[personal profile] sapotefiction
Title: the road is twisted and long
Rating: Explicit
Fandom: That 70s Show
Pairing: Donna/Hyde (unresolved), Donna/Eric, Hyde/Jackie
Warning: Characters are seventeen in canon.

(In which I manage to ship something not happening. Angst.)

1. There was a point at which Donna could have unbuttoned her shirt, knelt up over Hyde on the ratty couch in Eric's basement and let him slide his hand up her skirt, and he would have looked up at her with grateful wonder. She imagined what it would have been like, then, when he was still the half-grown half-cynical teenage boy with the sideburns who danced with her at the disco in Kenosha, who meant it when he said he wanted to kiss her. She imagined straddling him in some car - whose car? There would have been a car - his glasses off and his face still, young, vulnerable. She imagined how her hair would fall over her shoulders, how his hands would curve, gently, along her waist as she moved on him. She imagined the way his face would twist and tense and the half-surprised noise she knew he'd make when he came. She thought about it a lot. That was then. That was a long time ago.

2. He'd given his luck a try with her, gone a little past luck into desperation, and gotten a sound and stinging no. He ceded that ground to the nice boy with the sideparted hair with the stable family life and the good grades. Hyde had gotten taller and broader in the shoulders and had his heart kicked around a little. He said he stopped caring and then he really stopped caring for a while. He had something to prove about women and goddamn, he was going to prove it.

There was a point there where she could have gone down into his basement room and he would have watched her undress, unimpressed, joint in hand. She knew though that when she let him roll her onto the bed there would be a second when his face flickered, because it was still him and still her and there was something there between them.

She suspected that it would be fast and a little hard and a little boring, that the only sound he would make would be a gasp, and that he would press his face into her shoulder for a long moment before rolling off of her and picking his lighter up from beside the bed, lighting up again, staring at the ceiling with one arm behind his head. She wondered if he'd bother trying to make it good, try to prove to her what she was missing, even though he knew she would never tell anyone, that it would never happen again. She wondered how much of even trying to be good in bed was self-gratification. For men. For Hyde.

At that point she was still dancing around Eric, trying to work up her nerve, and she dismissed whatever Hyde could offer as not what she wanted at all. She was right; she was rarely wrong.

She thought about his shoulders, about his arms, about his long legs and his tight pants. She thought about Hyde a lot. It was hard not to. She loved Eric. She loved making out with Eric. She loved his laugh and his hands and his stupid jokes and his funny jokes too. Thinking about Hyde didn't change anything.

As a seventeen-year-old who'd had a steady boyfriend for a year and still not had sex, Donna knew exactly how not to act on an urge. And she honestly could say that with Hyde, it wasn't even an urge. It was just - something she knew.

3. She had sex with Eric and it was awful, awkward and slobbery and weirdly mechanical, like her knobby knees and his knobby elbows were their entire bodies, all crooks and corners rattling around a bed. They tried again and it got less bad. They tried again and it was actually pretty good; then it was more than pretty good, it was amazing, she was in love with Eric, she loved Eric, she thought about him all day every day. She didn't think about Hyde very much at all, which was good, because Hyde was always there in the house. Sometimes she felt his eyes on the two of them as they lay on the couch, her long fingers tangled with Eric's knobby ones, his hand on her knee, her head on his shoulder. She'd look up and Hyde would look away, under his dark glasses.

4. Jackie told her later that Hyde pushed her hair back around her ear, put his hand on her shoulder, told her it would be okay, and that's when she'd kissed him. That all happened later, when things got complicated. There was a lot of later in their lives, anyway, after that.

She watched his life spin to pieces from the outside: legal trouble, relationship trouble. Breaking Jackie's heart, breaking his own heart. She had no illusions that there was anything she could have done to still that wild oscillation; she knew that if she'd tied her life to his in any meaningful way she just have gotten dragged along. Thinking you could save someone with love is a teenage fantasy; she left all that to Jackie.

Anyway, past a certain point you had to respect Hyde's basic dignity while his world fell down around his ears.

She made good choices, mostly, though god knows it didn't keep her from suffering as she grew up. Not much could; she knew that.

5. When she was older she thought about that dance in Kenosha and her chest ached a little. She was never sure why.



August 2012

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