Eraser by Jami Wilsen and Jennie I: Use You 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 godamned thing so fucking complicated? II: Need You I drive home, coldly furious. I don't even know if it's at myself or at Mac. Once in my apartment, I try to ignore my anger as I climb into the shower. I wanted to accept his offer of the shower. And I know he was lying—it WAS an invitation. Damn it! It was always so easy before. Why the hell did he have to go and change the rules? It had been such a simple thing and now it was a fucking minefield. Everything had changed. Damn him. Damn him! And damn me, too. I'd let it get out of hand. Tried to take too much. I became greedy and wanted more than I should. Wanted it to be more than it was. Wanted more from him than he was ready to give. His knowing eyes on me as I dressed to leave had scalded me. I was so fucking embarrassed—I practically ran out the door. I stand under the showerhead, trying to let the water wash it away, ALL of it. But everything we did is seared into my brain. I can't close my eyes without seeing his face as he came—both times. Above me, under me—FUCK! I slam the flat of my palm against the tiles, wetly. Finally, I give up. This isn't working. Toweled dry, dressed warmly and in the kitchen, I fix myself a drink. Not much, just a quick shot. I let the warmth of the alcohol seep through me and soothe away some of the doubt. A good night's sleep. That's what I really want. What I need most right now. But in the back of my mind, I know that the whole reason I gave in to the urge to go see him tonight hasn't been taken care of this time. Every time I gave in to my need before, it was simple—go over there, fuck him, leave. No problem, right? But each time I tried NOT to give in to the desire to go see him, it got harder. It was getting to the point now where I wanted to stay the night. Fuck, what was next—moving into his apartment, sharing clothes, buying curtains together? I shiver and look down at my glass, debating the wisdom of another shot. I can't see Mac wanting to do any of those things. To be honest, I don't really want to, myself. But it's the principle of the thing. The moment I break down and ask to stay, or even suggest that I stay...or if HE suggests it... I know it's gone too far. Shit. Face it Victor... the first time you fucked him things went too far. Why the FUCK did I ever let this... this thing start in the first place? Why Mac? He's an irritating, careless, self-involved little shit—and that ego of his! Damn. I knew better—knew that he'd get to me, worm his way into my heart eventually. I'd always been attracted to him—wanted him. And, that want had evolved into need. But, I'd managed to bury my feelings deeply—so deeply that even I could ignore them. Most of the time. And then, we almost died. HE almost died. That damned warehouse... That was when it started... I needed to see him—reassure myself that he was okay. BE with him. So, fool that I am, I went to his apartment one night. I wasn't even drunk, couldn't use that as an excuse. I just had to go to him—call it an irresistible impulse. Once I arrived, I found myself unable to talk. I couldn't find the words to explain my need—hell, even I didn't understand this sudden and terrifying desire to be with him. And he... in some strange way, he seemed to recognize my confusion, my inexplicable and sudden desire to be in his home—to be near him. He sat on his couch and watched silently as I paced, trying like hell to understand myself. In the end, I let my body do the talking, and he seemed to be glad. At least, I thought he was. Now I'm not so sure. I'm beginning to wonder if he was humoring me. Maybe he knew, from the very beginning. That possibility scares me as I think about it. No—NO—earlier tonight he was far too— He wanted it too, I know he did. He still does. If anything, tonight he was daring me to admit it, how much I wanted it—wanted him. The second time I went to see him I was more careful. I needn't have tried; as it turned out, he seemed to have accepted it completely. That I might just turn up. Like it was something that we had tacitly agreed upon. Neither of us mentioned it or let it interfere with work. God only knows if the Director knew what was going on. I bring myself up sharply at that thought. The woman knows everything. She must not have said anything because there was nothing to say. Yet. I don't want to think about why. Or to look too closely at why I've been pretending not to know all along. Jesus. The third time, Mac had looked at me, hungry. Too hungry. He'd had this expression that seemed to smirk at me, to let me know that he'd been waiting—waiting for me to break down and show up. Calling my bluff. I'd walked out. I wasn't there to stroke his ego, or hand over my pride on a plate. I waited a good long while before going back, after that. He seemed to get the message. But now—now we're in deep shit. And tomorrow is Saturday. I groan and pour another shot, downing it in one gulp. A whole weekend of trying not to think about it, trying to postpone the dread of Monday and pretending that it hasn't gone too far. The longing to see him again. The dread of seeing him again. Of our eyes meeting and both of us fucking knowing that it's spun out of control. There's something ominous about the fact that Mac has not even once been to see me. It's almost as if he's waiting for me to crack. To admit my growing need to be with him, to touch him, to fuck him. Finally, I feel like I'm thinking clearly. Tonight was the LAST time. Never again. If he wants it, he'll have to come to me. This resolution makes me feel stronger. I put away the whisky and go into the bedroom. Yeah. I like this. Why should I have to be the one to go to HIM every time? I won't go crawling back... not this time. I try to forget that I've made this promise to myself after every single visit. When I crawl out of bed in the morning, I'm vastly relieved that I won't have to face Mac today. Allowing him to see how much last night's events disturbed me would be disastrous. I know him well enough to realize that his sharp eyes would catalogue each sign of my confusion, my anger, and my fear. Looking in the bathroom mirror, I wince to see the dark circles under my eyes, the frown on my forehead, my bloodshot eyes. Bastard would know full well that I'd tossed and turned all night—not able to sleep at all. And he, no doubt, would greet me with his ever-present cheer—would nag and needle and prod until I blew up in his face. I am SO glad that I have two full days to regain my control. I can't—I just can't let him see how frightened I am. And, Mac always knows what I'm feeling—seems to be able to read me easily... Plays me like a fucking piano. And it hurts. Knowing that he can do that. Hurts even more that I can't read him with the same ease. I wander through the day in a kind of a fugue state, automatically cleaning the apartment, doing the grocery shopping, washing the laundry... and not thinking. NOT allowing HIM to fill my thoughts. By the time evening swings around, I start to worry. I can't sit in my apartment alone, trying not to think about it. About him. I finally go out, driving farther out from my usual haunts, trying to find someplace new. Someplace I'm unlikely to bump into him or anyone else I know. Jesus, Saturday night alone is even worse than Friday night—I know this from bitter experience. But even though I manage to find a distant enough bar, my triumph is short-lived and the novelty is worn away within one drink. I'm driving around aimlessly as the hours grow darker and the roads quieter. And it starts to come to a head. I'll go by his place. Just to let him know that... That it's over. Yeah. Because it is. THIS time it is. It's gone too far. I don't want to play this game with him anymore. Actually, I do. The problem is that he changed the damned rules on me and I don't even know how it happened. I've already gotten too involved in it. I just don't want to have to play it on his terms. I have a sneaky suspicion that he already sees me as the chump in our little affair. Affair. Hmm. The word rings with a bitter kind of flavor. It isn't an 'affair'. It's... a game. I never meant for it to be more. Fuck! I slam the wheel with frustration. No. I won't go back, I won't. I promised myself already that I wouldn't. I can't afford to. But hell, if it's to end this, to close this sordid chapter we began so long ago, it'll be worth it. And besides, I'd like to see the look of surprise on his face when I show up the very next night after we've just had one of these... fuck-buddy sessions... and then spring it on him. The End. I grin wryly to myself. Yeah, it might be worth it just for that alone. It's with a sort of sick shock that I realize I've already reached his neighborhood. No. NO. I don't need to prove anything to him. Or to myself. There's nothing to prove. I don't need to make any points. I'll leave that for him. Let him believe that I'm fine with allowing it to continue as before. I can't let him see me like this tonight. He'll only find some way of dancing around me, taking what I say and twisting it, turning it against me. Talking doesn't work well with Mac. Not for me, anyway. I drive back home, feeling angry with myself for letting him get to me like this. Usually I can forget about it afterward. Sunday morning. I open my eyes, slowly. What was I dreaming? I can't remember. It's so quiet. If I close my eyes, I could fall asleep again. I could pretend that I'm not alone in this bed. I could pretend that my life is my own. I could pretend that Mac isn't an egotistical, insufferable prick. I could pretend that I'm not in love with him- Oh shit. Fuck. What am I thinking? No way. I firmly set such thoughts aside and try to relax and enjoy my Sunday morning. Rising, I shower while the coffee brews then cook myself a cholesterol-laden breakfast. Settling at the table with my food, a hot cup of coffee and the paper, I prepare to indulge myself. With more concentration than usual, I study the paper, reading each and every article with great attention as I eat. And it's working. Thoughts of Mac—of my feelings for Mac fade into the background. Oh, I know they'll return to haunt me soon enough—but I'll deal with it later. The later the better. Just as I finish reading the book review section, the phone rings. LiAnn, probably. She often calls on Sunday morning and we just chat. Talk about this and that—never about the job. It's as if we have a silent pact that we won't let our jobs completely define our friendship. It's taken a lot of work for us to reach this easy camaraderie, and it's an important part of my life now. "Morning, beautiful," I greet her cheerfully. Silence. "LiAnn?" I ask, a feeling of doom settling uncomfortably in the pit of my belly. "Ah, no. 'S me, actually." Oh FUCK! Mac. All my hard won peace deserts me when I hear his voice. "Mac," I say in a flat tone. "What do you want?" "I-" he clears his throat. "I just thought I'd check in on you, Vic. You seemed a little... upset when you left on Friday." Shit. What the hell am I supposed to say—how am I supposed to handle this? He's fishing. Probing me. Why the fuck else would he be calling me on a Sunday morning out of the blue? He wants to know if I've cracked this time. "I'm fine." "Oookay. It's just..." I let out a sigh. "Mac, what is it? Cut to the chase, already." "Come on, Vic. I can't help wondering if you're okay. Just want to make sure you're all right, that's all. This—this thing with- between us—" Mac stumbles. "This thing is over, Mac," I state, calmly. Far more calmly than I would have thought I'd be able to. Must be the phone. Makes it easier. I don't have to look at him—or try NOT to look at him. I don't have to avoid looking at him, gauging his reaction, and seeing the hurt in his eyes. The silence is lengthening. "I mean it, Mac. It's gone too far. You know that. We both know it." The silence is getting on my nerves. And when he speaks again, his voice sounds shaken, damn it. "Victor, don't you think you're—you're making a hasty decision, there? Can we talk about this?" "No, we can't. Get over it, Mac." I am starting to get angry now. Can't he take a hint? "Vic, we have to talk. I'm coming over." "No. No! Mac, you are not coming over here-" "-need to at least talk this through. You're not thinking rationally-" I can't believe what I'm hearing. "Rationally?" I repeat in disbelief. He stops. I can hear the uncertainty in his voice and it's almost enough to make me bend, slightly... "Yeah. Look, if you don't want me to come over, why don't you come over here? We can-" A surge of anger shoots over me at this. Right. As if that isn't the last fucking thing I want to do right now. "Mac, listen to me. It. Is. Over. I'm not driving over there, and you aren't coming over here. I'm going out, so don't bother. Just forget about it." I hang up, wondering where I can go to disappear for a while. I sit back in my chair and try to pick up the paper but it's screwed, the whole morning is totally screwed. He's getting in his car even at this very moment. I know he is. Damn it! I throw down the paper and pace up and down along the floor, trying to form some plan, some way of dealing with this. When the expected knock sounds at my door, I am no closer to formulating a plan. Shit! Reluctantly—knowing he'll probably just pick the lock if I don't let him in—I open the door and fix him with my best what-the-fuck-is-your-problem glare. I'm not going to let his sad eyes change my decision. It's what's best, after all, I know it—and I suspect he knows it, too. What's that song? Something about being cruel to be kind. Making no move to let him into my home, I stand in the doorway telling him without words that my decision is final. "Mac, listen carefully.... It. Is. Over. No more. Now, go away." "But I-" "No," I say sharply. "No buts, Mac. It's over. Never should have started in the first place. Do us both a favor and just leave." His mouth opens to argue, then he just seems to wilt. "Okay, Vic. Over. Mistake. My mistake. I'm sorry... I won't bring it up again." And he just walks away. I should be relieved. Happy. Shouldn't I? Then why do I feel as if I've just hurt him as he's never been hurt before? I close the door. He's gone. I won, didn't I? I feel like I lost. I've lost something that meant far more to me than I ever realized. The sound of the door closing reverberates in my mind—I hear it over and over. I have to fight the impulse to run after him, tell him to wait, to come back, to talk, even to fight, argue, to tangle over it. Anything. I want to lose myself in him again. Like before. But it wouldn't be worth it. Besides, I'll still get to see him. Come tomorrow, we'll be back in our usual mode, our habitual way of relating, both of us pretending—not letting the others know just how twisted this has become. I swallow and close my eyes. Damn it. The tension has me shaking. Fuck. I can't