S ilently, I watch as he prowls around my living room. I am NOT noticing how gracefully he moves. Just like I'm not noticing how turned on I am by his presence. 

Nope. Not noticing anything of the kind. I made that mistake once - let him see my anticipation, my knowledge of what was to come. He left that night, got this fearfully angry expression on his face, and just left. Won't make that mistake again. 

This isn't the first time, and I'm quite sure it won't be the last. He tends to do this. Not often, every couple of months, maybe. Just, whenever things get to be too much for him and he needs to let off steam... he appears at my door. 

Oddly enough, I'd never thought that acting as a pressure-relief valve was exactly in my job description. Well, okay - maybe this isn't all work related. I mean, we do work together - but we're friends, too. It was a long, hard process. And, I must admit that it's a most unusual friendship - we argue, we snipe at each other, pretend to dislike each other. But, underneath it all, I know I can always count on him - and I know he can count on me. I don't know exactly how it happened, but the fact remains, Vic is my friend now. And, I suppose that, as a friend, being here for him at these times is an important aspect of our relationship. 

Besides, I'm horny as hell. And, I know that once he's paced around, arguing with himself in tense silence, he'll jump my bones. He won't allow me to do anything but accept him - his touch, his need, his desire... 

Which is fine by me, I suppose. I mean, I'm not exactly the submissive type by nature or calling - but, for him, I can get with the program. And, I know - I just KNOW that some day it'll be my turn. 

He sighs heavily and turns to meet my eyes, damn near burning me with the intensity of his gaze. 

"Vic?" I ask, knowing the tension will break soon. "What is it?" 

He growls. The man GROWLS. And it's that rough, velvet throaty sound that never fails to make me hard at inopportune and inconvenient times. No words - only that low rumbling sound that seems to originate somewhere in the depths of his chest. 

I'm frozen in place, lost in the sheer need he can wring from me with only that sound, when he stalks and then pounces on me. Not in record time, either, slowly... as though he is perfectly aware that I am paralyzed and won't move. 

Suddenly my arms are full of him, and his mouth is on mine. 

The heat, scent and barely restrained violence of it are a shock that force me into an automatic response; I kiss him back. There really isn't anything else to do at this point. Ever. 

Not that I mind, mind you. No, however it happens, whenever it happens, these times make up for all the bullshit - the sniping, the arguing, the posturing... they all fade into complete insignificance when he's like this. You can't even begin to imagine what it's like - to hold his attention, to be his focal point, even if only for an hour or two. 

And, god, when he touches me... Well, I just melt. You would too, trust me on this. 

He's so damned desperate tonight. I'm not sure what has him in this state, but, hell, I plan to enjoy it to the fullest. I let his weight push me back into the corner of the couch, never loosening my hold on him, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, one hand buried in his hair. He shifts his hips, brings our groins into scorching contact and I can't hold back a groan of anguished pleasure and need. My head tilts back just the tiniest bit and he immediately takes full advantage of my offer, breaking off the kiss to start a busy exploration of my neck with lips, tongue and teeth. 

Can't hold back a gasp when his mouth reaches the juncture of shoulder and neck. "Vic!" I gasp, arching my hips up towards him. 

"Shut up, Mac," he growls into my ear. 

It's actually the husky timbre and reverberations of his voice rather than the words that make me obey. Besides, I'm not in a position to argue with his mouth returning in the next breath to his oral conquest of my skin and senses alike. But it's like being devoured and the pace is somewhat quickened. Usually, it takes at least an hour of him dancing around the issue to reach this point. It begins to dawn on me that this time - for the first time - the whole thing is entirely premeditated on his part and he's decided to skip to the end tonight. 

He begins to remove his jacket, continuing to nibble on me, all the while digging around in an inner pocket. Lube and condoms are withdrawn and I suck in a breath. This is going to happen fast. Faster than usual. A foregone conclusion. And I'm relieved, ruthlessly squashing the niggling voice in the back of my head that whimpers some cautionary reminder... 'getting a little too comfortable with this - could end up needing it, craving it - wanting and longing-' Yeah, shut up. 

Amazing how graceful Vic is, I absently note as I watch him strip off his clothing hurriedly. The boots go first, followed in rapid succession by shirt, jeans and socks. No underwear. Another first. Definitely planned this one ahead, eh Vic? It's gotten very quiet and still in here, an aura of impatient expectancy fills the air and I look up from my fascinated study of his body to see him staring at me with ill-concealed urgency. 

"Strip," he orders. 

