Chance Encounter

By Kim G. and Linda

© July 1998

May 20, 1998

Randy: What a week it's been. Fuck that, what a month. Not necessarily what I would term my *best* month, either. In fact, save for that one weekend at the very beginning--and partially because of it--I'd have to say it was one that stands out in memory as worst. Everything went to shit after that first weekend. Another windstorm, ruining brand-new sails before I could even get the first set out to sea. Two separate experiments in the lab ruined when new lab assistants took things upon themselves they shouldn't have. The data were saved, and we have computer backups, but that wasn't the point. I think that's the first time in memory, since I've been head, that I actually chewed some ass. I kept seeing the worried looks Karen would flash me, and in my mind's eye I saw *you*. Michael. And the snotty little shit who works for you... and I'd get pissy all over again.

I spent the first week berating myself any time I was awake. What the *hell* did I think I was doing, having unprotected sex...with a man I didn't know from Adam? You were who you said you were, but that didn't mean I knew any more about you. For all I knew, you'd slept with the entire British Navy, and then moved onto the Americans. Shit. This wasn't going to get me anywhere. I'd covered this territory too many times in the last 24 days. I stared out the window, wishing for the 100th time that I could take more than just the long weekend. I needed some time alone, just me and the waves, the wind and the water. I needed to exorcise the demons that had me tight.

How many nights had I gone to bed, only to wake up, cold, missing you? I missed your company; missed the way your eyebrow rose if you doubted something, and the way your eyes darkened when you were aroused. I missed your voice saying "Caro". Or even just *Randy*. Shit. I didn't *need* this. I didn't want to miss you. At all. I also, apparently, wasn't having any say in the matter. I'm not stupid, or naive. It's not like I was head-over-heels in love with you... but the potential had been there for us to be so very, very good together--what we had in the little time we had together had been... beyond words. I snorted. I could still hear your voice tripping before saying, 'good'. Good. Yeah. Right. If we'd been any hotter that weekend, San Francisco would have burned to the ground.

To top everything off, now, on the eve of a four-day weekend, since you're a generous employer, I have a series of test equations that still haven't worked out. We've busted our asses for *weeks*... and can't make them work. So, today, in lieu of killing a fellow researcher--or still better, Crandall--I've opted to take a walk. I don't get into the park beside the compound very often, but its quiet in here, and fairly peaceful, and maybe I can exorcise you a little bit, and work the damned equations out in my head.

Michael: I swear there was a huge black cloud surrounding me as I stormed through the office; at least, everyone cleared out of my path as if they were afraid lightning would strike them, and it was entirely possible it would. I was angrier, and more frustrated than I had been in a very long time. Erich trailed behind me, wisely staying silent, trying to stuff papers into his briefcase and keep up with my long stride. Molly, my secretary, opened her mouth, then closed it abruptly as she saw my temper, and wisely became very interested in her computer screen. A wise woman, she knew when to fade into the woodwork, and this was definitely a time to become invisible. I hated thieves, and I hated betrayal, and this was both. I'd long suspected something was amiss, and Erich had finally gathered enough information that Wilson's embezzlement schemes were brought to light. It had cut surprisingly sharply, to find out my suspicions had been well-founded; I'd brought Wilson up from the ranks myself, groomed him, given him opportunity to be of value to both himself and the company, and repays me by cheating me. It was a keen, sharp betrayal, and I was furious. He was on his way to jail now, and I was left with the task of cleaning up the mess he'd left. At that moment, I was very glad of Erich's somewhat paranoid suspicions about everyone--though I'd lost a small fortune, most of it was recoverable. When I reached my door, Erich veered off to go to his own office after an unreadable blue glance in my direction.

Things had not been easy between us since the fiasco back at the apartment; that Monday when I confronted him about his inappropriate behavior, I'm sure Molly thought my office was at ground zero of a nuclear blast. Erich's never been afraid of my temper, never been shy to give his opinion, and I've valued that about him, but he'd overstepped the line that time. After heated words had passed between us, we'd had a cooling off period, and things had stabilized again, though not with the ease of before. It didn't help that I'd been feeling...unsettled. Restless. My bed felt cold and empty, my apartment too quiet. I'd not realized how quiet it had been, how...lonely. It had taken three weeks to admit to loneliness, to admit to myself that the touch of my hand was not the same as the touch of another. To admit I wanted to be with someone, that my hands almost itched to caress soft, warm flesh. I'd not realized how much I'd missed it until I'd had you, willing and hungry, in my bed. Well, if that was all it was, merely a physical need, I could assuage that, I reasoned.