let him see it, see how obviously this is affecting me. The urge to simply go to him, to hold him, to fall into him and feel his arms around me, is almost too much. I have to stop myself from going after him, calling him back—too late because I know he's already gone—and what the hell else is my life worth now anyway? My anger drained away with his departure, like a blister that's been lanced, and now I'm just left alone with the empty echo of everything that wasn't said and all the memories of the times we fucked and it meant so much—and I can never tell him exactly how much it meant to me— I hadn't imagined the hurt in his eyes. Much as I would like to, I can't deny the pain I've just caused him. I find myself sinking down on the couch with a feeling of despair and loss. Why do I always manage to fuck up every single goddamned relationship in my life? III: Scar You I seriously consider not going in to work today. Then decide that SHE'LL only come and drag me in—or worse yet, send Dobrinsky over. Shit! So, I drag myself out of bed and go through my usual morning routine. Shower, shave, dress, gulp down a cup of coffee... studiously NOT think about Vic—about the pain that rests deep within me at his rejection. I'm doing pretty well, actually managing to keep my mind sufficiently numb—moving on auto-pilot as I gather myself together and drive in to the Agency. Determined to accept his decision, to hide my feelings, I make it all the way in to the meeting before my brain comes back online. All it takes is one look. One look at him and I'm right back in that morass of pain and confusion his abrupt, cold rejection brought me. He gives me a distracted nod as I enter the room but doesn't look at me. Doesn't even offer me a greeting. His face is blank, except for a wariness that lingers in his eyes. Fucker. Well, I'll be damned if I'll let him see how his attitude hurts. I take my customary seat and do my best to appear normal—won't let him see how much this is hurting me. LiAnn comes hurtling into the room and throws herself into the chair between us, the spare one in the middle, blatantly left vacant. LiAnn is out of breath, but she still frowns, looks between one and the other of us. I studiously avoid looking in Vic's direction. "Hey, hi. Looks like you made it after all." Breathlessly, she says, "Yeah, barely." She gives me a puzzled frown, as if wondering what is WITH the weird energy she's surrounded by. I stare back at her, curiously, trying to give her a perfect reflection of her quizzical expression. Sure enough, right on the heels of her words, the click of the Director's stilettos comes tapping down the stairs as she emerges with a customary ambiguous look on her elegant face. I try not to notice as LiAnn turns to scope out Vic—who doesn't return her gaze. Jesus. I really am starting to wonder about women's famed intuition. With the Director, I'd know it was due to surveillance. With LiAnn, I know it's because she's our partner and finely-tuned to us both. Damn. I don't need a shoulder to cry on. Still... to be able to talk with someone who'd understand, who would even sympathize... Vic's behavior actually seems so uncharacteristic. I'd never have thought him capable of being as callous, so abruptly and brutally distant as he has been with me. Somehow I make it through the day. Not easily. Wouldn't you know, the Director has us spend the entire day doing research. Between Vic ignoring me and Nathan watching me as if he expects me to attack and kill his precious Victor, I'm about ready to tear the hair out of my head and run screaming through the halls—thankfully, LiAnn's soothing presence keeps me from doing anything drastic. She's definitely figured out that there's a major problem between her partners and has recognized that any attempt to drill us for details will not help the situation, though, the worried looks she keeps sending my way tell me that she's determined to find out what is bothering me. She knows me well, that woman. As I know her. And, truth to tell, I need to talk to her about this. Tell her what's happened. Hope that she can help me get through this—maybe explain to me why Vic is acting this way. Tell me what to do—how to deal with this unexpected and frightening pain I'm feeling. As we leave, she grabs my arm, pulling me around to face her. "Mac, let's go somewhere and talk. Have a drink." "Sure. Let's go." My ready agreement throws her momentarily, as if she expected me to get cagey with her. She seems relieved. Once we're at the bar, safely huddled over our glasses, she sits and regards me. Coolly, she says, "So. Spit it out. You've been wanting to get this off your chest—whatever it is—all day. Did you and Victor have a fight, or something?" I smile wryly. "You could say that, yeah." She gives me that penetrative gaze she has, the one that lets me know that whether as partner, sister, ex-lover or friend, she knows me well enough to read between the lines so I'd best not bullshit her. "I thought you two were getting on better, these past few months." I lower my voice. "LiAnn, do you remember back when I told you I thought I was still in love with you?" She tenses slightly but doesn't flinch. Warily, she replies, "Yes, why?" She gives me a dark look. "This isn't about some renewed rivalry with him over me, is it? I thought the two of you were clear that-" "No, no, believe me, it's nothing like that. Hear me out." I pick up the glass and sip, then swirl the contents in the bottom. "Did you think I was just fooling myself that I had real feelings for you? Or that I was just wanting to believe it out of desperation to have... LOVE... in my life? To be in love with someone, anyone?" LiAnn gives me a shrewd look, but I can tell she hasn't a clue what I'm talking about here. "I think you were kidding yourself, yeah. Why? What does this have to do with Victor?" I squirm in my seat, uncomfortably, and sigh. "Okay, here's the clincher, then. Do you think that anyone I believe I fall in love with is automatically just a... Well, is it my response to a need to believe in it? To believe I have something real? Or am I deluding myself, every time?" LiAnn looks a little trapped. Finally, she says, slowly, "I think—I think that you'll know it if it's real and you won't let yourself be talked out of it. It will be something you know, and feel, not something you believe in." But now she's dying for me to tell her what's going on, and I can see it in her. I almost chuckle at the way she's bursting with curiosity. Clearing my throat, I gather my scattered thoughts. "I... Vic... Vic and I have been um, We've been having sex. With each other." Her eyes widen as the implications sink in. "You? And VIC?" "Yeah—not very often—he... he comes to my place every once in a while—when he's tense, upset, y'know?" I break off, not sure how she'll react to my revelation. "Okay," she says in a musing tone. "How long has this been going on?" "Ever since the warehouse explosion. Not too often," I hasten to explain. "When it all gets to be too much for him he just turns up at my door." "And..." Sighing, I avert my eyes from hers. "It was okay in the beginning. He'd come over, fuck me and leave. No problem—no recriminations—we were just letting off a little steam—no more." "Mac, obviously something changed—what happened?" "Well, last Friday he... we... it was different. And I realized that I'd fallen for him—fallen hard. And he saw that—I don't know how. Ran out of there like his tail was on fire. I tried to talk to him—but, shit, LiAnn—he refuses to discuss it—says it's over." I take a sip of my drink—damn! my hands are actually shaking—and continue in a low voice. "He was so cold, so distant—I've never seen him like this. Told me to go away—told me to forget it." I can't hide the pain in my voice, "Maybe I should request a transfer—I really don't think I can face his attitude every day. It hurts, LiAnn. It fucking hurts." LiAnn takes a breath. I can see the sympathy in her lovely, dark eyes, but also the caution. She doesn't want me to hurt—but she doesn't want him to hurt either. Maybe it's really about avoiding getting hurt herself. But she merely asks, quietly, "Mac? Are you sure it's the real thing? I mean, you say you've fallen for him... Are you sure that isn't just—a reaction, desire—" I interrupt her. "No, I'm sure. Believe me, I know what it feels like to fall in love. I know the difference. There's attachment, there's desire, there's affection—and then there's the gut-wrencher, the balls-deep, utterly fucking head-over-heels—" She puts up a hand, cutting me off. "Okay, okay. I get the point." She shakes her head. "Mac, Victor is... a good-looking guy. But are you in love with him now because you've had sex with him? Or because you feel you've grown closer, dependent on him? Is it because we've spent so long together, all three of us working for the Agency, that you've fixated on him as a partner? I mean, we all watch each other's back—it doesn't mean that it drives the sexual tension in the group as the way that the Director seems to want." I stare at her. "LiAnn, listen to me. Read my lips: I love him. I'm IN love with him. I can't help it, it's too late to stop now and there isn't any going back. I still love you, I always will, but this is different. I feel for him what I once felt for-" I break off, suddenly, not wanting to say that aloud. But it's also too late to take back any part of my confession to her, either. She looks confused, as if she isn't sure whether to feel hurt, feel pity for me or just withdraw and let us work it out on our own. To her credit (god, I DO still love this woman) she doesn't do anything of the kind and merely licks her lips, takes another drink from her glass. "It—it does make sense, in a strange kind of way. I didn't figure Vic to ever relax any part of himself enough to let go and get involved with you or anyone like you in this way. But I can see how you might have transferred your fixation onto him." I can't help feeling a little put down at this. "Is that the only thing you think I'm capable of? The only kind of love I can feel for someone is a FIXATION?" "No!" she exclaims. "I just think that you've let your heart rule your head again, that's all. You take risks when you think you're in love. You did it for me, before we were separated when we left the Tangs... And now you're doing it for Victor. After the warehouse and Michael's death... when you say Vic went to see you." I shrug. "At this point, does it matter? He doesn't want anything more to do with me. Because I love him. Because it means something to me. Now that it really hurts, and I really need him, now that I want him to stay, I lose him. He's shut me out completely." LiAnn frowns. She may be a woman but she's formidable and I've seen her like this too many times to count. "He has no right to treat you like that just because he can't handle the relationship. He can't hide behind sex and then pretend that you don't mean anything to him." "But I DON'T! That's what I'm trying to tell you! That's why it hurts so fucking bad," I conclude, miserably, and drain my glass. She shakes her head at me, briefly. "No. I know Vic. He's probably torturing himself over it as we sit here. Let me talk to him." "Great. So now I've betrayed him, as well, and he can get upset with me for that. For blabbing to you." "Who else are you supposed to talk to? Jesus, Mac! Get real. I won't stand for it if he tries to pull that one. Go ahead and go home, okay? I'll go talk to him." She rolls her eyes. "I can't believe the Director hasn't gotten involved yet." I raise my brows. "Maybe she's been getting a kick out of watching it happen." LiAnn sighs. "She's not as bad you two always try to make out." I laugh, incredulous, relieved that LiAnn is willing to downshift at this point. I'm sweating beneath this cool, moping exterior. We each finish our drinks at the same time and decline a refill. After all the time we've known each other, there's no need to go through those often uncomfortable goodbyes. Rising from our table, we exchange a look—she offers me a sympathetic and understanding expression, and I let her see how very much I appreciate her understanding and offer of support. "Mac," she says, "go home and sleep—you need it. Don't worry, I promise not to make things worse for you—Vic and I will talk. And I'll make it very clear that this is MY idea—not yours." I believe her. I trust her. And I am grateful. "Thanks, sis," I say. Then I hug her. "It'll be okay, Mac," she promises. "It will." Okay. Okay? How can anything ever be okay again? With a sigh, I release my hold on her and try to smile. It's a weak effort, I can see that in her eyes, but it's a start. We leave the bar and head off to our respective homes. IV: Find You Vic When the knock on the door comes, I'm not surprised. But I am surprised at who's standing on the other side. LiAnn stares up at me with a forbearing expression. "Hi. I hope I'm not disturbing you?" I sigh. "No. Not at all. Come on in." I open the door and stand aside, watching as she enters my apartment with a purposeful air. I close the door and try not to imagine that she's here because of the whole thing with Mac. Surely that would be pure paranoia, on my part. "Do you want something to drink? I was just making coffee." "No, thanks. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Mac." Her voice is reassuring but nevertheless I can feel my fists clench. I take a breath, willing myself to remain calm. "What about him?" She follows me into the kitchen, her scrutiny rattling me as I try to nonchalantly fix coffee, opening drawers and cabinets, the fridge, getting out the coffee filters. "He's hurting, Vic. Couldn't you see that, today?" I don't look at her, resolutely putting a fresh filter into the coffee machine. Spooning fresh heaps of ground coffee into the holder, I say as casually as I can, "Yeah, I did. Why? Why don't you go talk to him? Or are you expecting me to?" "I did. That's why I'm here." Her dry response chills me. Fucking Mac. I close my eyes briefly. Why'd he have to go and cry on her shoulder? And I can't help feeling that age-old, long-accustomed twinge of pain go through me at this, at the easy closeness they've always shared despite the ups and downs of their own intimate relations over the years. Somehow I never can get close to either of them in that way. Can't get between them. It's...it's like a sibling bond or something. Defensively, in a low voice, I retort, "I see. Been talking about me, much? Or is that too self-centered, do you think?" "Me? What do I think?" She crosses her arms over her chest. "I think you've treated him like shit, personally. Come on, Victor. You go and see him, use him and then when he starts to want it to be anything more than that you cut him off. He cares about you, or he never would have agreed to it in the first place. And you know damned well what I'm talking about," she says, her voice hard, her eyes boring into me. "Since when is any of this YOUR business?" I ask, a bit too defensively, hating to hear it in my own voice. She stares at me like I'm crazy. I probably am, to think I can last in an argument with her. "I care about you. I care about both of you, not just as- as partners, on our team—but as my friends. And I can't in good conscience stand back and watch you wound him like this without saying something. Vic, you're hurting him. You know you are. I just want to know what you think you're accomplishing by it!" I stare down at the coffee machine with unseeing eyes. With uncoordinated movements, I push the holder in place, turn it on and wait for it to start to drip. Quietly, I reply, "I know. That's why I ended it. It's hurt both of us too much for us to continue. It—it got out of hand." "Bullshit!" she exclaims, her eyes flashing. I glance up at her and see it, the sparks and the concern radiating from her. Fuck. She wasn't this animated when it was the two of US. But over Mac? Yeah. Right. They were always closer to each other than anyone else. She continues, "And you know it is, Vic. You're being such a chicken-shit." She gives a short laugh, humorless, colored with disbelief. "I can't believe you're prepared to hurt both of you this way. He loves you and that is so scary, so terrifying, that now you're running for cover. You can't use sex as a weapon, Vic. You should know that! Of all the people I know, I'm surprised that you would do this." "I can't believe you're taking his side against me in this, LiAnn." I hate my nearly pathetic tone, and I wish I hadn't spoken aloud. Furiously, she turns on me. