconscious. But now she had lucidly visualized him, his hands, and even his voice while trying to get herself off.



Obviously he would never know about this, provided that she didn't come down with a case of word vomit, but she knew. She would have to look at and talk to him while knowing.



She laughed suddenly, unable to stave off the mental image of a sexually crazed Fanny pouncing on Quentin after having a fantasy-overload. That would be interesting.



Or perhaps not. She'd already tried that last night, hadn't she? Fanny recalled with embarrassment her overzealous reaction to Quentin's G-rated first kiss. He'd practically had to peel her off of him just to get away. The man had probably only been testing the waters with the curious kiss he’d given her, but she’d ruined it by diving in head-first and trying to drag him along with her. Sure, he'd been physically excited, but he'd also made it clear that he had no intention of accepting her unspoken invitation to boink her in the elevator.



If that wasn't a rejection, she didn't know what was.



Okay, so maybe she was overreacting just a tad. But that moment in Quentin’s arms had been her first time being so brazen and openly sexual with a man, particularly one she’d just met; it was humiliating to know that he hadn’t exactly shared the same fervour. He may have started the kiss, but she’d certainly been the one to introduce their tongues, among other things. Maybe it was just her insecurity talking, but Fanny felt sure that if she were any other woman, any makeup-wearing self-assured beauty, Quentin would have been more eager for some elevator escapades, or at least followed her into her apartment to continue things in the bedroom. But he had done neither of those things.



Had he decided that their kiss had been a mistake? He had kissed her again before leaving, but she wasn’t sure it had meant anything; perhaps he'd merely been trying to soothe her hurt feelings with the goodbye peck. Her body had reacted strongly to that second touch of his lips to hers, but thinking about it in the light of day just made her feel confused and embarrassed.



She groaned and flung an arm over her eyes, as though blocking the late morning sunlight would force night to return and sad reality to retreat. It was no use, though. Fanny was fully awake, and feeling distinctly stupid.



Why had she worried about facing Quentin when it seemed so unlikely that they would speak again? They worked in the same building but certainly didn't work together by any means, and in fact had never really crossed paths before yesterday evening. She didn't even know Quentin. Never mind that she'd been interested in him for the past 10 months; having a crush on a stranger from afar, no matter how long it had lasted, didn't mean a whole lot. It was only in the past 12 hours that she'd actually had any contact with the man, or even learned his name.



What was she thinking? What was the use of hoping for something more with him, fantasizing about him? As though attaching a name to the man had made him more attainable than the nameless stranger he had been 24 hours ago. Last night, she told herself harshly, was probably just a one-time deal, an amusing pity date with the Plain Jane. Not even enough to build a shallow friendship on, especially now that he knew she wanted to get into his pants.



Maybe if she were someone more appealing, more in control, more...



Her thoughts stopped for a moment as a muted humming sound reached her ears. Was it her cell phone? Who could be phoning her? Not many people had her cell phone number in the first place, and those who did were more likely to call the landline in her apartment instead.



Well, whoever it was would be talking to her voicemail if she didn’t answer the phone soon.



Fanny threw the sheets off her body and swung her legs over the side of her bed, groaning a little when she recalled that her pyjama bottoms were down to her knees. She waddled quickly towards the muffled vibrating sound, which seemed to be coming from the inside of her tote bag, then tugged up her cotton pants with one hand while rooting through her bag with the other. Her hand finally closed around the object she sought after. Still vibrating, thank goodness. She hurriedly flipped the device open and brought it to her ear, breathing an unintentionally husky “Hello?”



"G'morning, Fanny."



She froze. It couldn’t be who she thought it was. Fanny lowered the phone to stare at its display screen. It was him. He had called her! The memory of him asking to see her again rushed back to her. Was he calling about that? Nervous energy swirled inside her stomach as she sat down in her desk chair and returned the phone to her ear. “…Quentin?”



“So you haven’t forgotten me yet,” Quentin’s smiling voice poured through the phone.



Just like that, Fanny managed to forget that the sexy voice in her ear belonged to the equally sexy man with whom she had absolutely no chance. She tried to stop her mind from darting back to the memory of fantasy-Quentin whispering into her ear. An embarrassment-induced giggle rose up her throat, but she managed to contain it. "I remember you," she assured him.



What an understatement.



"Did I wake you? You sound sleepy."



"No, not at all! I woke up a while ago." Her statement lost a lot of its credibility when Fanny breathed an involuntary and obvious yawn into the receiver.



"If you say so," he teased laughingly. Despite herself, Fanny felt a giddy feeling increase within her as she listened to the warmth of his laugh. Somewhere in the back of her mind she worried that she was setting herself up for disappointment, but the thought was tamped down by her excitement at hearing his voice.