So I do. I'm no fool, contrary to popular opinion. I waste no time at all, once I actually convince my lust-shocked body to actually move. I know better that to try to stand and do this, in my current condition I'd undoubtedly end up on the floor in an ignominious heap. And, since laughter is the very last thing I want to hear from Vic at this point, I manage to wriggle out of my clothes with a minimum of fuss while sitting on the sofa. 

When I'm done, he nods at me approvingly and I'm almost - not quite, but almost - angry at his rather condescending attitude. I may be easy, but I'm not his fucking slut. 

He carefully sets the condom and lube on the end table and moves to kneel between my legs. Two hands close on my hips and guide me closer to the couch's edge. This is a surprise - yet another first. He's never fucked me face to face, prefers me on my knees or, on the rare occasion we actually make it to a bed, on my side. 

His green eyes are flashing as they rove over me, those heavy dark lashes nearly dispelling the magnetic intensity of his gaze. I almost snicker at this point from the tension but I manage to suppress it. Good thing, too. Feeling patronized by Vic is not the same as laughing at Vic. Not only is this a dangerous thing to do right now, considering our relative positions, his eyes are narrowing, warning me that this is a Vic I've not dealt with before. 

Vic is breathing harder. I almost expect his hands to be trembling on me but they're steady. He moves my knees farther apart, staring into my eyes so intently, his glance almost a warning. The condom is ripped open and unrolled onto his cock. And then - the good part. He picks up the lube. I can't help snatching a breath with an audible gasp as he begins to strongly, methodically anoint my ass, his wet fingers dragging on skin, slippery and hot all along my crack and then into my hole. He withdraws to squeeze out a little more lube onto his fingers, his attention on this act so fixed. I'm glad he has the presence of mind to do it. Although being taken dry would have its appeal as well, I'd just as soon not today, thank you, Vic. 

His eyes catch mine again, holding me in place with the force of his gaze. With one hand he guides himself to my anus, his cock is heavy, as are his eyelids. With a single motion Vic's cock slides slowly and smoothly into me. This is deceptive though. I know we are in for a rough ride. Everything about him so far is declaring it. But it's too easy to revel in the fullness, the possession. I can hardly wait for him to stop restraining all this banked up energy and just let go. 

I lick my lips. "Vic, fuck me. Now." I hope I've said it with enough challenge in my tone. But I'm not prepared for his reaction, or the flare that thrills through me as he tenses. I briefly wonder at the wisdom of waving flags at a tiger, for that is what he is right now. And I'm the prey. 

Eyes fierce, he holds my gaze as he pulls out and then abruptly slams back into me with such force that I catch my breath and can't stop my head from arching back, my eyes from closing. Strong fingers grab my jaw in a fierce grip. "Look at me, Mac. Damn you, LOOK at me." 

Jesus! He's never been like this - never spoken once he's actually inside of me. The mere sound of that huskily delivered command brings me perilously close to meltdown. Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes and look up at him. And, oh god! The expression he directs at me - heat and desire and a kind of anguished anger, and... He's so close to losing control, I'm almost frightened. I've never seen him this way - never imagined he COULD be this way. So open in his need - nearly out of control with passion - Does he always look like this when he's fucking me? Is that the reason he's never let me see his face once he overcomes his damned moral qualms about having sex with me and gets down to business? 

My inner muscles clench reflexively at the thought. 

"Yessss," he hisses, and raises my legs to rest over his shoulders. Hands clenched tightly on my hips - I know I'll have bruises, and I'm glad, dammit - he starts a rapid, almost brutal movement. Every time he pushes back into me, filling me with his need, he grunts. Sweat is rolling off of his face and his eyes are so dark now that only the barest ring of green shows around his dilated pupils. 

He adjusts his angle and on the next thrust hits my prostate. "Fuck!" I gasp. "Vic... god, Vic... MORE - HARDER!" 

"MAC. Shut. The. Fuck. UP!" But my mind is whirling, sucked down this vortex of purest lust and I couldn't answer even if I wanted to. I can't figure out if this wild side is revealing itself because we've deliberately ignored these episodes, or if we have crossed some line somewhere tonight. Finally. But even this vague observation in the back of my thoughts is lost with each pummeling thrust of his cock. I won't be able to sit down tomorrow. 

Each jab now hits that magic spot inside of me and I can't stop the grunts and cries that escape me with every forceful shove of his hips. He is working me, hard. The fierce concentration on his face as he glowers down at me is beginning to give way to desperation. I fight to hold his gaze, and as he fills me, I am suddenly aware of what he's trying to do. He's trying to connect, directly, in this act. Words can't speak as eloquently as his actions and the energy between us now is nearly crackling. The excitement that collects in my groin makes my balls feel heavy and tight and I know I'm so close now. I can't help a choked whimper. 