I'd rung up Catherine last week and asked her to dinner and to stay over. She'd been pleased to hear from me, and dinner was pleasant enough. But when I took her to my bed, covering her soft, pliant body with my own, it hadn't been enough. I didn't want curves, I wanted angularity. I wanted strength, I wanted a deep voice, a strong, knowing hand, the taste of semen on my tongue. And though I made her feel good, and gained my own release it was still vaguely unsatisfying. I lay there, stroking her soft skin, wishing her body was bigger, broader, stronger, wishing her hair was short and shiny, wishing that her voice was as dark and sweet as molasses. Wishing that...she was someone else. That memory wound my frustration tighter, and it was only by sheer force of will I didn't slam the door, didn't make a scene. I paced in my office for a moment, then decided I needed to burn off the anger, the frustration before it consumed me, and the best way I knew to do that was to run. I could go down to the corporate gym and run the track, but I wanted *out* of this building, away from everything. I knew there was a park not far from the campus, and as it was a beautiful, sunny day, it seemed perfect. I changed into sweats and trainers, told Molly where I'd be, and headed outside to breathe fresh air to vent frustration.

Randy: I'd walked for almost an hour before I gave up on the equations. I don't even deserve my job right now; what kind of researcher lets himself be pulled so far off track by thoughts and memories of someone else? That was part of the problem--when I could be grown up enough to admit it. I couldn't concentrate on my work--and it was irritating the hell out of me. I've never had this problem before; I didn't know what to do about it, and it wouldn't stop. I decided to quit while I was ahead, before I ended up reinventing the Ebola virus in some weird, new form, rather than the latest in a process of medications meant to control--or ward off the potential for--strokes. Instead I worked on the list in my head of what I needed to stock the boat. I was going to go. I would take off an extra day.... I was gonna go as far as the winds would take me for two days, then turn around. No thoughts of work, no thoughts of all that had gone wrong, all that I missed, all that could have been... No thoughts of you. I'm still not sure what made me glance up at just that last minute, but it was only enough to see piercing, startling gray eyes--not enough to move away before our bodies collided. "Michael!"

Michael: I'd been running almost half an hour, enough to feel looser, freer, warm and slightly winded, most of the anger burned away by the simple, mindless rhythm of running. Off to my left, on another path, I glimpsed broad shoulders and short black hair, and turned my head, thinking it might be you. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement, someone stepping into the path directly in my way. Unable to stop, or to veer quickly enough, I found myself slamming into a tall, muscular body with enough force to send us both crashing to the ground in a tangle of arms and limbs, half on the path, half on the grass. Strong hands grasped my shoulders, and as I pushed up from the ground and the hard body beneath mine, I looked down into eyes as green as emeralds, wide and startled. "Ohmigod...Randy!"

Randy: I can't stop the feeling that I've been hit by a train. Or a bus. Or just the force of something hard, right between my eyes. To have you so close again--is about like walking the fine line between heaven and hell. Heaven because you're here, hell because I can't have you. Can I? I grin, feeling it come out a little crookedly.

"Hey, Dar-- Michael." I let my eyes wander over you, surprised by how instantly you affect me. Its like I can feel the knots inside me loosen at the same time different knots tighten. Not one cell of me has forgotten how you felt against me...and the sudden reminder of that makes me shift a little. Not an erection, just memories. But the two haven't been far apart lately, and it's been a long three weeks. I watch you sit back, catching your breath, and grin again. "What're you doin' out here? How're you doin'?"

Michael: It had taken every ounce of will I possessed to push off you and sit back, when all I wanted to do was to feel you beneath me again. The strength of that need startled me enough to move away, not quite scrambling in my haste, before I did something stupid, like rub against you just to feel your heat. I sat on the grass, pushed the hair off my forehead, and wiped my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, just gathering time to regain control of myself. I managed to smile at you, friendly instead of wolfish before I answered.

"I'm fine, other than apparently needing glasses. Are you all right?"