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You owe him an apology." I close my eyes. She's right. But she doesn't understand. It was all a game. He doesn't love me; it was never about love. It wasn't. At least, not for him. But maybe... the hurt in his eyes, the wounded expression that hung around him all day long wasn't because I ended it. It was because of the way I ended it. LiAnn was right. I put my face in my hands. God, I've really fucked things up. Her voice softens and she steps closer to me, puts a hand on my arm. "Vic, I know you think you did the right thing, in the beginning, in reaching out to him. But you're going to have to face the fact that you need him and now he needs you. You've made him want you. You have to take responsibility for this. You can't just cut him off without a word of explanation. Which means you're going to have to understand what you are doing and WHY." I turn to her. "I don't KNOW why. I just—it—" I take a breath. "It just happened. I can't explain it. And once it started, I couldn't stop it. Okay, okay. You're right. I do owe him an apology, but it isn't that simple." She gives me a knowing look and folds her arms across her chest again. "Fine. Explain it to me. I've heard his side. Now give me yours. Just how DO you feel about it?" Damn it. I can't just... lay it all out there. Not to her. Not like this. I can't explain it to myself, let alone to anyone else. "You love him. You really do, don't you?" A note of wonder creeps into her voice. She steps closer and pulls me to face her, forcing me to look down at her and meet her eyes. "Vic, you're going to go over there, and you're going to talk to him. You're going to sort this out, tonight. Or I'll go to the Director and ask her to deal with both you. I won't have our team torn apart by this. It's completely unnecessary and stupid." I bite my lip. Shame sweeps over me as I realize that she's right. "Vic? Okay?" She shakes me, concernedly, demanding a response from me. "LiAnn, I don't—I can't-" I hesitate, feeling the shame, and now the pressure of intense guilt threatening my composure. Fuck. "You can do this," she says, intently. With anguish suffusing me now, I manage to choke out, "I didn't mean to hurt him. It wasn't supposed to end up like this." "It isn't the end," she explains, having some extraordinary logical grasp of the whole mess that I really can't comprehend. "Right. Like he's going to WANT to see me. You don't understand. If I go over there and-" I pause. "The instant I mention ... the moment I say how much I—I want it, want him-" She grips my arms again, harder this time. "He can't go any farther without some kind of commitment. You should know that about him. And you're the same, Victor. So stop pretending you don't know exactly you should do." "Right. You're right," I croak, nodding, trying to take strength from the fact that she is so concerned, so fervent about this. She sighs and steps closer to put her arms around me, embracing me. "God, I never thought I'd ever be saying this but, Vic, he needs you. Do the right thing. Okay?" I hold her, returning her hug, unable to help noticing the difference between her physique and Mac's... And a resurgence of tenderness mixed with desire at holding her... And the strangest feeling of acceptance, that somehow now that I have LiAnn's BLESSING to do this, I CAN go ahead and... Make things right with Mac, now. Jesus. For the first time, I feel hope leaking around the edges of the whole tense mess. I hold on to her, and murmur, "Thanks. Thank you." She pats me on the back. And then steps back to look me in the eye again. "Go get him. He wants you to." "Did he put you up to this?" "Are you kidding?" She laughs. "So far, you both have had to be dragged kicking and screaming before you'll admit how much you care about each other. I can't tell you how sick I am of the juvenile sniping and bitching all the time." I wince. I can't help it, can't suppress it either. She grins at me. Then goes stern again, and shakes a finger in my face. "Remember, I'll get the Director involved." I groan and raise my face to the ceiling. "Please. No. Anything but that." Just the thought of HER counseling me on my love life—the lover in question being Mac Ramsey—is entirely too frightening for words. She laughs and says, and "Then my work here is done." She stands in the kitchen, waiting for me. I give her a curious scowl. "What? What is it?" She looks at me askance. "Don't be dense. Get your jacket on. And get your keys. You need to go see him." I take a deep breath. "You—You're not going to leave until I do, are you?" She taps her foot. "Better believe it." "LiAnn, I'll talk to him tomorrow. I swear." She glares at me. "He's hurting NOW." "It's late, LiAnn. Very late. Let him sleep. He probably needs it. I'll talk to him. After work. Word of honor." With a sigh, she relents. "Okay. But right after work. No talking yourself out of it." "I swear." She nods. Then, finally, thank god at last, she says, "Good night, Vic. Thanks." I raise my brows at her. "Thanks?" I repeat. "Sure. Whatever. Good night." It isn't until she's gone and I've gone back to the kitchen that I realize I've committed myself to having The Talk with Mac. The dreaded Talk that I've been trying to avoid for—well, for as long as I've known him. Oh shit. A flutter of panic rises but I ruthlessly squelch it. LiAnn is right. I did treat Mac badly; I know I wounded him deeply. I'll make it up to him; I will. Mac Once again, I have to force myself to get out of bed and go to work. I only hope that I won't have to spend another day cooped up with Vic in Nathan's domain. That just might break me. Surprisingly, Vic and LiAnn are not there when I arrive. The Director tells me that she's got them working on more research. This is a good thing. Then she tells me that she wants to talk to me. A personal matter. This is a BAD thing. I fidget in my chair while waiting for her to lower the boom. Damn. How can she just sit there so calmly, looking at me with that inscrutable expression? Doesn't the woman know that I'm at the end of my rope, ready to give up? Hell yes. Of COURSE she knows. Finally I can't stand the silence any longer. "Um, I think... I mean, what are the chances of my transferring to another team?" She raises one eyebrow at me and waits. Bitch. "It's just that... well, something happened, and I don't think I can work with Vic any more." "Mmmmm." Do I actually see compassion in her eyes? Nah. Trick of the light, that's all. "I know it's a lot to ask—but, I really don't think we can carry on effectively. He doesn't trust me—doesn't want to be near me. The dynamic is shot. Wouldn't be safe—I can't read him any more—and he doesn't want to read me." She sighs and shakes her head. "Mr. Ramsey, I know what happened. And, I think the two of you are completely misreading each other. Victor is protecting himself in the only way he can. We both know his track record with relationships." I nod—no arguing that one. "And," she continues, "you haven't exactly had resounding success in that department." Yeah, yeah—tell me something I DON'T know. "You are my team—and I will not break up a winning team over a lover's spat." Spat? Is that what she calls it? Obviously responding to my disgusted expression, she leans forward and directs a compelling gaze at me. "Mac, I think you need to give this some time—give Victor a chance to reconcile his feelings." "Oh, I think his feelings are VERY reconciled," I say bitterly. "He said it's over—told me to go away. He was extremely clear on the subject." Smiling slyly, she shakes her head. "What Vic says and what he wants are often at opposite ends of the spectrum." She sits back in her chair and stares at me for a moment. "How about this: you give it a week—if you still want a transfer in seven days, we'll talk again." Not having any choice in the matter—after all, the woman owns me—I reluctantly agree. "One week." Satisfied that she's gotten her way, the Director rises from her chair and heads out of the room. "Hey," I protest, "what do you want me to do today? You must have a job for me—you always do." She pauses, but doesn't turn to face me. "Actually, I don't. You have the day off, Mr. Ramsey." Vic Summoned, I walk into the room. It's noticeably empty. "Hello?" My voice echoes. The Director emerges and goes to sit in her chair, laying a file down in front of her, unopened. "Ah, Victor. LiAnn can handle the rest of the research on her own. YOU have the rest of the day off." I stare at her. As always, I can't glean anything useful from her unfathomable expression, OR from her words. "Why?" "Because I say so." She gives me a funny look. Right. How dare I question one of her strange edicts? I remain standing there, in limbo. I'm not sure why but this has an ominous feeling about it. "Mr. Mansfield," she explains, tiredly, as if taxed and weary at having to lay it out for dumb old Victor, "there is something that you need to do, don't you think? Something you have been avoiding for a very long time? You should take advantage of your good fortune and use this free time constructively." I snap my fingers. "Of course. This is just the opportunity I've been waiting for. I've been meaning to take up a new hobby for... actually—quite a while now. Thanks." "Don't be obtuse, Victor," she snaps, coldly, putting me in my place. "Mac has gone home. It seems that he too has the day off. You might want to take this chance to get your affairs in order." She pauses for effect. "Well, the only one you have. Unless there is someone else you've been seeing in the past few years that I know nothing about... Unlikely as that is." With a growl of annoyance, I turn on my heel and leave. Where does she get off trying to play counselor—or matchmaker? If I'd wanted confirmation that she knew everything that had transpired so far between Mac and me, I just got it. Confirmation, which, of course, I REALLY didn't want. Still, the silent gratitude that settles inside of me as I drive home is joined with relief. When I get in the door I find myself picking up the phone. Mac I don't remember driving home. Not a surprise, really. Considering my confusion, my lack of sleep, and—hell, let's admit it—my general state of misery, it's a wonder I managed to get there in one piece. I park, somewhat haphazardly in the lot and drag my sorry self upstairs. Once in my apartment, I find myself at a loss. What the hell will I do with this unexpected time off? Do I really want to be here? I see Vic in every corner—smell his essence in the air. But, damn, I don't have the energy to go out. No, I have to come to terms with this. This is my HOME dammit. Somehow, I'll exorcise HIM from this place. Wearily, I walk over to the couch and flop down. Not a good move, I realize as memories of Friday overwhelm me. With a groan, I relocate to a chair. Hell! Why did they have to inflict such a damned uncomfortable piece of furniture on my apartment? I sigh and move again. To the floor. Reclining, I lay one arm over my eyes and try to relax. Deep breathing usually helps, so I concentrate on that—and try to blank my mind. I just don't want to think about him now. Remembering all of the instruction from various yoga and tai chi instructors, I finally start to unwind—clear my mind. And the fucking phone rings, jolting me out of my pleasant haze. With a groan, I rise and pick up the receiver. "What?" I bark impatiently. "Mac?" Vic's voice, even over the phone, sends a wave of arousal, hurt and anger rolling over me. I sigh. He picks up the sound over the phone though and continues, hesitantly, "Mac, if it isn't too late, if I haven't completely fucked this up yet, I'd like- to talk, to see you. To, uh, sort things out. Do you want to come over?" I muse on this, mulling it over in my mind and turning over the options, the implications. "Come over? What, are you at home?" "Yeah. I got off early today. Look, Mac, I know I was a bastard. We need to talk—about us, about this. I know I hurt you and you didn't deserve what I did to you. But not over the phone—just... come over. Will you come over? Please." The hurried stumble of his words and the uncertainty in his voice, the pain in it makes me glad that he's suffering over this too, but also makes me relent. A little. Besides, his place right now is a better choice than mine. I don't really feel like having him in here again. Not after all that has happened. "Fine. I'll be over there in a bit." "Great." The silence is awkward though. I clear my throat. "Okay, see you soon. Bye." I hang up. And then sink back down to the floor. Damn him. So much for relaxation. V: Taste You Mac As I drive over to Vic's, I'm growing more and more nervous. Although HE sounded sorrowful and nervous, I can't decide if the man simply wants to let me down easily or if he might actually be willing to discuss the possibility of taking this thing between us to a higher level. Damn, let it be the second. I sit for the longest time in my car after finding a spot in Vic's lot. Arguing with myself. Firmly telling myself that begging is not on the agenda. No, I'll go up, hear Vic out and NOT make a fool of myself by revealing yet again this need—this love I feel for him. How can I face Vic? Not allow my pain and confusion to show? But... Maybe... just maybe Vic has decided to carry on our