"So," Quentin continued, "are we still on for this afternoon?"



Fanny could hardly believe her ears. Hell yes, they were still on!



Wait, she had to calm down. Maybe Quentin was merely being kind; she needn’t get herself so worked up. But unbidden hope surged through her anyway. Until that moment, Fanny had half-expected to hear Quentin offer a polite excuse to back out of seeing her again. She’d even imagined that he might kindly tack on promise to meet her “some other time”, without actually intending to follow through. Now it appeared that she’d been mistaken.



Her cheeks began to ache and she noticed that she was grinning like an idiot.



“Or we can push things back a few hours if you'd rather sleep a little longer,” he was saying. Fanny realized that he had read her silence as hesitation.



“I can be ready in ten minutes,” she blurted. Wow, Fanny; eager, much?



She could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again, and she pictured his dimpled cheeks. That image alone was enough to erase the cringe that her embarrassing lack of finesse had inspired. “I’m glad to hear that,” he laughed softly. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind about our date.”



She bit her lip. Could she dare to hope that he considered their tentative last minute plans to be a date, in the romantic sense of the word? She shook her head. Don’t read into it.



“I’m still interested if you are,” she said lightly, hoping to hide that she’d been lost in thought again.



“Oh, I’m definitely interested, Fanny,” his voice pitched lower.



Her heart flip-flopped as the intimate sound wrapped around her name. Then the organ somersaulted once more when she fully registered the innuendo in Quentin’s words. Could she survive an afternoon with this man without her heart beating out of her chest? Or keep her face from bursting into flames? She could hardly keep from blushing now, and she wasn’t even in his physical presence at the moment.



She scrambled for something to say, wishing that she could have access to the wealth of playful, confident responses that Sadie always had at the ready. An awkward laugh escaped her instead. “So, what do you have in mind?” she tried. It was a little lame, but she hoped at least that her voice didn’t betray her naïveté.



Had she managed to pose the question in the tone of a femme fatale, Quentin might have recognized it as the opening that it was. When he paused briefly, she wondered if he would take the bait, even started to anticipate the next suggestive turn of phrase he might use.



“Do you like surprises?”



It wasn’t the response she’d been hankering for, but it didn’t matter; she felt her face light up as she answered honestly, “I love them.” Her silly grin was back, and she was too excited to mind if he heard it in her voice. She really did love surprises, and, call it a hunch, but she suspected she’d love one from Quentin even more.



“Perfect,” he drawled back. “I can pick you up in an hour. Sound good?”



“Great!” Did that sound too enthusiastic? She cleared her throat and said a little more evenly, “That sounds great.”



His pleased laugh trailed through the phone and it occurred to her that he might actually enjoy her guileless reactions. Should she let go more, and over-think less? She filed that thought away for later.



“Then we have a date,” he confirmed. “I’ll see you at noon, Fanny.”



Fanny stared at the cell phone in her hand for a long moment after their call had been disconnected. Mere minutes ago she had convinced herself of the futility of pursuing Quentin, of even thinking about him. Then, speaking to Quentin again had almost instantly negated nearly all of the pessimistic conclusions she had drawn beforehand. And now she had a definite date planned with him. Elation filled her. She hadn't scared him off after all!



Still, she considered, Quentin probably wouldn’t appreciate her repeating the mistake of throwing herself at him during their second date. He seemed to like her well enough to see her again, but apparently they weren’t on the same page sexually. It was a little disappointing, but she supposed it made sense when she considered the fact that they’d only just met. Her continued crush on the man had given her time to develop an attraction to him, and was probably to blame for last night’s artless display. Quentin, on the other hand, had some catching up to do. If she wanted to get through this afternoon without mauling him again, she had to keep herself in check.



Fanny wondered just how difficult that might be. She'd been daydreaming like crazy during last night’s meal, and afterwards, even before having touched Quentin intimately. How many more fantasies would his presence inspire in her now that she'd humped him through his clothes? She shook her head ruefully at the thought. To avoid embarrassing herself again, she would have to ignore the attraction she felt towards the man… at least for now.



For now? Fanny snorted to herself. She wasn’t confident that she would have any more opportunities with Quentin. But she couldn’t complain; she would have today. Whether it turned out to be their last date, or the first of many, she decided then to just enjoy it. Energized by the thought, Fanny tossed her cell phone back into her disorganized tote and began to get ready.







“You little tart!” Fanny choked on a mouthful of orange juice while Sadie grinned widely at her across their kitchen table, eyes flashing with interest. “I knew you had it in you,” the woman continued gleefully, wiggling her eyebrows.