Randy: I snort good-naturedly, and lean over to pick some grass off your knee. "It'd take more than you knocking into me to do harm, darlin'." Shit. Out before I can take it back. GodDAMN, it's so easy between us. I can feel the energies just flowing, back and forth. The memory of goodbye can still take my breath away, because it was so tense, so not what we'd had. "As far as glasses... "I set my finger behind my ear and wiggle mine briefly. "Fat lotta good they did, hmm?"

Michael: I laugh at the bit of silliness; I can't help it. You look...wonderful. Delicious. Absolutely edible. I thought perhaps I'd made you more handsome in my fantasies, that I'd made your body more perfect than I remembered. Wrong. I'd not exaggerated, or embellished one bit. Your eyes were still that sparkling shade of green, bright and intelligent, full of wit and humor, and your mouth...god, still the subject of many a heated dream. If I'd thought I'd forgotten you, that your hold on me had lessened in a month, I was wrong. In an instant, the desire came flooding back--not only for your body, but for your company, for the sound of your laughter. It was exhilarating, and frightening all at once, tingling along my body like an electrical shock. I grinned, and climbed to my feet, offering a hand to help you up. Your hand enclosed mine, broad and callused, and the frisson of desire only grew stronger, snaking down my spine as I pulled you to your feet. You were suddenly very close, and for a moment, I thought you were leaning in to kiss me, but you pulled away, instead. I tried to tell myself that it wasn't a keen sense of disappointment I felt, but knew myself well enough to know it was a lie.

"You look...very..." I swallowed, my throat dry. "It's good to see you, Randy."

Randy: Your hand is still in mine. Or mine in yours. Something. I glance around, even though I know we're the only two right around here. I think this park technically belongs to the compound--it doesn't ever seem very crowded. Your eyes flashed when I moved back, and there's a very large part of me that nearly screamed with joy. Do you know your fingers are rubbing against mine? Have you had the same total, complete lack of *something* in your life for the last three weeks or so? Did you miss my sounds of pleasure like I missed yours? Like I missed pleasuring you... I want to tell you how bad I ached--physically, emotionally, mentally, when I went home that day. It's good to see me. I shake my head once, a grin tugging at my lips. I let my thumb slide over your palm in a slow caress.

"S'good to see you, too, Michael." I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should open this much of me up to you--I have no idea...*none*, how you feel, how you felt, if you sense this connection, too. "I--missed you."

Michael: "Did you?" Did you ache for me as much as I ached for you? Did you thrash and moan, picturing me as you came by your own hand, as I did you? I lean in closer, and your scent, clean, fresh, healthy male animal comes to me, and I inhale deeply, the smell making my body tingle.

Randy: "Yeah." Your nostrils flare when you lean in, and my stomach jerks and tightens when your eyes darken. I nod, and take a step closer. I want to kiss you; I want to feel you kissing me... I want... You. I swallow, shifting fractionally closer. "I did." Oh, god. Thunderclouds in your eyes again. I have imprinted on my brain what your eyes looked like, sitting across from me in a booth, your foot stroking me. Telling me later I wouldn't remember what walking felt like for a while. I whisper very softly, "It took three days before I didn't ache at least a little bit when I walked."

Unspoken...I want it again. I decide to take the opportunity while its here--its not like I have you to lose, if you decide you don't want me, right? I lean all the way in to your personal space and brush my mouth over yours.

Michael: Before I realize I'm even moving, I'm tugging you off the path and into the small cover of trees. It's almost as if I'm mesmerized by you, as though conscious mind has given over to the needs of the body. Eyes wide, you follow wordlessly until we're out of immediate sight of the path. It's only a couple of steps; I can still see the path, hear if anyone approaches. I pull you behind a big old oak tree, and press you against the trunk. For an instant, I'm aware of the way the sunlight ripples through the leaves, leaving little coins of golden sunlight scattered over you, the way the cool breeze ruffles your hair, then my hand spreads on your shirt, over your rapidly rising and falling chest, and I'm leaning in, closer and closer, until my mouth touches yours. You meet me eagerly, lips parting, and when they touch, it's as if a switch clicked on within me, and I was flooded with heat and light.