affair after all—has come to understand that we could have an actual relationship. Vic called ME—invited me over. That's a good sign—I hope. No use in torturing myself with possibilities. I climb out of the car and head into his building. Stand in front of his door for too long a time before taking a deep breath and knocking. The door slowly opens, revealing Vic standing with a most unusually vulnerable look on his face. I clear my throat. "Hey." "Hey." Vic is quiet, unsure. His eyes look dark and wounded. "You coming in or what?" I walk inside and stand in the middle of his living room, waiting for the hammer to fall. What is it with him? He's the one who did the wounding, I think to myself. I straighten, standing taller. There is a strained silence; the air between us is thick. "You wanted to talk, Vic?" He thankfully doesn't do his stalking routine but instead goes and sits down on the couch. He looks up finally. "Have a seat." I remain standing. I know all too well what will happen if I go and sit there next to him. All my defenses will crumble, and I'll fall right back into the trap of wanting to- I shake myself slightly. "It's your move, Vic. Play it." He grimaces and looks down. "I was out of line," he admits, at last. I stand, waiting. He's not getting away with that. He knows it, too. His eyes flick back up to meet mine. "I'm sorry. It—got a bit much. Too heavy. I guess I bailed." "Bailed?" I repeat incredulously. "Is that what you call it?" He scowls up at me. "I'm trying to apologize," he growls, that husky voice both infuriating me and sending that oh-so-familiar response of lust crawling over my skin. Still not sure where this is heading, I find myself at a loss. "Um... okay." I walk over to the window and stare blankly at the sky as I try to understand exactly what he's apologizing for. That it ever happened? That he hurt me? That he was wrong? WHAT the hell is going on in his mind? "Vic," I say, turning to face him, "I don't ... I mean, what does this mean? Are we still um, do you still want this to end? Or, are you saying that ... SHIT! I need a drink. Where's the booze?" He shifts in his seat, averting his eyes from mine. "I stopped and picked up some of that beer you like on my way home. Or, if you want something stronger, it's in the cabinet over the sink." He stocked up on MY beer? Well, now- Can't let him think I don't appreciate the gesture, can I? I go to the fridge and grab a bottle. "You want anything?" I call to him. "Scotch," he says. "Straight up." Ooookay. I find the J&B and pour him a generous measure. Carrying our drinks back into the living room, I hand his over and look around, trying to decide where to sit. "Here," he says, patting the couch. "Sit here with me. We need to talk this out, Mac." I settle as far from him as possible and set my beer on the coffee table. "So, talk to me, Vic. I think you've got a pretty good idea of how I feel—how about telling me how YOU feel? Tell me... why did you ask me over? What do you want from me?" Vic Feel? How do I feel? Like I'm navigating in shark-infested waters. Like I dug a big hole in the ground, and now I'm about to throw myself into it. I try to rally myself. Mac deserves better after the brush-off I gave him earlier. I take a gulp of the scotch. I'm scared. How the hell am I supposed to tell HIM that? I feel trapped. "Mac, I don't know how you feel. I assumed I did." I throw him a look, only to find him watching me with a steady eye. Damn it, I wish I felt as sure and confident as he looks. Mac frowns, as if honestly puzzled. I plow ahead, throwing myself into that hole. "I want... more. More than I thought you were willing to give. I didn't—I don't—" "Vic," Mac says gently, "I wanted more, too. I thought that's why you left." I take another drink of scotch, trying to buy time to collect my thoughts. "I didn't know that I'd hurt you. That badly, I mean. I'm sorry. I still want... whatever is we had. But-" I pause, passing a hand over my face. I wish I had some sort of clue here. Right now I actually have no idea how he feels. But I guess I owe it to him to expose myself, after what I did to him. The resurgence of guilt at having hurt him galvanizes me to add, "I think I want you more than I thought. I don't know if you—if you think I deserve another chance..." He closes his eyes. "Jesus, Victor! Get a clue, already. I'm in love with you, you idiot. I... Hell, I'm so pathetic. Willing to take whatever you can offer, I guess." With a heavy sigh, Mac leans back into the cushions. "Just don't... " He lifts his eyelids and looks directly into my eyes with a pleading expression. "Don't do this because you feel sorry for me. Please? You could hurt me badly, you know. Don't think I could take it if you shove me away again." Oh. This is scary. Hell, this is terrifying. But, he's being so open—not hiding his emotions at all now. Can I do any less? I swallow the last of my scotch, set the glass down and move a little closer to him. "Mac, I don't feel sorry for you. I don't. And, I'm pretty vulnerable myself at the moment. This is frightening. I've never... I mean, all my past experience with men was kind of anonymous, y'know? No emotions—just physical. I don't know how to have a relationship with a guy. I never felt this way for a man." Mac is still staring directly at me though. I feel like he isn't letting me off the hook. He gives a single laugh, but it isn't very mirthful. "And you think I have? C'mon, Vic, we're kind of in this together." I get the feeling he's waiting for some kind of revelation from me and then it hits me. He said he was in love with me—and now he is waiting for me to say the same. Only it's a hell of a lot harder to say it than to hear it. I don't know if it would be harder to say it if I was holding him or not. I guess it's only fair to just... admit it. Get it over with. I hate this. I'm trembling, and I don't like feeling like this. I drain my glass and lean forward to place it on the table. Turning to him once more, I lick my lips and just blurt it out. "I'm in love with you, too." He doesn't say anything but I have his full attention. Emboldened, I forge onwards, no doubt throwing myself so far down into that hole that I'll never get out, again. "I need you, and... I want this to work. Kind of... just feeling my way now, you know? I don't know what to expect. I don't know how we're supposed to make this work. I mean, we're still partners. And what about LiAnn? How is this going to affect-" He cuts me off. "Vic, we've been doing this for a while now. I think it's fairly safe to assume it's no-one's business but ours." I'm breathing harder and I wish he'd put me out of my misery. I don't know what I'm supposed to DO. Mac says, softly, "Vic, what do you say we try this my way, this time?" His brown eyes are clear and direct. I suddenly feel reassured. He does want this. And I feel I can trust this... situation. "Okay." Mac Okay... he said okay! And he looks so peaceful with his admission of love. I sit there in stunned, ecstatic silence while I let his words sink in. I can't believe it—I want to believe him, I really do—but the past keeps me in place. Please let it be true. Oh GOD, let it be true. Finally, I take a deep breath and move to sit next to him, laying one arm over his shoulders. With my free hand, I lightly caress his face, touching him the way I've longed to touch him for so very long. I want to make love with him—want to take my time exploring every square inch of his body with fingers, lips, tongue, and, yes, teeth. With a shuddery sigh, I gently run my fingers over his face, pausing to enjoy those sinfully long lashes he uses to such great effect, then tracing a line around his soft lips. He smiles, then parts those lips and sucks my forefinger into the heat of his mouth. When he lets my finger go and lifts his lids to look at me, I catch my breath at his expression. Soft, open, needy. "I want you Mac," he says. "I want you to make love to me." His words combined with the way that he sucked on my finger sends an arrow of instant arousal shooting to my groin and I can feel myself hardening already. Wow. This is... new ground. And the build-up—Jesus, I've wanted this for such a long time now. Each time he came over previously seemed to simply add to the tension. This is very different. I feel a deep excitement creep over me. At last. On my terms. At my pace. I'm going to make this unforgettable for him. The feeling of being in control of this, of HIM, is so heady. He's beautiful. His large, green eyes are nearly black, and a sweeping glance downwards reveals that he's already hard, himself. But I don't want to rush this, or move too quickly. I lean over to kiss him, slowly, gently, controlling the speed. I can feel the restrained power of him under my hands as I begin to move them over his body. God, his lips, warm and relaxing under mine... and then his tongue. I slide my own to meet his and then there is nothing but melting and heat. THIS is what I've wanted so much, what I've been hungering for. This slow dance of mutual drowning. His hands come up to encircle me, beneath my arms, and pull me against him. I end up on top of him and my position in this particular phase of our relationship means that I get to call the shots. I pull back to grin down at him. "Vic," I say, my voice lower and huskier than I expected, "why don't we move next door? I think we need a bed for this." He doesn't answer; he just rises from the couch and holds out one hand to pull me up beside him. Luckily, my legs don't buckle, and we head into the bedroom, still holding hands. Slowly, with great care we undress each other, taking frequent breaks to explore revealed skin, stroke known hot spots. It's too wonderful. To have him caress me—to be allowed to touch him. I'm fascinated by the softness of his skin—silk over the steel of his muscles. And, amazingly, he seems to be enjoying my stroking of him just as much. His hand is moving lower... Oh god! He's wrapped his fingers around my cock. "Oh, Vic... Damn! I think we'd better lay down—before my legs give out under me." Somehow we manage to get to the bed and fall onto the mattress without ever losing physical contact. We end up with Vic on his back, me on my side, draped along his length. His eyes are hazy with pleasure, only the barest ring of green surrounding his dilated pupils. "You're so beautiful, Vic," I murmur. His lips curl in a sensuous smile, and he stares at my lips longingly. Unable to resist, I press my mouth to his, groaning at his instant response. He seems to relax into the kiss, letting me possess his mouth. I run my hand down his side, then up along his chest to his nipple, stroking it until it's a stiff point, a little jewel. Unable to resist, I break away from his mouth, and with a grin, I lick at that nipple, wetting it with my tongue as he gasps. "Vic, where's the... you know—" "The drawer," he manages. I get up to lean over and open it, quickly withdrawing the objects in question and lay them on the bed beside us, up by the pillow. I'm going to need them soon. But not too soon. I can't help a purely evil leer and his eyes turn wide as well as dark. I return to his side, to attach my mouth to his, lingering on his lips, letting my tongue dart between them to capture his again. The taste and heat of him, the intimate cavern of his mouth, sliding the tip of my tongue along his teeth, I'm getting lost in him again. His hand is on me though, creeping up slowly along my hip, my waist, and over to my belly, to grasp my stiff cock. I pull back, instantly. "Ah-ah, no way. Not this time. Vic," I chuckle. "Put your hands up. Go on; put them up behind your head. Yeah. Just like that." I sit up beside him, enjoying the way he bites his lower lip with a slight nervousness. He's always controlled the plays before, and having play the sub for me now is a little worrying for him. I am not going to disappoint him though. And it must be that he trusts me, for he merely lies there, waiting for my next move. I grin widely, and begin to inch my way lower, then lean down to lick and nip at the soft skin of his belly, moving lower as I go to the join of his leg to his body, there to press my face all along the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. I can hear that the breaths he takes are hoarse. "M-Mac—" "Sshh," I whisper, letting both my hands fall to his thighs, holding them down to the bed. I kneel between his legs and then move a hand to touch his balls. Leaning down now, I take them into my mouth, lightly rolling them with my tongue, feeling him tense and quiver under my attentions. He's moaning helplessly, his lips pressed together. I release his velvety balls and then lightly run my tongue up the stem of his cock to the tip, where a single glistening, salty pearl waits. I draw it onto my tongue-tip and then begin to wash the head of his cock while holding him down, ready for the bucking of his hips as he cries out. His cock is MINE. And I'm going to prove it to him. Vic It's too much. It's not enough This is exactly what I feared, that I would lose myself completely in his lovemaking. I can't do this... I have to do this. He's touching me with such reverence, such possession... and his mouth! Oh god, what his tongue is doing to me must be illegal in most parts of the world. Biting my lip, I try so hard to stay still, not choke him. Not an easy thing to manage—and when he takes a deep breath and swallows my cock to the root, I'm embarrassed to hear myself whimper. He hums his approval, and reaches blindly for the lube. In an agony of anticipation, I watch as he flips up the top and slicks his fingers. Oh yes... I know what's next. And, to my shame, I raise my knees and part my legs, offering myself to him with a groan. One finger. That's all, one finger—and I'm arching up, begging for more. I want him. