Title: "Saturday's Are For Relaxing"

Disclaimer: I own nothing – well I do own a thirteen-year-old Care bear (he's green) – but as far as South Of Nowhere goes, I own south of nothing – which when you think about it, is less than nothing. Tom Lynch and The-N own all rights.

Rating: NC-17 – there's sex, go figure.

Summary: I don't know what to say, there's sex, it's Spencer and Ashley, but it's not that black and white. Just give it a read – what's the worst that could happen?

Author's Note: I don't know where this came from but apparently writing angsty one-shot nc-17 SoN fics, is my new hobby. As for the writing style – even I don't know what that's about. And I don't know what my sudden obsession with people having sex in toilet cubicles is. One more thing - sorry about the crap title.

Feedback: Mutual apathy again? However I might decide to continue this (as with another angsty nc-17 fic that was supposed to be a one-shot that I wrote about a week and a half ago), so reader feedback will certainly help me to ascertain if it's worth turning this into a continuing fic.

I push the moaning girl against the lightweight door and thrust my fingers into her. Her moans intensify, they're deeper and louder and now her gasping mouth is next to my ear. Her hot pants bring moisture to the shell of the cartilage. I drive my fingers deeper into her with more vigour. She screams a little. I like it when they scream.

Since moving to New York from Los Angeles I've changed and grown as a person. The main reason for my move was university; NYU was calling my name so I came running. There was of course added bonuses to moving, getting away from my awful mother was one, she didn't want me around anymore anyway, and as for my dad, well he was M.I.A. most of the time.

The girl continues to scream, have I mentioned how I love to make them scream? There is something so deeply erotic about a girl screaming in ecstasy; it's such a turn on. Her hips are pushing forward to meet my hand, she's trying to maximise her pleasure. A sardonic laugh is lost in my throat as I bring my left hand down from her chest – where it has been busying itself with her breasts – to her thrusting hips, I push my palm down onto the bone as forcefully as I can. Doesn't she realise that I'm the one who's in control here?

I hardly miss my old school – King High graduation didn't see any of my tears. There were only two people at that school I cared about, Aiden and Her. As for Aiden, he was going to NYU like me so I had no reason to even say goodbye to him. But, as for Her, I couldn't cry over her, not anymore. It took everything I had not to ask Aiden where she was headed and what she had planned for after graduation. I couldn't beat myself up about Her any more, she broke my heart and that was that.

I add a third finger and she starts to whimper – you know that whimpering sound, it's sort of a cross between a cry of pain and someone begging for more – she was begging for more, she was begging for release. I wasn't going to give her a release though. I didn't want to. And I'm the one in control. Not her, me. That's not to say that I'm going to stop, push her away and leave – no, I'm going to make her cum, I just want to see her beg, to hear her beg, I want her to plead for release. I press down on her clit and her thigh twitches. She's close, so I slow down, my fingers moving painfully slowly.

Some part of me hoped that leaving L.A would mean leaving all the pain behind, forgetting all of the memories. I knew that just a change of scenery wouldn't change what had happened. I didn't. I still remembered her. I still remember everything we had, the good and the bad. Aiden said that at least I sill had the good memories, the happy memories the memories filled with soft teenage giggles. Those annoying carefree giggles that you can't help but let escape your lips when you're having a good time. The type of giggle that sounds strange unless it's coming from a teenage girl. He was wrong, the good times just reminded me of the bad times, the giggles started to taunt me. The sound of soft carefree teenage giggles resounded throughout my mind, forcing tears to spill from my eyes and strangled heartbroken whimpers to escape my lips.

She's muttering how much she needs this, how much she needs to cum. She's on the verge of tears. Good. Her muttered pleas are coming out as desperate sobs. She understands that I'm the one with the power, I'm in control. If my fingers weren't buried deep inside of her and her legs weren't wrapped tightly around my waist I have no doubt that she'd be on her knees begging by now. I flick my thumb aggressively over the small nub of her clit and my fingers start to pound into her with more force than I had been using. The sudden change of speed causes her to gasp and her teeth sink down onto the exposed flesh of my neck. The bitch better not have drawn blood.

Before I left this evening my dad rung me to ask about tuition fees and Her. Since my mum had emotionally abandoned me, and shacked up with boyfriend blah, she had cut all ties – including financial ones. So my dad was my emotional and financial support. He would ring every now and again to see how I was doing, if I had met anyone, if I needed money, how my course was going. Just was doing the usual parental duties bit, and he had mentioned Her. And I had shut down.

She's really moaning now. Her hips are rocking back and forth and I'm not stopping them. The action really isn't giving her much more pleasure. She's too far gone to focus her movements. I'm still in control. I contemplate dropping down on to my knees and licking her out. But we're in a grotty toilet cubical, and I'm not getting down on my knees onto the probably piss stained floor for her. So I keep thrusting my fingers in and out. I've been in her so long that my digits have probably shrivelled into prunes. Her walls are tightened around my slender fingers. She's close and it's because of me. I made her wet, I got her moaning and now I'm going to make her cum. I thrust my fingers in and out of her, as fast as I can. My shoulder feels like it's about to pop out of its socket. Her teeth are biting down on my shoulder again and she's moaning and groaning, "hmmnhpp" sounds leave her mouth. She's whimpering and panting, words that sound like a cross between my name and "mmhhsnn" push over her parted lips. I want to push her head away from my shoulder, I don't want her drool on my skin, I don't want her teeth marks on my flesh. I'm the one in control; I'm the one of leaves marks on her. I'm the one who says what goes. I draw my fingers back out of her and then sink them back into her, pushing deeper. My thumb twitches back and forth over her clit – almost dancing. And she screams again. It's a different scream to before; it's louder and more belligerent. It's another type of scream that I enjoy hearing – I enjoy it even more when I know that I've caused it. She's shaking and quaking against me. I smile knowing that all she's feeling is because of me. I pull her legs from around my waist – freeing myself. I push away from her and her legs give out and she slides down the wall. Her bare bottom comes into contact with the cold floor. She's still reeling from her orgasm. I leave her like that. One thought solitary in my mind.

She's not Ashley.