Randy: God, it's like a revelation, when your mouth touches mine--how much I'd missed you. I was aware of it, but had shoved down to the deepest part of me in order to ignore, avoid it, anything. I can't ignore this, though, and slide my hands up over your chest to wind around your neck, pulling you closer against me. Tight against me. I want to feel you...feel what I've missed for the last three weeks. Again, I have to ask myself, is it *you* I missed, or just the touch, the closeness of someone. I flash briefly on all the lonely one-nighters, and the times I'd picked up--or been picked up by--someone, only to find after the first few minutes there was nothing there. We had something the minute our eyes met. Something I'd like to have more of. I can hear the soft groan from my throat when your tongue strokes over mine, and I thread my fingers through your hair, wanting you as close against me as I can get you.

Michael: Hard, muscular angularity, strong smooth body. This was what I wanted, what I craved, and my own body leaps in response. Before I realize it, before I can help it, the kiss goes hungry, needy, hot, all consuming passion and rough desire. When your arms go around my neck, pulling me tight, close, I want to rejoice at the sense of *rightness* this makes me feel, the sense of how this is what I truly wanted. Anything I'd felt with Catherine fades into insignificance under the onslaught of sheer raw passion that passes from you to me.

Randy: Scary, in a way, that one kiss could set off a reaction like that. Okay--so the memories of you are controllable, to a degree; I don't think I've popped a boner over them in at least a few days, anyway. Having the living, breathing, *alive* you in my arms is something else altogether, and I have to remind myself that we're in public--very in public--before I give in to the urge to grind myself against you. We're too close to the compound. I back off from you, though not by much. Just a separation of lips, really, resting my forehead against yours. We're at the same height right now, with you in jogging shoes, and me in my boots, and I can see your eyes--god, it makes my stomach tight. Beautiful, hot eyes. I take a deep breath, trying to remember that I'm supposed to be able to control myself. I stroke my fingers through your hair, brushing it from your forehead. My voice is low, gritty, almost a whisper. "Beautiful man... Missed the hell out of you, darlin'."

Michael: I pull back fractionally further; I'm afraid if I don't, I'll do something very foolish. More foolish than this. Your mouth is wet, and I rub my thumb over it slowly, outlining its fullness; I'd had dreams of what this mouth could do for me... I snap out of the sensual haze with a shudder, focusing on you. "I kept thinking that maybe I'd just...imagined how good it was...how much I'd missed hearing you laugh, talking with you...how you felt..."

Randy: I feel a strange lightness move through me, like a weight just lifted, and a smile curves my mouth. I kiss your thumb, flicking my tongue over the tip, before answering.

"Maybe you did...but I felt it too... I don't think we're both losing our minds collectively." My fingers ache to pull you closer, for the sheer, sensuality of touching you, but I know that's not a good idea. Not here...not now. I consider my--our--options, feeling that familiar, incredible tingle when I think about it as "our". "Wanna have dinner? Tomorrow, if tonight isn't good for you...?"

Michael: I have nothing planned for tonight, and even if I had, it had no chance of competing with the opportunity to see you. The vibe is so right, so perfect between us, that I damn myself for not giving in and calling you before now. Right now, breathing in your scent, touching you, I can't remember why I thought it so important to be away from you. "Tonight. I'd like to see you tonight...wherever you wish."

Randy: God, I can't believe I didn't do this weeks ago. Its still scary--though I'm not entirely willing to admit that, and though I have a good inkling of *why*, I'm not going to go there just now. I stroke one finger down your face and over your lips, grinning when you mimic me, and kiss the tip.

"Dinner...I know a good place..." I grin at the skeptical expression on your face then. "C'mon, Michael--you *liked* where we ate. I didn't hear any complaints out of you at the time. Although..." I frown, thinking of where I'd like to take you. "They're usually booked early in the day... " I shift and lean in to kiss your ear, whispering low. "Come back to my place with me? I'll feed you there. We can order in, or something... "

Michael: "Or something..." I find myself smiling, really smiling, for the first time in weeks. I don't want to think about why I never called, about...anything. All I want to do at the moment is to be with you. "Tell me where, tell me when..."

Randy: "Here." I reach into the pocket of my labcoat, and pull out the small notebook and pen I keep there, always. It only takes me a minute to scribble my address, and quick directions to my apartment. "Are you done working?" I quirk an eyebrow at your sweats. "Can you come over--now?"

Michael: I glance down at the address, and though I don't drive myself very often, I know I can find it easily. "Certainly. I can be there in about an hour, if that works for you."