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life, I want him to fuck me. I suppose that's why I always came on as such a strong top with him, I was afraid to let him know how much I love the feel of a hard cock inside of me. "More," I gasp. "Please, Mac... I need more." He lets my cock slip out of his mouth and looks at me. Not teasing, not triumphant—just need. And joy. He doesn't take his eyes from mine as he pulls out his finger and then applies more lube, this time pressing two fingers inside of me. I hiss and arch under him, my arms tensing with the need to pull down, but I obediently leave them up above my head. "Mac," I say, surprised at how hollow and shaken my voice sounds to my own ears. "I'm gonna take good care of you, baby," he says, quietly, adding a third finger to this slow plundering of my ass. He brushes lightly against the gland inside me, but even that isn't enough, and the need to have his cock ramming into me is almost as uncomfortable as a physical itch. His fingers are moving in and out. He's moving too slowly, damn it! I ruthlessly force down the embarrassing urge to beg, to squirm and try to impale myself harder on his hand. He takes his hand away after an indeterminate period of time during which my brain has dribbled out of my ears, and all capability for coherent speech has fled, leaving me merely a twisted mass of expectant nerves. Waiting. For him to fuck me. He reaches for the condom and tears it open with a little flourish, a slightly awkward grin on his face at this gesture telling me the grand event is upon us. His long, slender, beautiful erection is soon latex-sheathed and nudging at my entrance, and with a little sigh he presses forward, his hands on my hips to hold me in position for him. As he slides the tip of his cock past the ring of muscle inside me, I can't hold back a gasp. It burns, but with a fire that finally soothes some of the need and urgency away. As he waits for me to grow accustomed to it, this time I DO squirm. "God, Mac, PLEASE. Just- just do it! I need it—please fuck me!" The desperation in my voice is appalling, yet it doesn't even come close to spelling out just how important it is to me that he do me right. And then there is nothing, no sensation left in my world but that of Mac's cock spearing me, sliding into me with the slow, unstoppable sinking of invasive entry. He lets out a moan that mirrors my own need. I can't help a shout, torn from me by the hard heaven of being taken. And he's bending over me to catch my eyes with his, as he possesses me at last. There's wonder and tenderness in his eyes that make me catch my breath. Oh god... to finally give in and let go, surrender to him... It's, actually terrifying. This is what I'd been afraid of. And here I am, urging him to do it, wanting it, inviting it. This is—I am so fucked. Literally. I'm shaking with the need for him to start fucking me. I want it rougher, this sweetness is starting to undo me inside. But he's relentless. He won't stop staring down at me with—love. Yes, love. A feeling of panic rises to my throat and chokes me. But Mac sees it and raises a hand to stroke my head, down to my cheek to cup my face. He stops and with his cock lodged deep inside of me, he bends down to kiss my lips, once. "Hey, lover. You okay?" Mac He's scared. I can see it in his eyes, feel it in the sudden tenseness in his muscles. I wonder how long it's been since he's submitted to someone else. And, there's need in his eyes. What does he want? What am I doing wrong? His hands twitch, then move to grip my ass with bruising force. "Harder," he moans. "I need... I need it harder, Mac. Please." That I can definitely do... I pull out and thrust into him forcefully. "Oh yeah!" he groans. "Again. Don't stop. Don't ever stop." I almost lose it. His husky tone—the tone I've dreamed of hearing from him—sends a jolt to my cock, and I can't hold back any longer. With increasing force, I fuck him, slamming into him again and again. Vaguely I hear sounds of pleasure, and I can't for the life of me figure out which one of us it is. Maybe both. Probably both. I've never lost myself so completely in another. And, I suspect that I never will again; only Vic can make me feel this way. Sweat is rolling off of my face onto his chest. I feel my orgasm start to gather at the base of my spine. "Vic," I pant, "'m gonna... GOD, I can't last much longer... Wanted this for so long... You feel so good, baby—so good." As I start to jerk uncontrollably against him, my cock taking on a life of its own, I can feel his own orgasm begin as a rippling, clutching sensation. Despite the drumbeat of my heart pounding in my ears, and the white light flickering behind my eyelids, I can hear Vic's shriek as he comes, and then I feel the shuddering of him under me, around my cock. It's too much, and I shove into him, hard, letting go and pouring my come into him. It floods out of me with a liquid pleasure I've tried to reach with him before, but only ever dreamed of. Vic is shaking under me, chanting my name; he can't stand it anymore and reaches down to clutch at my arms, my shoulders. I collapse down onto him, his legs shakily lifting to clasp me to him harder. My breath is a sob. The slight sheen of sweat covering his skin is fresh and so laced with Vic-scent that I just breathe. Breathing it in, I feel closer to him than ever before. I close my eyes, wanting to lose myself in this forever. After a while, I realize that Vic's breathing is even and slow. His legs have slipped back down to the bed from around, me and I've softened inside of him. I raise my head carefully from his chest. He's asleep. I peel myself away from him, slowly, gingerly, not wanting to wake him up. I fumble around in the bathroom, disposing of the condom and locating a towel. When I come back, slightly cleaned up and ready to do the same for him, he is still asleep. I gently wipe the come from him and pull the covers around him. By the time I climb into the bed beside him, I'm wondering if we've made progress at all. But Vic seems to sense my presence and automatically turns to me, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me close to him. He murmurs something but he's half asleep and it's too unintelligible for me to make out. I find myself smiling in the dark. Sure, we have a long way to go—but he DID admit he loves me. And, as difficult as it was for him to tell me, I suspect he must have meant it. At least we've started talking. If we can manage to keep being honest with each other we have a chance—a good chance—of making this thing work. Don't we? VI: Dream You Mac "How about dinner?" I ask, knowing the answer already. He'll say- "Nah, got some errands to take care of," Vic replies, oh, so casually. "Why don't I stop over later?" Uh huh. "Later? How much later? Say... bedtime?" He grins. Bastard actually grins at me. "Sure—around eleven good for you?" "Yeah, sure. Eleven's fine." What else can I say? Despite our 'new beginning', you know—the one that started with 'I love you' from both of us—nothing's really changed. Sure, we get together more often outside of work—he comes to my place, or visa versa, arrival carefully timed for a minimum of conversation and a maximum of fucking. Not to say I don't enjoy the sex. I do. It's beyond fantastic, actually. But... Hell, I don't know. It seems that we can't manage to be friends and lovers at the same time. Before—back when we were just starting to establish our friendship—we'd go out, do things together. You know, the normal friend things people do... hockey games, football games, meals out before or after the game, evening at a bar, the occasional movie. Not any more. Nope. We work together—and if I value my life I WON'T give Vic any sign that I think of him as any more that a partner at work. In the beginning, we'd spend most nights together—now, he always has some excuse to leave early. Even on the weekends. We fuck, then he's outa there—NEVER sleeps over anymore. Basically, for all my trouble, I've lost a friend and gained a fuck-buddy. And really, that's all we were to begin with—except for the frequency of the fucking, that is—used to be once every couple of months, now it's just about every night. I'm determined that this time, no matter how late Vic shows, we will talk about this. Of course, by the time eleven o'clock swings around, and he finally turns up, we're both too tired for a long discussion. After a bout of particularly hot and feverish sex, we're lying in my bed, arms about each other. Vic breathes quietly in sleep and I'm wracking my brain trying to think of a way to broach this without sounding like a romantic sap complaining about a lack in our relationship... Jeez, makes me feel sick to my stomach. I don't want Vic viewing me as a pathetic whiner, but neither do I want to keep letting Vic call the shots. We'll never GET to the love or the friendship and I'll have lost exactly what I had tried to gain. I lay awake most of the night thinking long and hard about how to handle this situation. Finally, somewhere around dawn, I come to a decision. Vic's not gonna be particularly happy about it, but, we'll be okay if I can just make him understand that it's the only thing to do right now—explain my fear of losing him altogether... Finally, I relax enough to doze off. In fact, I sleep so deeply that when the alarm goes off I have one hell of a time dragging my weary self out of bed. Sluggishly, I go through my morning routine, stumbling into the shower, shaving and then dressing in slow motion. Vic's long gone, of course—he never has brought a change of clothing over on those nights he spends here. No toiletries, either. Goes home every single goddamned time—as if showering here is just too intimate for him. Damn him! Once I arrive at the Agency—late again—I'm determined that we'll talk today. I will make SURE that I let him know how used he makes me feel—how very much I miss our friendship. I sit in a distracted daze throughout the morning briefing, and—for once—the Director doesn't notice. Well, okay, I'm sure she notices, thankfully, though, she ignores my absent-minded and minimal participation. As we rise to leave, she commands my continued presence with one word, "Mac." Damn! Turning back, I stand silent until we're alone. I clear my throat uncomfortably. "Uh, listen, I REALLY need to talk to Vic this morning—before I lose my nerve." She stares at me assessingly for a beat, expression revealing nothing. "Yes, Mr. Ramsey, I expect that you do. Just don't... don't burn any bridges." Her eyes actually drop, looking away from mine. "I'll be here—if you need someone to talk to afterwards." Oh. Well, now... How very unsettling. And comforting, in a VERY odd way. And, although unexpected, welcome—I'm not looking forward to Vic's reaction when I try to get across to him what I need to leave those bridges standing. "Thanks," I murmur, before tearing out after Vic. I catch up with him in the hallway. "Heyyy," I say, going for the light-hearted nonchalance we once enjoyed—before the sex got in the way. "Forgot to ask last night—I thought we could catch the hockey game at the bar after work, maybe have a drink or two. Whaddya say?" Obviously my bantering falls short, for Vic turns to me with that puzzled crease between his brows. "Why can't we watch it at my place?" His frown turns into a leer after he looks about, ensuring we are alone. "That way we don't have to worry about onlookers." He waggles his brows at me. I clear my throat. "Well, that's kind of what I meant, actually. Look, Vic, we don't ever do anything anymore except fuck and I was hoping to get back to the good old days. You know, a drink, a game, go out somewhere." I halt as a frighteningly dark expression cross Vic's face. "I thought we'd progressed beyond the courtship phase," he growls. That deep husky voice never fails to make my cock twitch in my pants, a particularly dangerous reaction especially when we are on a job, but this time... This time I don't rise to it. I stop him with a hand on his arm. "Vic," I say tiredly, "I never wanted to lose your friendship. I didn't tell you how I felt about you so that I could lose a friend." Vic stares at me like I'm nuts. I rub my face with one hand and I don't look at him. "Maybe—maybe we should try something different. I don't want to lose you, but since we've had The Talk, things are changing. Maybe things SHOULD change. Hell, I don't know. Maybe we should just leave out the sex for now and try being friends again." Vic's brows rise alarmingly high, his tone almost accusatory. "You want us to stop fucking and just...'hang out'?" "No, no, I didn't mean it like that. Vic, I'm not complaining—well, maybe I am. I just think that we should focus on the friendship as well as the sex, that's all. The sex is great—hell, it's MORE than great. But—" "I can't believe this." Vic glares at me. "So the past few weeks didn't meet your expectations, huh?" "C'mon, Vic, you're taking this the wrong way. I didn't-" "Actually, I think I'm getting the message loud and clear, Ramsey. Thanks." He moves off, striding down the corridor, leaving me cursing silently. Well, I seem to have fucked up yet again. Will I EVER figure this guy out? After hour upon endless hour of surveillance on some dirtbag the Director wants watched, I'm no closer to figuring out what to do—except, I'm sure that what our relationship has evolved into is hurting both Vic and me. And I know that I, at least, can't go on this way. Once LiAnn relieves me, I head straight over to Vic's place. WE have to talk this out. I NEED him to understand how I feel. Predictably, he's not thrilled to find me at his door. "Yeah?" He greets me in a surly tone, reluctant to open the door to me. "What is it, Mac?" "We need to talk, Vic. The way we left things this morning..." He sighs and throws the door open, walking away before I've even crossed the threshold. Sits on the couch and fixes me with that blank stare I hate so much. After I wander the room for a time, he clears his throat. "So?" he asks impatiently. "You wanted to talk? I'm all ears, Mac." Yeah, right. I can just see our relationship ending in his eyes—and I can feel it in my heart. "Look," I say, collapsing into a chair, "my feelings for you haven't changed, Victor. I love you... but, well, like I said, I never expected that the physical part of our relationship would put an end to our friendship." I gather my courage and continue, "I MISS you, Vic. I miss talking to you, joking around, and spending time together. Can't we... can't we at least TRY to regain our friendship?" Quietly, Vic replies, "I thought we WERE friends. I thought that's what we were doing here." Oookay. Obviously we're well into denial, now. Carefully, I say, "When was the last time you WANTED to talk to me? About anything?" Vic looks taken aback. "Mac," he says, helplessly raising both his hands, "what do you WANT from me? We DID talk. I thought everything was fine. So what's the big deal?" I'm starting to get nervous now. We aren't even speaking the same language. His attitude is really starting to piss me off, too. It's not like I want us to sit around knitting like a couple of women, yakking, or acting like a couple of starstruck teenagers holding hands. Is it too much to ask for a little bit of friendship in the equation? Am I expecting too much from him? I'm also getting pissed off with myself for not being stronger after our declarations of love that day. Of course, Vic is irresistible and all it takes for him to crack me is That Look or That Growl. I'm mush on the floor and all he has to do is pounce. But I can't afford that weakness—this time. I sigh. Arms folded defensively across my chest, I stare at him. "Victor, you're using sex to avoid having a real of relationship with me. Again. Don't give me that look; you know exactly what I'm talking about. You're using it to shut me up and shut me out. I really think we should take a step back and look at what we have here. If we aren't friends and we aren't lovers... if we're just fucking, then how is this supposed to last? Or maybe