He knows. He can see it. Can feel it in the clenching and pulsing of my ass around his cock. Vic responds by speeding up, not letting the force of each buck of his hips dissipate, driving into me harder. The look in his eyes, the savage expression on his face, his open mouth and the increasing volume of the sounds he's making, all combine to send me over the edge. 

I feel like he's turning me inside out. I'm shaking and my ears are buzzing, all sound nearly fading until I can't even recognize the sound of my own yells. The pleasure erupts out of me, my dick now simply a conduit as my being, my desire, my life seems to shoot out in a fountain, hitting his stomach and dripping back down onto me. 

His eyes glitter with triumph as he uses one hand to rub my come into his skin - into my skin... The eroticism of this simple act makes my cock twitch. Hazily, I wonder if multiple orgasms aren't only the domain of women. I've envied them that - often wished that I could react in the same way. 

"Mac," he says huskily, and the open desire in his voice - the desperate need - make me want - fill me with the desire to give him everything he needs. I close my hands over his, encouraging him to continue with this forceful fucking. 

"Do it, Vic... Show me... give it to me." 

Still holding my gaze, he pulls out of me and I whimper. With a lithe movement, he moves to sit on the couch beside me. "On top of me, Mac," he instructs. 

Shakily I rise, and move to do as he's instructed. One hand holds his cock upright, as the other guides me down onto him. I don't know if it's this new and exciting attitude or maybe a deep-seated desire to be topped so forcefully, but I find - much to my amazement - that my cock is slowly hardening again. 

Damn. 

I also don't know if it's the thrill of giving the control over to him - hell, letting him take it from me - or what, but the delight of sitting on his cock lends me the nerve to finally let go. The relief and wonder of rediscovery at feeling him fill me again, of his obvious aggressive enjoyment of seeing me give in to him. 

I rise up a little and then control my descent back down onto his hard prick, impaling myself on him. Vic emits a little gasp and I can't help smiling, a little too triumphantly it turns out. His eyes narrow again, and the next time I repeat the move he thrusts up to meet me. I can't stop a yelp as I see stars. Briefly. God, I want that again. 

"Fuck yourself on me," he orders, the desire apparent in his tone, still so sure, unclouded and in control. 

He doesn't have to say it twice. I begin a riding motion on his stiff cock, loving the sensation of deliberately moving up and down so hard on that hard length, loving that it's his, that this is him, inside me... The abandon of what I'm doing and what I'm giving up to him so happily suddenly dawns on me. A self-conscious heat creeps dangerously over my face like a hot waterfall, flowing down over my body and I can't stop myself from moving faster, grinding myself into his lap as he growls again. 

"Yeah, that's it, harder, give it up." 

I'm so hard again, myself. I can feel two trickles of sweat traveling down my sides from under my arms and the smell of sex and my earlier cum and him is overwhelming me, filling my nose and his words can't be erased... 

I didn't realize how much I was losing myself in this until my eyes snap open. He has grabbed me on both sides of my waist, just above my hips, hard. And he's helping me to fuck myself harder on him. I know I'm gonna be black and blue and purple tomorrow. 

Marked by Vic. Tangible evidence of his desperate desire for me. My cock throbs knowing that I'll see HIS mark on me for days to come. 

"That's it, babe," Vic encourages. "Do it for me." 

Without conscious awareness, my hand moves to my own erection - but Vic knocks it aside with a growl. "No, Mac. That's mine." 

I actually whimper in protest - yet, the possessive words only serve to bring me closer to the edge. It occurs to me, somewhat hazily, that his voice alone could probably make me come. Not gonna tell HIM that, though. God, no. I want him to touch me - to pull my orgasm from me with the same force he's fucking me. 

Gasping, sweating, I impale myself on him with increasing desperation. My brain is no longer working - I can only feel. Want. Need more and more and more. I've never felt this before - not with Vic - not with anyone. 

My lip is clenched tightly between my teeth, the sensations are so overwhelming that I'm afraid I'll start babbling... begging... and, he's made it perfectly clear that I am to remain silent. The need to give him what he wants, to submit my will to his is growing ever stronger. I can do this. I WILL do what he wants. 

Maybe later I'll explore this disconcerting desire to play the sub for him. Or, maybe not. 

And the look in his eyes tells me that he knows. Damn him. He KNOWS. Maybe my own eyes betray everything to him. It's this that makes me close them. 

"Don't," he says, unsurprisingly. His voice sounds torn and strained. "Keep them open, Mac." 