Randy: I feel my grin growing. "An hour works for me, darlin'. I was heading back to go home now, as it stands." I can't stop the heat that moves through me anymore than I can stop the nervous tightening in my belly. What am I doing? Three weeks ago I couldn't get away fast enough...and bits of that linger. You...could be dangerous to me. I haven't wanted anyone so much, so fast, so intensely...ever, I don't think. I swallow once again. "C'mon over, Michael."

Michael: I let my hand run over the broad width of shoulder, a light caress that still allows me to feel the heat, the coiled tension of your body. Don't think, don't analyze...just go with how right it feels. Leaning in again, I give you a kiss, just a light brushing of my mouth over yours that still leaves a sweet tingle. "I'll be there before you know it."

Randy: "I'll know each minute that passes, Michael. But I'll see you soon." I lick my lips and reach out for one hand to squeeze, my fingers stroking yours lightly for a minute. "Wanna walk back to the compound with me? Or are you going to jog some more?"

Michael: "I think I'm finished for the day--it was just to burn off some excess energy." I can think of many more pleasurable ways to expend energy, and I almost bite my tongue in half to keep from saying that. "I'll walk back with you." I give your denim-clad hip a gentle squeeze before turning out of the copse of trees and back onto the walking path. "Y'know, when I ran into you, it was because I wasn't paying heed to where I was going--I thought I spied you on one of the other paths." I can't help the laugh that bubbles up from within me.

Randy: I give you a grin. "Burning off energy, huh? I can get behind that. It was either get out, or kill someone, today." I let you walk past me for a minute, taking the opportunity to admire your ass before catching up to you. "I've--spent quite a bit of time watching other paths too, lately. Guess I was doing the same thing. Trying to see if I saw you somewhere."

Michael: We're both idiots, I think, though I don't voice the thought aloud. We walk companionably along the path back to the main campus. Your mouth is still a little swollen from the fierce kiss we shared, and I'm sure mine is also. I want more...much more, and if I interpret the sidelong glances you give me correctly, you feel the same. I can feel the excitement rising, bubbling in my blood. It's all I can do to make casual small talk as we walk toward the main buildings, but I manage to do it for the sake of propriety. We part at the doorway to the research building, and part, with hot, promising looks.

**********

Randy: I don't think I'm five minutes onto the freeway when the worst case of nerves that I've had in forever hits me. What am I doing? Why am I doing this? Then again--why not? I want to see you again. There, I was man enough to admit it. I want to see if that powerful attraction that I felt all weekend long, and then again just now, is something that could be sustained for...a while. Long-term? I have no idea. I don't know if that's what I want...or if its something you'd be interested in. I think both of us knew the attraction was there that weekend--and it spooked us. We were too comfortable, too fast. But I'm not altogether sure that "slow and easy" is something we can do, either. I clench my hands around the steering wheel, mentally wandering through my apartment, looking at what needs to be picked up. It's never *dirty*--I'm simply not there enough for it to get that way. It's been awfully lonely these so many weeks, and I'm looking forward to the company of having you there tonight. Tonight? Did we state all night? Or am I making an assumption, and you're just coming over for a little while. I don't know--you gave me enough glances while we were in the park that I think you're as hungry for me as I am for you. I hit the steering wheel once with my fist. Shit. Shitshitshit. I don't want to be vulnerable--and it feels like, with you, I am. I sigh and try to focus my attention on the road; I'd just as soon not wreck while thinking about this.

Michael: As much as I wanted to see you, I didn't want to appear at your door smelling of sweat, so I had Miles take me directly home. I showered, and changed in record time, I think. Loose khakis and a dark green sweater, loafers. I didn't really have much in the way of casual clothing, as I was generally at home in sweats, or at work in suits. Anticipation jittered within me; I was both looking forward to this, and also dreading it. I'd missed you, more than I cared to examine. Although I could tell myself it was just the great sex I missed, I knew that was only a partial truth. I'd tried to be noble, to take the high road, I had to admit that I wanted you more than I wanted to be generous. I knew I wasn't ready for any kind of relationship, and perhaps, neither were you. Maybe we could keep this strictly on a physical plane that didn't threaten that little voice inside my head that gibbered in fear at the very thought of it. Maybe. I knew it was a selfish thought, but I'd spent too many years building up those protective walls just to banish them the first time I found someone terribly attractive. And there was no denying I found you attractive. Even the lovely Catherine had not been a distraction or a consolation to me. I rubbed my forehead. Too much thinking about things that might or might not be. Grabbing the keys to the Mercedes, and a leather jacket, I resolutely headed down to the garage, and into whatever might occur.