that's the point?" Vic looks wounded AND pissed off. "Just fucking? Is that what you think? Jesus, Mac, I said I love you—how many times do I have to say it? Is it the lack of repetition that's making you question this?" "No," I reply with another sigh. "It's the fact that it's so obviously a burden for you to have to say it." Vic doesn't answer but he's fuming—quietly... inside. God, if only I could get into that head of his and see just what the hang up is. I lick my lips and add, "I want you as a friend, too, Vic. Not just a lover. And I'm serious about this. I think we should give each other some time to rediscover our friendship. We used to hang out together. Now we just fill the time with frantic sex and I kinda miss the guy I used to hang out with." I'm sincere about every word. It's true that this isn't the ideal relationship I had dreamed of having with him before we had That Talk and the make-up sex afterwards. The reality is nothing like my fantasy. I guess sometimes you have to give up the fantasy in order to keep the reality. "If that's really how you want it," Vic says, in a tone hinting of acquiescence, although I can see he isn't happy with this arrangement. Yeah, right. No more frequent fucks, so convenient and available at his whim. What a- a- a GUY. I stifle a bitter laugh and shake my head slightly. I wonder how many hearts I broke with that exact attitude. The funny thing is, I do love him. More than ever. Can't he see that? I guess it doesn't matter how many times I tell him I love him, if one of us isn't screwing the other's brains out, it isn't genuine to Vic. So I'll have to show him—prove to him that we can be friends despite the passionate spark that I feel even now between us. The desire to just give in to him is overwhelming but you know something? I can't. Not this time. I'm not gonna let the little head rule. I'm bigger than that. I just hope that Vic is, or this isn't going to last much longer. "Thank you, Vic. I know—I know you don't really understand what I'm talking about here. I really appreciate you making this effort." Stumbling over my words, I quail under his carefully blank expression. "So, how about if we go out for a drink—tomorrow, maybe?" He shrugs. "Sure, Mac, whatever you want." Left with NO doubt that he's completely oblivious to my reasoning, my feelings, I wonder suddenly if I've managed, once again, to alienate him by asking for more than he's prepared to give. I CAN'T let these thoughts change my mind, though. I want him, I need him, I love him—but, dammit, I miss my friend. I miss him so fucking much. And, I have a sneaking suspicion that this need of mine will make or break us. Deciding that I'd better get gone before he turns that LOOK on me, seducing me into his bed, I set my glass down decisively and rise to my feet. "Tomorrow after work?" I ask. "Yeah, Mac. Tomorrow." I settle for that—I have no choice, not if I intend to follow through on this—but I can't leave without leaning over to give him a quick kiss. Jesus, I hope it isn't our last kiss. "I—Vic, I love you," I say as I reach the door. "Please believe that. Don't ever forget; I DO love you." Silently, he watches with expressionless green eyes as I walk out. Vic I lay back on the bed in the dark, feeling numb. I can't believe I let this happen. He's had his revenge, and I gave it to him—handed him the advantage, let him do it first. Cutting off the physical intimacy. DAMN it. Why did I trust him? I let my feelings override good sense. As per fucking usual. I'd had a feeling that he was playing me. Everyone knows what a sucker Victor Mansfield is for a bleeding heart. Not to mention that I felt guilty, responsible for his suffering... He HAD said he was in love with me. In fact, he says it again and again. But if he's in love with me, why is he pulling away? I feel betrayed. And... embarrassed. Maybe a little shamed for having fallen for him after all. Yeah, all that and I'm hurt. I just don't get it—I thought we were okay, thought things were going well. Yeah, sure, Mac, let's be friends. Is this what it felt like when I hurt him, before? Fuck. It feels like—like my heart's been ripped out. And then he exits saying that he still loves me. Ri-iiight. That's why he's cut off the closeness, the sex. Damn it, he can't deny that the sex is hot. It always has been. Maybe he's just uncomfortable with the fact that he's having hotter sex with me than with any other, any female lover—whoops, 'friend', in his life. I'm trying to see where I went wrong. It CAN'T be the sex—I know he likes it. Wants it. Fucking needs it, the same as I do. I can feel that instinctively in my bones. And in one bone in particular. And that's when it hits me... This is emotional blackmail. He can't DO this to me. Can he? Eraser VII: Fuck You Vic The lights are driving me crazy. I sigh and knock back the last of what's left in my glass. It's been about three weeks now since we've decided to try Mac's approach of watching games, drinking out, going out and hanging out. If he doesn't resolve his issues regarding me soon, he'll find it's me that's out. The music isn't bad, but it isn't good, either. Unlike Mac. He looks good. Mac is looking better than usual; all dressed up, snappy... I'd let him persuade me into going to this gay bar and now I'm starting to wonder if he's got it into his head to try to seduce me or something equally insane. Like I'm not a fucking foregone conclusion at this point. I'm starting to wonder if this isn't some kind of point he's trying to make—to himself. Mac is giving me this lopsided grin. "Let's dance," he declares. "Why not go home and fuck for real? Instead of this... " I wave in the direction of the dance floor, an expression of distaste on my face. "Dammit, Mac." A mingled look of wounded pride and hurt feelings wanders across his face, to be quickly replaced with that jaunty playboy attitude I've seen before. Never with me, and never in this setting. Jesus. How... immature. Does he really think he needs to play the rake with me? "C'mon, Vic," he says, with a jerk of his head in the direction of the dance floor where couples are gyrating against each other to what is arguably 'music'. "Let's lighten up. Have some fun." I shake my head with a sigh. "I get it. I'm the stick in the mud and it's your job to loosen me up. Mac, you don't need to do this with me. We're not seventeen years old." "Vic... I don't... I mean, I'm only trying to make this—us—better together. Stronger." He sighs and raised his beer for a long swallow. "Can't you see—understand, what I'm trying to do for us here?" "No, goddammit, I DON'T see anything but you making me crazy, Mac. I want you, you know that. And I know that you want me. Why the FUCK," I ask impatiently, "are you putting me through this?" "Putting you through this?" He asks incredulously. "I only want to—I mean, I just want what we had before—AND be lovers. Is that really so much to ask?" "Mac... I—I... SHIT, do you want to fuck tonight, or what" He stares at me for a moment, seemingly weighing his options. And—what DO you know—I apparently come up short. "No, Vic, we are not gonna fuck tonight," he says decisively. "Not until we—" "Go to hell, Ramsey," I spit at him. Setting my beer on the bar with a decisive thump, I stare at him coldly. "I've had enough of this. You want me, you know where I live." And, I leave. Mac I hold the door open for LiAnn and she precedes me into the restaurant. We sit down at a table off to the side, by the window. She seems to sense that we need to keep this light. After walking out on me last night, Vic appeared cagey around me all day today. I finally cracked and asked LiAnn if she wouldn't mind talking with me. She didn't look surprised at all. Hell, the entire Agency probably has bets on how long this thing between Vic and me will last. We've been to this restaurant quite a few times. We both order and the waiter is just taking away our menus and our orders when the door opens at the front and a couple comes in to the establishment... Vic. With a bleached blond accessory on his arm. I blink. "Mac? MAC?" LiAnn is staring at me. I can't breathe. I can't believe it. Finally, I suck a breath into my lungs and try to remember where we are. Where I am. We're here in this....place... FUCK. Vic knows that LiAnn and I come here to eat. And he knew that LiAnn and I would be going out tonight. I can't help wondering if he half-expected to run into us here. Am I paranoid? LiAnn is looking concernedly at me and then realizes I'm staring at the lovely, lovely couple who is actually looking for a table and are not that far from us now. They don't appear to have seen us. LiAnn turns, sees them, and her mouth drops open with a little gasp. Good. So it isn't just me. Just then, his eyes scan the room, zeroing in on us and he smirks. The fucker actually smirks. I hate him. Determinedly not watching him as he and his 'friend' settle at their table, I meet LiAnn's worried gaze miserably. "Mind if we go now? I seem to have lost my appetite." She leans forward and lays one hand over my trembling fingers. "No problem, Mac. We'll go back to your place—talk if you want. I don't think you should be alone tonight." While I know that she's right—I'm in no condition to be alone—still, all I want is to go home, climb into bed and pull the covers over my head. Jesus! HOW could he do something so... so fucking vicious? Yep, I decide firmly, I hate him. And, as soon as I can tell him so without losing it, the fucker is in for one hell of a... Oh hell, what's the point? It won't work between us—and this time, I really believe it's over. Permanently. "Thanks, LiAnn. You're right, I shouldn't be alone right now—but," I warn her, "I'm not sure I want to discuss this tonight, it—I need some time to think. Make a decision. I think—I think a transfer is my best bet... but I want to think about it. Then, we can talk, okay?" She frowns, but doesn't argue. Silently we leave, neither of us looking in Vic's direction. We go back to my place. After a certain amount of reassurance, supportive comforting and finally accepting that all I need is to sleep on this, LiAnn leaves. Now, I'm laying in bed, alone, in the dark. The message is loud and clear. The sting is so painful that at first I didn't realize how much it really hurt. Now the shock is passing and I find myself reeling with the depth of my pain. It feels like a physical blow to my chest and I can even feel the blood dripping from the wound inside. He's made his point. The sex WAS the only thing that was keeping us together, and if I cut him off, I can only expect him to retaliate. I'm regretting ever having done anything with him. I should have been stronger and just let him cut ME off in the beginning. I should never have let him persuade me to continue. I should have known, should have realized, that it could only ever end this way. I was at my wits' end last night—somehow, I knew it wouldn't help to go banging on his door after his brusque departure in the bar. But now, this latest statement of his really hammers the point home. Drives the last nail into the coffin. It was just sex. And if he can't get it from me, he'll find it elsewhere. Jesus, Victor. If all you wanted was sex, why did you bother telling me you loved me? I'm trying to see how I could have done this differently, but he never lets me talk, doesn't WANT to talk... Despairing at ever finding a way to reach him, I finally give up. I'm going to have to face facts at this point, or turn myself into a completely pathetic fool over him, a lovesick idiot. He doesn't love me. He doesn't want anything but a convenient fuck. Fine. I steel myself inside. If that's what he wants, that's all he'll have. But not with me. For the first time in a long, LONG time, I cry myself to sleep. I don't even care that Di probably has my bedroom under the usual surveillance. There's only so much breaking that a heart can take. Vic As soon as Mac and LiAnn leave the restaurant it becomes clear that I've hurt him badly—maybe too much—Hell, his expression said it all. He believes I don't want him anymore... I've gone too far this time. Whatever we have—or had—is over. I've killed it. After an interminably long meal, I finally drop Ashley off at her apartment, awkwardly fending off her advances. I don't want her. I want... hell, I want Mac. Too late now, though. I've destroyed any chance for us with my little temper tantrum. And, I have a sinking feeling that LiAnn is NOT going to give me the benefit of the doubt this time. And then there's the Director—I'm not even gonna think about HER reaction. Surprisingly, I actually sleep. Oh, my dreams are more than a little disturbing, but I DO sleep. When the alarm goes off, I rise and shower, then reluctantly head in to work. I drive with a feeling of foreboding. I shake it off, trying to remember any dreams I might have had that might be to blame. And then I remember the pensive, painful look on Mac's face as he left the restaurant, an angry LiAnn beside him. I hadn't really expected to find them both there. I'd thought they would go to their usual place, for that unappealing Hong Kong cuisine they both love so much. Well, I made my point. I'm kind of glad they saw me, actually. I straighten in my seat, driving to work. Damn it, I hadn't meant anything by it. If Mac wanted us to return to 'just being friends', I'd reminded him what that entailed... After all, what can he expect if we aren't going to be lovers? He's made it clear to me that we aren't to have sex in lieu of friendship—so I'd reminded him that returning to the way we were before meant that we weren't fucking. As if it isn't obvious. So. Fine. NO sex, just friends, Mac. I'm starting to panic. Maybe I fucked up last night, badly. It seems that nothing I ever do is good enough. Every time I've tried to live up to his expectations of our 'relationship', he seems to change the goalposts. Yeah, right. Back to friendship. I'd exposed myself and bared my heart to Mac, telling him I loved him... And we're supposed to go back to being friends with me trying to make something work with him—WITHOUT any closeness at all? I feel betrayed and more than justified in showing him that I can make it without him. If he believes that last night's display of mine was anything more than a token gesture, he needs his head seeing to. Surely he can't believe that I'd... SLEEP with that woman? I park the truck and walk inside, and I'm going down the corridor when I meet Dobrinsky coming the other way. "You fucked up this time, didn't you, Sport?" He asks me with a cheerful smile. "Screw you, Dobrinsky," I snarl, continuing on to the morning meeting. Damned it I'll even give that bastard an opening to discuss my personal life. Apparently unwilling to let me have the last word, he answers. "I'd be careful, Vic—maybe you should get yourself a suit of full body armor before the meeting." Deciding not to play his little game, I continue on my way in silence. As