I can tell he is close. As I open my eyes to fix on his once again, I can feel a strange sense of shared knowing, this time. We both know what's happening here. We both know the line's been crossed - hell, the line is so far back there, so many miles ago, it's almost laughable. I bite my lip so hard to keep from saying his name aloud that I can feel it go numb and the edge of my teeth break the skin. 

Fuck, I want to see him lose it now, want to see it so badly I'd be willing to do anything. I want to see him losing it and know that I took him there. Know that he's coming because of me. I briefly wonder at the inevitability of this moment as a shock of understanding thrills through me and that wave of heat covers me again, no doubt staining my face scarlet. By giving him the reins over me, it's me who now has the control. And I know that whatever he might believe, he is in far deeper than he realizes. He can't stay away, couldn't before and will find it impossible now. And I stare grimly back at him, not daring to grin, giving him all of me, everything I have. He OWNS me. Let him deal with the consequences... 

I want to feel his hand on me, want him to squeeze my cock now, but I dare not ask. 

A look of panic crosses his face. Maybe - but no, it's not panic of understanding but merely because he's losing it now - and then his head goes back, his eyes finally looking away from mine to roll upwards as he starts to come. 

His expression, his loss of control do me in. With a yell, I feel my own orgasm boil up from my balls and can only hope that the resulting muscle spasms that cause my body to arch helplessly will not be the death of me. I can't breathe, all I can do is accept this incredible sensation - try to survive, to hang on to myself as I come and come and come. 

When I come back to myself, Vic is holding me, arms wrapped tightly around my trembling body. His warm hands rub my back in soothing circles and his head is resting against my hair. I bask in the gentle hold, wanting to stay here forever, safe in his arms. 

Slowly, our heartbeats slow and our gasping breaths ease. After several moments, he sighs heavily. "Mac... I-" 

"Don't talk, Vic. Please? Just let me recover here - I'm not up to anything more right now." I turn my head and rest my face against his neck. I know what comes next - know all too well - and only want to let this lovely peace and satisfaction encompass me for the moment. "Just a few more minutes, Vic. Please." 

I've deflected him. But he knows why. He can tell. Maybe he's too uncomfortable with it to even pretend not to. He sits in rigid silence for maybe thirty seconds and then shifts, and clears his throat. "You're heavy." 

Like hell. I KNOW that he suddenly feels trapped. And that this is not an uncomfortable position for either of us. I don't reply, merely lift my head. I very deliberately do NOT look into his eyes, but lean forward to press my mouth to his. Undemanding. Not even slipping any tongue, here. But he goes even more tense and he's acting like this is such a big fucking deal. Unaccountably, I feel a surge of anger go through me, followed by sorrow. I pull away. I can feel his softened cock inside me still. As sore as I'll be tomorrow, I can only feel an unwelcome emptiness and loss as he slips out of me. "Better move, before we get stuck together," I say, and start to lift myself off of him. 

He doesn't meet my eyes now either and when I stop, standing naked in front of him, he tenses again. But I only say, "Want a shower?" 

"No, thanks," he says, a little too brusquely. "I need to get home." 

"It wasn't an invitation," I point out, coolly. 

His eyes flick up to meet mine, briefly. He gives me that little frown that is soooo Vic. And his expression is something I could really lay into, but I'm feeling too exposed myself at the moment. 

He gets to his feet and starts to pick up his clothes, putting them on with jerky, rushed movements. Almost awkwardly. He believes things got out of hand, went too far this time. We both know it went so far that there's no return. He's running now. 

I don't move to get dressed, myself. Some perverse devil in my mind wants to flaunt it - that I'm handling this better than he is. 

But he doesn't even really seem to care, merely puts his boots back on and gathers up his jacket. Shrugging into it, he says gruffly, "See you tomorrow." 

I raise a brow at him. "It's Friday night, Vic. We don't have to go in tomorrow, remember?" 

Fuck. I can almost hear the word as it silently floats between us, from his expression. 

He shrugs. "Monday, then. See you." 

I'm standing there still without a stitch of clothing and Vic turns to go. It's painfully obvious that I feel bad now for doing this to him. Shouldn't have made the point. But, hell, I'm tired of him always calling the shots, always dictating the plays. 

Choosing not to stand there and watch as he runs - yes, RUNS - from me, from himself, from us, I turn and walk into the bathroom. After a perfunctory wash, I dry myself and climb into bed. 

I'm tired. I won't sleep, I know that, but at least I can lay here in comfort and replay the entire scene in my mind. And wonder how tonight may change things between us - for good or bad, it happened and now I'll just have to deal with the backlash. 

Why is every goddamned thing so fucking complicated?