Randy: I glanced at my watch when I pulled into my parking spot; just past 6:30. You probably won't be here for at least another 15 or 20 minutes, which gives me time to change into sweats and pick the place up. Are the sheets clean? I have to laugh at that one--talk about supreme arrogance! That thought--and the laughter--keep me occupied in the ride up the elevator and the walk down the hallway. The place isn't as bad as I was afraid it might be, and I shrug, deciding to leave it. I'm not going to put on airs for you--if you don't like it, well, I can't change who I am. Tidy is one thing; spotless is something else, and not me. I change quickly, watching the clock. I can't decide if it feels like the hands are coated in honey, or extra-slick, because depending on which minute it is, it seems like both. I think I'm going to be sick to my stomach--and that would be nifty, wouldn't it. I shake my head and pour a glass of juice, wondering why I thought it was a good idea to suggest this.

Michael: I like the neighborhood; nice, but not pretentious. I spot your big red truck immediately, and pull into the lot beside it. The building is about five stories, and you'd told me you lived on the fifth floor. I stand beside my car for a moment, and draw a deep breath and let it out to calm myself. I'm not certain why I feel nervous; it's not like we didn't spend time together, or do the most incredible things together. Perhaps that's what it is...I *know* how good we were together, and it's...unnerving. I've never connected with someone so quickly, or so completely. Shaking my head, I enter the building and take the elevator to the fifth floor, jingling my keys until I realize what I'm doing and stuff them firmly in my pocket.

Randy: I find myself pacing back and forth across the living room, trying not to give in to the nerves that are attacking me. I feel--oddly like a high school kid, going out on his first date. Anticipation is high, among other things. I can't stop my memories of how good that weekend was...and how I'd like to keep that going. Not have to...Shit. I don't want a relationship. Physical. We'll keep this physical. Nothing expected, no room to get hurt. Just a mutual pleasuring, and keeping loneliness at bay. I nod to myself, glad to decide on something, and sit down on one of the stools to wait for you.

Michael: In a moment, I'm standing before 522. Plain brown door, no different from any of the others I passed getting here. I shift from one foot to the other, then knock firmly. A moment, and I hear rustling, and the door opens. I can't help the smile that curves my mouth at the sight of you. Tee-shirt, sweatshorts, bare feet, with those long, strong legs. Wonderful. For a second, you hesitate, then that gigawatt smile flashes, and I'm warmed. Most of the nervousness slips away from me, and I can relax again. "Hello, Caro.... "

Randy: And there you are. Face-to-face, in private, on purpose. No chance meeting in a park. Just like in the park, it strikes me again, God, you're beautiful...your eyes, so dark, so deep. Holding so much. Long, lean, you're graceful; so masculine, so intense. I swallow hard, most of my nervousness morphing into something else my body tingling with electrical currents. "Michael...c'mon in, darlin'. Did you have any trouble finding it?"

Michael: "No...no problem at all." I step a little into your personal space, press a quick kiss to your mouth, and give a squeeze to your waist. "I'm glad you invited me here. I've...missed you."

Randy: I pull you the rest of the way in and shut the door firmly; no point in giving the neighbors anything else to talk about. I think it surprises you when I push you back against the door then, my mouth coming down on yours. I hear a grunt, then you're opening for me, and god you taste so good. It's enough to totally erase why I was so nervous. Well, almost. It *does* bring other things to the fore, at the very least. I pull off of your mouth and kiss up your jaw to your ear to whisper huskily. "*This* is how I wanted to kiss you in the park, darlin'. I missed you, Michael. Missed you...a lot."

Michael: You're warm and hard and substantial, pressing me into the door, arms strong about me. This is what I wanted, needed. I wrap my arms around you and pull you in tightly, until there's not a centimeter of space separating us. I can feel your erection firming against my hip; no doubt about your feelings, at any rate. I want more, and raise one hand to the back of your neck to pull you in again, to taste your mouth; the other slides down, to wrap around one asscheek and tug you even closer. When I finally come up for air again, I'm as erect as you are, dizzy with your closeness, the musky scent of your arousal. I nip at your long neck, then kiss my way up to your ear; I can feel you shudder.