Fanny blushed and covered her mouth while she struggled to swallow. “I told you, it was just a kiss,” she finally protested.



“A very hot kiss!”



Sadie hadn’t heard all of last night’s details, but she had known Fanny long enough to recognize how affected she was by the experience. Fanny knew that her friend was probably dying to know if any fondling had been involved last night, and how much, but she mercifully refrained from asking.



“It’s about time,” she told Fanny. “I was wondering when you’d find a man who can make you cream your panties.”



Fanny spluttered. “I never said—it’s not like that,” she lied. “And it’s not like I’ve never had sex before, either. I’ve been plenty excited with other guys, too.” ‘Too’? She hoped her friend had missed the slip-up.



Judging from Sadie’s Cheshire Grin, she definitely hadn’t missed anything. Fanny almost laughed at herself; she really was a terrible liar.



“Oh, just admit it. Those guys were barely able to inspire a lukewarm tingle. You’re hot for this one,” Sadie said confidently.



Fanny took a swig of juice like it was hard liquor, hiding her face behind the glass briefly. “Maybe,” she mumbled. Then, at her friend’s pointed look, she amended, “Okay, fine. You’re right. But it doesn’t matter because I’m not going to repeat what I did last night.” She stood to place her empty glass in the kitchen sink.



“Is that why you’re dressed like that?”



“Like what?” She looked down at herself uncertainly.



“Like a rectangle,” Sadie exaggerated, obviously channelling a bit of Clinton Kelly. “Do you really want this guy to warm up to you, or are you trying to convince him that you’re sexless? That outfit is so shapeless and completely hides your curves.”



That was hard not to react defensively to, but Fanny tempered her tone when she responded. “Good. I want to hide my chubbiness. And this is pretty much how I dress for work everyday, anyway. He didn’t seem to mind how I looked yesterday.” But it certainly hadn’t helped her get anywhere with him, she reminded herself. Maybe she did look sexless.



“You are not chubby.”



Fanny gave her a skeptical look, and Sadie sighed in exasperation. Eyes flashing with determination behind her blue contacts, Sadie stood and tugged on her friend’s arm, indicating that she follow her out of the kitchen.



“I refuse to let you sell yourself short,” she said over her shoulder, leading the way to her bedroom.



A reluctant smile tugged at Fanny’s lips and she couldn’t find it in her to protest the outfit adjustments she knew Sadie was itching to make. For all of their differences, she couldn’t imagine a better friend for her than Sadie; they complemented each other well, yet shared enough similarities and years of friendship to understand one another. Fashion was an area where they differed quite noticeably, and Sadie had attempted to advise her in the past, but to very limited success. To Fanny, there had never seemed to be much incentive to improve her style before, so nothing had really stuck.



Sadie seemed more determined this time, though. Once inside her room, she went directly to her closet and began sifting through the accessories and articles of clothing that she unearthed. After a moment she tossed a flared, lightweight skirt into Fanny’s arms, saying, “Try that on,” and then started to work on separating a tangle of belts.



Fanny almost said she didn’t think the item was big enough to fit her, but decided it might sound ungrateful. Never being one to comfortably undress in front of others, Fanny quickly skimmed off her loose grey pants and then stepped into the purple skirt immediately afterwards (thankful that she'd decided to shave her legs that morning). She lifted the hem of her roomy shirt to reach for the hidden side zipper of the skirt, and then made a surprised noise as she managed to fasten it. She couldn’t be the same size as Sadie!



She looked up at Sadie who appeared to be finished untangling her belts and was nodding in approval at her. “That is why I’ve been itching to get my hands on you and your wardrobe for so long. You don’t have my pancake ass, so we can’t share jeans, but I had a feeling your waist size would be about the same as mine. I have some other skirts that will definitely look just as hot on you,” she smiled proudly. “Do you still have that white scoop-neck top in your dresser?”



At Fanny’s speechless nod, she went to retrieve the shirt from the other room. When Sadie returned with it, Fanny finally said, “But it shrank in the wash.”



“I know,” Sadie grinned and handed it to her anyway. She instructed Fanny to exchange it with the frumpy shirt she wore (which she did hurriedly, self-conscious of her simple nude-coloured bra) and tuck the hem of the fitted top into the clean waist of the borrowed skirt. Fanny accepted the wide, black leather belt Sadie offered her and secured it at her waist, over the top edge of the skirt.



“Isn’t this shirt too tight?” she fretted.