I open the door and enter the meeting room, I immediately reconsider Dobie's suggestion of protective gear. Somehow, that little shit has managed to make himself into the injured party—again. LiAnn and the Director both direct venomous stares at me while Mac refuses to even LOOK in my direction. SO not good. I raise my chin and meet the women's eyes defiantly. Neither backs down, if anything their expressions become even more accusatory. "What?" I growl. "What the fuck did I do NOW?" With a disgusted look at me, the Director ignores my question and turns to Mac. "Mr. Ramsey, I shall take your request under consideration. In the meantime, I think I will assign you to separate tasks. Victor, you're in research today—LiAnn, work on that little project of ours—Mac, stay here for a moment. We will discuss your assignment privately." Little project? Research? Assignment? I snatch up the folder that the Director has set on the table at my place with a growl and stalk off to the library. Nathan is nowhere to be seen. A good thing, too, considering my current mood. I don't have the patience to deal with him right now. After a few hours alone in the stacks though, brooding over the looks on all their faces when I entered that room... Even Nathan would be a welcome distraction. Mac I'm shaking despite my attempts to control myself as Victor stalks out of the room. I never would have believed that I'd prefer the Director's company to his! And I'm actually grateful for her presence. She sighs deeply, catching my attention as LiAnn also leaves the room. She tilts her head at me and says, "I think it would be best for you to concentrate on something today, keep busy and out of trouble. Have Dobrinsky give you directions to the training facility. There is a class of young wanna-be's who are in need of someone with your experience. Go easy on them, Mr. Ramsey. They haven't even been taught how to fall." I can't help but be grateful. But still, I can't rely on her providing me with aa daily distraction. I need assurance that I'm going to find permanent relief from this problem. I place my shaking hands under the table and say, "Thanks. But what about reassignment? I can't go on like this. It's gotten too far out of control." She gives me a cool gaze. "Give me a few days to work on it, I'm sure we can sort something out." I lick my lips. "I can't take being in the same room with him like this, I can't," I appeal to her, hating to let the strain show through the cracks now. But dammit- "Mac," she says, stressing my name with the right amount of strength to make me sit still and pay closer attention to her. "Trust me. I'll have words with Victor. But in the meantime, I want you to concentrate on making sure that those students leave the training gym later today with an adequate amount of knowledge... an intimate, repeated acquaintance with the mats should suffice." I sit up and take a deep breath. "Okay, okay. But I'm not coming in here if he's going to be here again." I can't help the petulant grumbling tone of my voice. Vic The Director walks up to the table where I'm working on the file she gave me earlier in the day. I look up to see the glare on her face. My heart sinks. "Congratulations, Victor. You've managed to destroy the delicate balance of my team." I sigh and lean back in the chair. "What do you want me to say?" I ask, lowly. "You could give me an explanation. What do you think you're doing?" A bitterness rises to my throat. I fail to see what business this is of hers. And I say so. "What's it to you? The whole thing's taking place outside of work. Kind of out of your jurisdiction, really." "Think again, Mr. Mansfield," she replies, tartly. "Mac has insisted on a transfer. He wants to be reassigned. He claims that being in the same room with you is too painful to bear. Frankly, I can see how he might feel that way." I close my eyes. Right. So this is all MY fault. She continues, acidly, "If you'd treated me the same way as you've been treating him, I'm not sure what I would have done. Certainly I wouldn't have given you as much rope to hang yourself with as he did." I look back up at her, matching her frown. "Look, he said he wanted us to try just being friends. He basically cut me off. To get revenge, I guess, for what happened when I tried to end it, before." I'm really not in the mood to have to deal with SuperBitch, here. I can't believe everyone is acting like I'm the villain of this entire piece. It takes two to tango, and Mac cut ME off, not the other way around. Jesus. "Don't lie to ME, Mansfield. He told you he didn't want to lose your friendship. And, I can't blame him for that—not at all. You," she fixes me with an intense glare, "have been treating him like your own little slut. 'Come on over, Mac—just don't think I'm willing to actually TALK to you, spend TIME with you outside of the bedchamber.' You have been acting like an asshole, Victor." I swallow at this and clench my fists. I shoot a look at her, meeting her gaze. I congratulate myself on not flinching. She's looking daggers at me. I take a breath. "We already talked, we did that whole song and dance before. Jesus, what do I have to do? Jump through hoops?" But she cuts off the rest of what I might have said. "Jump through HOOPS?" She asks incredulously. "Christ, I really made a mistake—you don't deserve him. Get back to work, Mr. Mansfield. I'm going to accept Mac's request for transfer—I REFUSE to let this situation continue. The team is hopelessly fractured now." Bitch shakes her head. "I never expected this from you. I really didn't think outright cruelty was in your nature. I WILL take this newfound knowledge into consideration when I transfer YOU." I bite back an angry retort. Her words are a bucket of cold water over my head. Breathing hard, I say, "Look, I wasn't- I didn't mean to-" I pause. I've never seen her this angry. Especially not with me. I feel brought up short. "I wasn't trying to be cruel. I just- I-" "Well," she responds in an icy voice, "you HAVE been cruel. You—through your actions—have just about destroyed this team. He's been honest with you, and, he had hope for awhile... but now, well, I'm not sure he'll recover—and, if Mac can't get past it, the team is null and void. Which," she admits with a sigh, "is in part my fault. I trusted you, Victor. Thought you would be capable of supporting him through these first weeks of a new relationship." She turns to leave. "Oh, and Victor... I WON'T forget this. You will pay... heavily." I stare as she retreats, and wince as the door slams behind her, the booming sound echoing throughout the library. I just can't see what the problem is. What else IS there to talk about? What does Mac WANT? Okay, if I'm honest with myself, I guess I can see what she's referring to. I HAVE been using sex as a way to stave off uncomfortable conversations. But Christ Al-fucking-MIGHTY... This has gotten so far out of hand. I can feel not just bile but panic rising. Fuck. FUCK! With a moan, I let my head fall forward, my forehead connecting with the table with a slight thud. I am so utterly fucked. A NEW relationship? I can't help replaying her last words through my head. Okay, I guess she's right on that score. But I thought we were supposed to be lovers, not- That's when it hits me. Oh shit. I HAD assumed that we'd moved on from the whole 'friends' bit—which is why it had hurt so much for him to tell me he wanted to RETURN to it. SHIT. She was right. Mac had told me that he didn't want to lose our friendship. To be honest, it wasn't much of a friendship, really. It was an acquaintance of necessity, thrown together as we were by having to be partners on a team assembled by the Director... Maybe somewhere along the line I'd got confused. No. NO. I close my eyes and lean back in the seat with a sigh. This is—shit, I'm screwed. Really screwed this time. I can't help feeling a little sick. I guess I was over the top with that date last night. Out of line, to do that. Yeah. It WAS childish. And cruel. I'd only done it because I'd felt hurt at Mac shutting me out. Now, I realize I was shutting HIM out, before. Fuck. This whole thing makes my head hurt. But my conscience is pricking me sharply. I'd felt trapped. Caged. I'd felt hemmed in by my own admission to him. 'New relationship'... God. I was the one who wasn't handling the 'new relationship', not Mac. I'd royally fucked up the entire thing. And it looked as though it was too late to salvage anything now. Do I want to? My heart's hammering in my chest and I feel hollow as I admit that I've deliberately hurt Mac. And this time it was a lulu. Panic. Okay, what can I DO? IS there anything I can do? Fuck! Okay, deep breaths. LiAnn. Maybe. LiAnn might be able to help. If she doesn't shoot me herself. Time to eat humble pie. 8: Break You Vic After carefully checking the parking lot for HIS car, I finally decide to go on up and face LiAnn. I, of course, have NO idea what to say, how to start. But I'll figure something out. Assuming she doesn't shoot me on sight, that is. Tentatively, I knock at her door. I hear movement—then nothing. A looong period of silence. "LiAnn," I finally say, in an embarrassingly begging tone, "I need to talk to you... I need your help. I'm— Suddenly the door opens, and she stares at me in disbelief. "YOU need? You bastard. Mac was my brother and friend long before I became involved with you—and you've practically destroyed him. Why the FUCK should I listen to you, much less help you?" I stand there, mutely, not knowing how to answer. Possibly, if I take the right tack with her... I grab at the first idea that crosses my mind. "Because it'll help him. I know I screwed up. Look, I just need one chance. One more chance, to make this work. I-" She sighs heavily and says coldly as she opens the door, "Come on in. We don't need to have this conversation in the hallway." I come inside, and as LiAnn closes the door she says, "Now tell me why I should help you, after you broke his heart." She raises her brows at me. "TWICE, no less." I lick my lips. "I fucked up. Okay? I did." "Yeah, and boy, you didn't do it by halves, did you? I couldn't believe my eyes last night, seeing you with that blond bimbo." She's shaking her head in disgust. Lamely, I say, "What can I do? How do I fix this?" "Fix?" she repeats, with an incredulous look. "You broke his heart, Victor. You can't 'fix' it just like that. You broke his trust, as well." She gives me an accusing glare and then moves to sit down on the couch, sighing heavily. I sit down gingerly, not close to her. "I know. But there's gotta be something that I can-" She shakes her head and gives me a glance that seems to peer right into me, past all my words and right into my skull. A knowing glance. "The only way you'll ever know if there's any possibility that he'll have you back is if you ask him. But I can promise you, Vic, if you don't ask nicely, he'll probably say no." Damn. The woman never did cut me any slack, not, I admit to myself, that I deserve it this time. Still... I HAVE to try—I need her help and her advice. After all, she knows Mac better than anyone else on the planet. "LiAnn, just tell me that I have a chance. Please?" I think her eyes soften—although the room is dimly lit so I could be mistaken. Seeing what I so desperately need to see. "Vic, I CAN'T tell you that—only Mac knows how he feels about it. You've hurt him—time and again. I know he loves you, despite the way you've treated him, but that may not be enough this time. You'll just have to go to him and ask." Dejectedly, I rise and head for the door. "Well, thanks for listening, LiAnn. I'll, uh, go see him now. Before I lose my nerve." "Okay, Vic." YES! I detect definite softening in her tone. "Call me after—whichever way it goes." After promising to do just that, I give her a hug and leave. On to Mac's—on to find out if I have even the slightest chance of fixing this... Mac I'm idly channel flipping, cold beer in one hand, remote control in the other, when the knock on the door distracts me. Thank god. Infomercials are not my idea of entertainment. I yawn, drag myself to the door and open it. Vic is standing there. I sigh and close the door, returning to the couch. He opens it again and follows me inside, closes it behind him. I pick up the remote and the beer once more. I flick a glance at him. He looks subdued. Hell, he looks worried. "Have a beer, Vic. Sit down," I offer, flippantly. "Maybe afterwards we could- well, you know, fuck." He looks away, standing there, still making no move to come sit down. "Last night was unforgivable of me," he says, in a low voice. I swing my head in his direction and regard him. "Well, I don't know if it was unfor-" I pause, scrutinizing the ceiling for a moment and then nod. "No, you're right. It was. Unforgivable." I turn back to the TV and take a large swig from my beer. "I'm sorry, Mac. It was a shitty thing to do." "Yep. Shitty." I nod in agreement, still watching the screen. Damn. I flip the channel. Hey, is that a cobra? Yeah. Being eaten by a Komodo dragon. Cool. "I just... want to apologize. I've been an asshole. I've managed to fuck this up twice now. I just want to know if you'll give me one last chance to make this work... You know, third time lucky." Jesus, that Komodo dragon makes catching and fighting snakes look like a piece of cake. Too bad the sound is muted—I can't tell what the narrator is saying. Vic's breath hitches and he continues, "I wasn't handling it well; you were right. I don't think I was ready for—for a mature relationship with you. And I'm sorry." Fuck! I know my mouth is open slightly but JESUS that lizard is huge, and it swallows the snake in a few gulps. I always thought cobras' reputations were a little oversized. After a few moments of silence, Vic clears his throat and continues, "I love you. I do. I can't believe I screwed this up so badly. Mac, please give me one more chance? Please?" That cobra is GONE. Tail and all. Wow. I can't believe the amazing things that they show on nature documentaries. For a brief second or two, I wince with the wish that I could have pursued something like that, with all the excitement of my current profession but without the need for human contact. National Geographic, sign me up. I'll wrestle bears, wolves, tigers, Komodo dragons... anything. That's me: the Steve Irwin of Hong Kong. Cobra man. Vic's voice sounds hollow, and hoarse. "Okay. I'll, um, I'll go. But think about it, please, Mac? I'll—I-" he stops, his voice trailing off. He sniffs and turns to go. Hm. Something suspicious about that sniff. "Vic?" I ask. He turns back to me, slowly. Hey, are those real tears? Actual pain in his green eyes? Hell, maybe he thinks he means it this time. My firm decision to ignore him—get on with my life—momentarily wavers. Dammit! Why now? I'm still too ... too fragile for this shit. I want this, want HIM—but... am I really willing to give him yet another go at me? He'll do it again, I just know he will. Say he loves me, make love to me—well, he'll fuck me, anyway—and continue to treat me as his own little slut... 