"I'm glad you missed me, glad you invited me, glad you wanted to kiss me like that."

Randy: "Kissing you's about the least of what I wanted--*want*--to do, darlin'." I arch my neck, tilting my head back for you, for ease of exploration. I can't believe it. I just can't believe that five minutes with you can have this affect on me. But why shouldn't I believe it? I spent an entire weekend with you, only non-aroused with I was sound asleep. I slide one hand down your chest to touch your erection briefly before leaning back. "Hungry? For food, I mean?" I give you a wicked grin.

Michael: I make my hands release you, and take a deep breath. Control. We have all night--I don't have to rush you into bed to prevent you from changing your mind...I know you want me, and the quick touch of your hand assures you I want you just as much. We have time to move more slowly, and it would be much better for both of us if we did. I smile back, and relax a little. "Starving. For everything."

Randy: "Good. I plan on feeding--everything. All appetites." I can see the tension bleed out of you about the same time I feel myself relax. I like this--the suggestive banter, more relaxed. I haven't felt this at ease since...the last time I was with you. This is good--slow down, take it easy. It's hard for us, for some reason, and I don't want it to be. I want us to be comfortable...to not feel...odd. I gesture with my head as I back up from you. "C'mon in. Me casa es su casa. Want something to drink? Juice, water, tea?"

Michael: I drop my jacket over a comfortable-looking chair, and follow you into the kitchen area. "I wouldn't mind some iced tea, if you have it. Mind giving me the grand tour?"

Randy: "Nah--be glad to. Let me have your coat." I hang your jacket in the front closet, then gesture you further into the apartment. "It wasn't the area I had in mind at first, but it's grown on me."

Its been home for nearly five years now; its comfortable; done up in a lot of browns and blues, with pine as the wood. I lead you through, pointing out the kitchen/eating area; the master bedroom and bath; the smaller bedroom that I've made into an office, with a connecting half-bath that also opens into the living room, and the living area, with small brick fireplace on one wall, and large picture window facing outward--as you know--to the Bay. We end back in the living room/dining area, and I head to the kitchen for your tea. "What sounds good for dinner? I haven't been to the store for a while, so I'm low on groceries, but I can do stir-fry...sandwiches...?"

Michael: "Sandwiches are fine--I'm not a particularly fussy eater--Clara, who cooks for the family, made certain of that." I wander around a bit, not really wanting to appear nosy, but trying to get a sense of you from your environment. "You have books everywhere." And you do, stacked here and there, the bookshelves either side of the fireplace stuffed full to overflowing. I pick up one to leaf through it, and words of twenty-seven syllables make my eyes blur.

Randy: "Sandwiches it is, then." I shake my head at the expression on your face, and laugh. "Darlin', these aren't even all of them--I have books in storage, too. I don't have the need to have all of them out any more, but I still have them. Can't bear to part with them, I guess. Just call me a bibliophile."

Michael: I let the book close, and replace it on the table amongst the others, before wandering over to the stereo. It's a very good setup--quality. I flip through your CD collection absently. A lot of country, some classicals, some top forty. No jazz, or blues, unfortunately, but I give a mental shrug. I flick a glance back in your direction, and smile. "Mind if I put on some music? As much as you love books, I love music."

Randy: I flash you a grin from where I'm slicing cheese and bread. You do *not* look like a country kind of guy; you tolerated it in the truck that weekend, but I feel pretty certain its not your first choice. "Help yourself. You want anything else with the sandwiches? I have some fruit...maybe some pasta salad in here."

Michael: "If you have an apple, I'd be grateful. Hmm. What kind of music..." I pick out a Bach CD, and then an assortment of people I've never heard of, and hope the choices are good as I load them into the player and cue it up before following you into the kitchen. "Random choice on the music."

Randy: It doesn't take very long to throw together some sandwiches and fruit; before long I'm setting plates on the counter. "What kind of music do you like? I can't quite picture you out on the floor in boots and 10-gallon, doin' the Tush-Push. C'mon over, it's ready."

Michael: I blink. "The tush-push?" You glance up at my bewildered tone, then laugh. "No, never mind. I was raised with classical, and opera, though we did have a wide variety to choose from. And with as many brothers and sisters as I have, we had a major bit of an orchestra when we played together." Bach fills the air with sweetness, I hitch myself up onto the breakfast bar and grin, kicking my feet a little.