Sadie guided her to stand before the 4-foot mirror attached to the inside of one open closet door. Fanny looked over her reflection with some surprise. It looked like she had lost weight. The scooping neck of the white, short-sleeved top modestly hid her cleavage and the rest of the material fit flatteringly to the curves of her chest and waist, revealing that she looked surprisingly trim. Sadie’s belt accented her natural waist, and the purple jewel-toned skirt beneath it flared out to a hem that rippled flirtatiously around the tops of her knees.



“Actually, you bought that shirt too big, like you buy all your clothes,” Sadie said knowingly. “It just shrank to the right size.” She poked her friend in the side. “I said you have curves, but I didn’t mean you’re chubby. You just have tits and ass.”



Fanny gave a laugh of embarrassment at her friend’s crass wording, but flushed with modest pleasure. Had she really had this figure hiding under her clothes? It was hard to believe, but the proof was in front of her.



This would have to take some getting used to. A little unsure of herself in the unfamiliar outfit, Fanny wondered if she would feel comfortable wearing this on her date with Quentin. The top was more close-fitting than the others in her wardrobe, and she so rarely wore skirts or dresses. But, she admitted to herself, these clothes actually felt quite comfortable, would be cool enough to wear out in the sun, and made her look put together yet appropriately casual. She just wished she had a bit of time to get used to the way she felt in them.



She felt…attractive. And she wasn’t sure how smart it was to dress in an outfit that gave her such a feeling when she was so determined to curb her sexual impulses today. Said impulses were already rather unfamiliar to her as it was.



Sadie's earlier comment had hit the nail on the head; all of Fanny's previous dealings with men had been tame involvements on her part. Yet, more than once last night, she had uncharacteristically wanted to initiate intimacy with Quentin. She hadn't the practise to follow through for the most part, but the intent had suddenly been there.



What had changed?



“Don’t think about it too much,” Sadie said, as though reading her thoughts. But of course, she was referring to the outfit rather than to Fanny's new train of thought. She tugged the elastic hair ties from her friend's hair and then fussed over the loosened strands. “Much better than the bun.”







At 5 minutes to noon, Fanny was trying valiantly to tamp down her sudden anxiousness. Sadie had managed to talk her into wearing a touch of eye makeup and lip gloss, and even she had to admit that her appearance was miles better than it had been in years... perhaps better than it had ever been, in fact. But as she watched the hands of the kitchen clock approaching 12, she began to second-guess herself. Did she look ridiculous, like she was trying too hard? Would Quentin think she looked out of place dressed like this? Even worse, would he not even notice her efforts after he'd laid eyes on her beautiful roommate?



Sadly, a number of Fanny's previous dates and short-lived relationships had been with men who were invariably more smitten with Sadie than they ever had been with Fanny herself. None of these men had ever actually pursued Sadie, and she knew her friend would never accept their advances had they tried, but Fanny had always believed they refrained only because they thought themselves unworthy. Evidently, Fanny was adept at attracting men who not only failed to please her in the sack, but also had confidence issues.



Although the pleasing-in-the-sack part remained to be seen, Quentin didn't seem to fall into either category. So how might he react to meeting Sadie?



Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a firm knock from the apartment's tiny foyer. Her heart jumped to her throat as her eyes darted back to the clock. He was right on time. Rising from her seat, Fanny rubbed her damp palms on her borrowed skirt and gave herself a shake before exiting the kitchen in time to see her roommate reaching the front door ahead of her. Well, there was no time like the present to find out the answer to her question.



As Sadie unlocked the door, she gave an exaggerated wink at Fanny over her shoulder. Fanny smiled through her nerves as she acknowledged for the umpteenth time that she could never feel jealousy or bitterness towards her gregarious friend. Then she decided: So what if Quentin gave Sadie the "elevator eyes" when he met her? So what if he lost what little interest he had for shy little Fanny, in favour of her taller, prettier friend? So what if...



Quentin was staring at her. Suddenly the open doorway was filled with Quentin, her vision was filled with Quentin, and Quentin was looking his fill of Fanny.



Wait, what?



Completely unprepared for the attention of his deep gaze, Fanny felt her face heat with what she feared would be the first of many blushes that day. Sadie was right in front of him, and yet his gaze seemed to bend around her and penetrate Fanny as though there was nothing but air between them. But he wasn't smiling. Did she look silly afterall? Was that the only reason she had his attention over Sadie?



"You must be Quentin," Sadie said cheerfully. "Come on in." She opened the door wider and stepped aside to allow him in, watching the pair's silent interaction. She read the confusion and uncertainty on her friend's face and longed to reassure her; by Quentin's reaction, there was absolutely nothing to worry about, she grinned knowingly.



Quentin entered the apartment and murmured his thanks distractedly, without taking his eyes from Fanny. His gaze swept over her body for a long moment. Finally he spoke. "You look hot."



Sadie patted herself on the back.