'Good old Mac, just what I need... when I'm horny.' Yeah, that's what he'll do—and he'll ACT like we're friends. Humor me, for a while—until he gets comfortable, convinces himself that I'm happy with our arrangement—then we'll be right back here again. He opens his mouth to say god knows what, but I cut him off. "I really think that it's over this time. The friendship, the sex, the trust in each other as partners." I pause, frowning heavily in thought. "Vic," I finally say, "I know that you believe you mean what you say. And, I even believe that you're willing to try—but, hell, let's face it, you don't really love me. The same thing will happen again. You'll withdraw, I'll be hurt and confused—and you won't understand why. Worst of all, our friendship is just about dead in the water." I pause, swallowing heavily, gathering my courage. "I really think that transfer is the best option right now—for both of us." Vic opens and closes his mouth. Then bites his lower lip. "Mac, I do love you. I do! I'm sorry. Please, give me one last chance. I'm begging you." His eyes are bright and glimmering now. I sigh and close my eyes, leaning my head back. "I won't withdraw," he promises. "I won't hurt you. Not again. I swear. Please, Mac, one more chance?" He looks so forlorn, standing there. Dammit, I can still feel myself wavering inside. "No. NO! Vic, I'm not going to do this with you again. No." Fuck. FUCK! Where the hell is that firm conviction I had in my voice only moments ago? Vic draws a breath. He swallows. "Mac," he tries again, the desperate entreaty in his voice is obvious. "Please, just one more chance." Okay. This is getting tiresome. "Mac, I want to be your friend. I do. I won't hurt you again. Please!" One tear slides down his cheek. "You want to be my friend?" I repeat, mulling over the implications of that. "And the other? Do you want to be my lover, too? Vic Jesus. This is too embarrassing for words. I'm CRYING! Over Mac. Is he—are WE—really worth this? Yeah. We are. "I want it all, Mac. I want us to be friends, partners... lovers." I pause to grab a Kleenex, wipe my eyes, and look at him. "Mac... you mean so much to me—and that confuses and scares me. I LOVE you. I really, truly don't think I'll survive it if you leave me." His eyes widen. "Don't get me wrong—I'm not suicidal. I just don't think I can be... myself without you—knowing that you've left me because of my own stupid, fucking behavior. I need you, Mac. Need you in my life. If friendship is all you can handle now—if you want to try to start over at the beginning and do this slowly—I can do that. Just don't leave me, Mac. Please." He sighs and shrugs a little. "That's—wow. That's a great speech, Vic. But... how am I supposed to trust you now?" I feel like time is slowing down, and I'm in limbo. How can I prove to him that I'm sincere? I'm so fucking embarrassed. And I know he's right. I take another breath, hating the shuddery way it sounds. "You have my word, Mac. If that isn't good enough, and I really have screwed it up so badly that you won't —that you can't trust me now, then I guess all I can say is-" I hesitate. Oh fuck it. "Forgive me." I look back up to meet his eyes. I can see him deliberating on my words. I go over and kneel before him, on the floor. "I'm sorry. I truly am," I whisper, not taking my eyes from his, willing him to believe me, to forgive me. I want to reach out a hand to touch his knee but I resist the impulse. I get the feeling that a physical move just now might be taken the wrong way. "Please." Mac lets out his breath in a long exhalation, like he's had it pent up for the duration of my plea. In a low voice, he asks, "If you couldn't do it before, how do you propose to do it now? Be my friend as well as my lover, I mean?" I lick my lips, but my mouth is so dry. I think I might be on the edge here, teetering. "By dropping the games. I'll stop pretending that it's something other than it is." His eyebrows go up. "Vic," he asks carefully, "just what exactly IS it?" "Love. I love you. I want you, need you and I swear—I SWEAR I'm committed to you." "Oh. Right. Okay, so—let me see if I'm getting this right: you'll do anything to prove it?" I knew it. Here come those hoops I had mentioned to Di, earlier today. But I'm getting the feeling I just might have a chance, after all. "Yes," I say simply, not taking my eyes from him. No more evasion here, no sirree. He gives me a sad look, a strange kind of sorrow—a cross between pity and resignation. "You can start by explaining to me the difference between being my lover and being my friend." "There isn't any difference for me anymore. I love you, however you'll have me. Lover, friend, anything you want." The words are out before I've had a chance to think about it. Fuck. I just hope I said the right thing. But the expression on his face changes, and it looks like maybe I did. "Tell ya what, Vic; let's just sit here, watch the tube and have a drink." Hot damn! He's inviting—INVITING—me to spend the evening with him. I glance at the TV and see that he has the Animal Planet channel on—not one of my favorites, but I have plenty to fill my mind right now. Besides, I'd sit through just about anything if it gained me a chance to be with Mac. We sit in awkward silence, and watch some dog show. At first, I concentrate on not moving closer—not crowding him—but after some time has passed, I find that he's moved closer to ME. Not only that, his arm somehow finds its way to my shoulders. It's good. Better than good. Oh, I know we have a long row to hoe. This is a good beginning, though. Gradually, I relax—slowly leaning ever closer until my head rests on his shoulder. My eyelids grow heavy and I sigh happily before falling asleep. Mac My eyes open sluggishly to find that it's gone quite dark. The only light comes from the lamp in the corner of the room and the flickering of the television. I check my watch. It's well after midnight. Vic is slumped against me, breathing evenly. I nudge his shoulder gently. "Hey, there. We should get to bed, don't you think?" He mumbles something and tries to burrow in closer to me. "Vic," I say, louder. He sits up, blinking. "Yeah." Turning his head, Vic looks at me groggily. "What?" I grab up the remote control and switch off the TV. "Bed. Now. Sleep." He yawns and wearily climbs to his feet. I get up and start to make my way over to turn off the lamp. I turn back to say that I don't mind if he wants to stay over, but he's already gone into the bedroom. Hm. Interesting. How very—cosy. He's NEVER done this before. I go in after him, to find that he's peeled off his clothing and is in the process of climbing into the bed. My bed. Naked. I stand at the doorway and hold up a finger, wagging it slightly. "You know, there's something about this that I can't quite put my finger on. Now, Vic, I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth but are you SURE that you actually want to stay here tonight? I mean, it isn't a requirement of mine, or anything." He mumbles, "God's sake, Mac, just get in bed." He sighs deeply but it doesn't sound petulant at all. Just tired. "'Sides, 'm too tired to drive." I shrug. Fine. Taking off my clothes, I switch off the bedroom light and crawl under the covers. He's resting his head against his folded arm, but with his other hand he reaches out to touch my shoulder. Quietly, he says, "I do want to be here, Mac. Okay? It isn't like—what you were thinking. That I feel obliged to—you know..." Silently, I pull him closer, enfolding him in my arms. "I know, Vic." I say simply. "C'mon—let's just sleep. We're both exhausted. Been a rough couple of days." He settles against me with a contented sigh. And, is that what I think it is? Yes, yes it is. He's pressing an impressive erection against my hip. Vic Oh man. Oh SHIT! Laying next to him—practically wrapped around him—I feel my cock hardening. And, there is NO way he can miss it—not with the way I'm pressed so closely against him. Trying to move subtly—as if I'm just finding the most comfortable position in his bed, I move my groin away from his body. "No," a strong hand grips my hip. "Stay here," he says huskily, I swallow, hard. "Mac," I whisper. "I'm not—we don't have to—it's just because-" In the darkness, a warm pair of lips are abruptly fastened onto mine, shutting me up very effectively. I can't help the moan of relief that I make as he slides the tip of his tongue over my lips and then between them. Mac's hands move over my skin, and he pulls back to say, "Vic, try to understand something here—I wasn't trying to cut you off. I just can't think when we're together like this." "Yeah, I know what you mean," I mutter, feeling the pulse of stirring excitement throbbing through my bloodstream. "Want you, Vic," he says, the quiet desire in his voice sending a wickedly familiar flame dancing over my skin. I can feel his heart beating; he's so close against me, here in my arms. "I don't want us to just fuck, Mac. But I do want to make love with you. Maybe I can start to make it up to you a little." Careful. Dangerous ground, there. What am I thinking? But I know I have to start telling him what's going through my mind or else I won't be holding up my end of our earlier agreement—to be his friend as well as his lover. "I want-" he says huskily, then clears his throat. "I want you, Vic. Always. That's kind of scary, y'know? I've always been able to keep a certain amount of distance from my lovers... can't seem to do that with you. You just—I just... I lose myself in you." Burying his face in my shoulder, he continues in a low tone. "I love you, Vic—and I need you. Tell me again, Victor—tell me you love me, too. I want to hear you say it." I can feel a fine tremble run through his body as he asks this of me. "I do Mac—I love you and need you. I—hell, hurting you the way I did was unforgivable—but know this, I hurt myself just as much." He rolls to lie atop me and meets my eyes. "Just, please, Vic, be sure this time." "I am. I really am—so sure that we can make it this time..." He groans and lowers his head, bringing our lips into heated contact. It feels like coming home at last. Skin upon skin, his body on mine, his mouth and his warmth. "I missed you so much," I say, reverently, in between snatched breaths and his kisses. I roll him again, so that he's under me once more. Looking down into his dark eyes, I can barely make out his expression but I'm grinning now. I can't help it anymore than I can help the aching stiffness of my cock as it rests against his. "I'm gonna make love to you, Mac." "It did cross my mind that I might have to start begging," he jokes, but I can tell that he's still feeling vulnerable about accepting me back a third time. I trap his mouth beneath mine, holding him prisoner under me, holding onto his wrists and forcing his arms down by his sides. I draw up a little to say, "You don't have to beg." His answer is to buck upwards slightly, grinding himself against me and making me suck in a breath. Mac Oh, I LIKE that reaction. Almost as much as hearing him say—so very softly—that I don't have to beg. I reach up to kiss him again, trying to tell him without words—convince him through my desperate hold on him, how very much his words mean to me. I know it hasn't been all that long since we were together this way. Really, I do—but, DAMN, it seems like forever. The heat of his silky skin, his open enjoyment of my touch... I can't wait. I HAVE to come—soon. A quick twist and he's under me. I stare into his eyes—trying to tell him silently what I need tonight. He seems to understand my urgency and nods, lifting his hips to grind our erections together. The heat, and the delicious sensation of Vic against me, oh GOD—it's too sweet, and I can already feel the bubbling pleasure sweeping over me, inside me, wanting to burst out. He's gasping under me, and I'm sliding against him, feeling him move against me with equal abandon and intent. He wants this too. "Oh, god, yes," I groan, and then return to feast on his mouth. Victor's mouth is so beautiful; his lips were made for kissing. I've always felt honored to kiss him—of course, I'd NEVER tell him that. Wouldn't do for his ego to have THAT much stroking. With our mouths sealed together—and our crotches too—our legs entangled as I'm rubbing myself against him, I can feel him shaking. He isn't going to last long. Neither am I, for that matter. "Mac," he gasps. "More. Harder." His hands grip my asscheeks, encouraging me onwards. "Jesus, Vic! I can't... shit, I can't wait. Come with me. Let me feel it—GOD!" I groan as I feel that rush of impending orgasm. "Vi-ic," I moan. "Can't," "GOD! Can't hold it—can't wait... OH SHIT!" I'm shuddering and shaking as I jerk against him, feeling my climax spilling out between us onto our skin, covering Vic's lower belly—and his cock—with my seed. This seems to set him off, and with a strangled yell he comes right after I do. Oh fuck, Vic—you're so fucking beautiful like this. As I feel his spasms, that hot come shooting against me, I'll be damned if I don't actually have another orgasm. In fact, I think I may have seen the face of god. Gradually my heartbeat slows, as my breathing calms. I know my weight on him is hindering his own recovery, so I make a move to slide reluctantly to one side. "NO!" He insists, arms tightening around me and holding me in place. "Don't leave," he says huskily. "Feels good. 'S where you belong—where WE belong." We can DO this now. Have a relationship. Love each other, be friends, be partners. I really believe him this time. I have no other choice. Losing him again would be my third strike. No more chances after that... so, I'll watch him more closely—stay alert for those signs: withdrawal, that frightening silence, needing to distance himself from me—from us. I have to make him believe me—I need him and love him on all levels—as my friend, my partner and my lover. Oh, I know he believes that he believes me, but Vic's been burned too many times in the past. At least now I know, when he feels too threatened by his own emotions for me, he'll run. When that happens though, I'll be there to catch him. jennieemcg@aol.com jamiwilsen@hotmail.com

The Eraser Series originated from a challenge on a Garak/Bashir list, to write a series of stories using "Eraser" by NIN. Well, I thought about it—and decided that it was too wonderful a song to not use—and since I don't write G/B, I adapted it for OaT. Then I lured Jami on board and... well, it only took us about two weeks to write the whole thing so I 'spect you'll see that we really had fun with it! The ratings vary from PG to NC-17 throughout. Eraser NIN Need You Dream You Find You Taste You Fuck You Use You Scar You Break You (Yes, there are more lyrics... I'm ignoring them for the moment) back to top

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