Randy: The first strains of Bach fill the air, and I grin as I come around the corner from the kitchen. The one classical I have.

"How many? Brothers and sisters, I mean. Are y'all musically inclined?" I realize how little about each other we really know; yes, we spent time talking that weekend, but we spent a lot of time in bed together, too, thrashing about in the most incredible way. It occurs to me I really *don't* know you, and find that little thought about the British Navy tripping delightedly through my brain.

Michael: "Five. We're a musical group. With hands like these..." I hold up both hands, and spread my long fingers wide "...it would be a shame if I didn't play. I play the cello, while Lizzie plays the viola. Simon plays the piano, and Jaimie plays the clarinet. Sarah plays violin. We can all switch, to some degree, though I've not much talent with the clarinet. Mother plays the piano, and several other instruments. We played together frequently, when she could manage to drag us in from the stables." I smile in reminiscence. "A rather large family." I dip the knife into the mayonnaise and spread it over the bread, then pile roast beef and tomatoes on it. Now that I have food before me, I realize I'm starving, and am grateful you insisted upon eating.

Randy: I'm counting off on in my head as you list sibs and instruments, and shake my head in amazement. "There're five of you altogether. Man...your mother had her hands full, didn't she?" It occurs to me as I say that, that had my mother not lost the babies she had, I'd likely have had that many siblings as well. I raise an eyebrow. "I played a little piano for a while...but it wasn't my thing. And I like your hands. They're very talented hands." I give you a sly wink and a grin. "I can imagine you playing the cello fairly easily, actually."

Michael: I shrug, a careless lift of one shoulder. "I play well enough, but not brilliantly, certainly not well enough for anything but my own pleasure. My parents always made certain we had things to occupy us...we rode almost daily, and in school, I was on the swimming team, track, and the equestrian team. Simon chose rugby...he's the type that likes to bash others, anyway." I look down in surprise, and discover I've devoured two sandwiches. I was much hungrier than I'd thought. I start in on the apple slices on my plate. "So what about you? You tell me you play the piano, and I know you like to sail and swim. What else does Randy Taylor do in his spare time?"

Randy: I blink at you, then manage a deadpan expression. "Spare time? What the hell is *that*?" I shake my head and smile. "You also know I like to walk--like hiking-types. That's actually how I learned my way around San Fran. I like to ride horseback, though I'm not very good at it...and of course, I like to read. Murder mysteries, when it's not scientific journals." I pause, considering. "I like school--studying and teaching, both. I teach Intro to Biology at the community college sometimes--night classes." I gesture to your empty plate. "Another sandwich? Something else?"

Michael: "Um..." I peer over at your plate, as empty as mine. "No, I think not. But thank you." I take a sip of my iced tea. "Murder mysteries, eh? They're probably no challenge for you, as brilliant as you are. Child's play."

Randy: I grin at you. "Thanks. It depends on what's going on. I'm a good detective in my *field*--I can do a mystery with biogenetic material...but I dunno." I shake my head. "I think it takes a special person to be a detective." I grin and rub your calf with my toes. "I like Tom Clancy novels too."

Michael: "With everything you do, I'm surprised you even have time to pick up any reading material for pleasure. I have a couple of books in progress...biographies, that I keep at my bedside for the times I find it difficult to fall asleep." I don't add that I've gone through several books in the past month rather than lie sleeplessly in bed. I push my plate away, and prop my chin in my hand, turning my tea glass in circles on the counter with the other.

Randy: I head into the kitchen to make short work of the clean-up there. "I'm a night person. I tend to read at night--a lot. Lay in bed, with books and notepad... before I had a real job that I had to get up at an obscenely early hour for, that. Still..." I lean over and stroke your hand before lifting it and the tea glass to wipe the counter. "Most night...you'll generally find me up still, come three a.m. I've perfected getting ready in a hurry."

Michael: "Perhaps...I can guarantee a good night's sleep tonight?" I snag the hand industriously wiping the counter, and pull you closer. You lean forward without hesitation, tilting your face to receive my kiss. "And an...invigorating wake-up call...."

Randy: I smile against your mouth, then lick your lips before pulling back. "Now *that*..." The dishrag lands in the sink with one toss and I turn back to face you. "...sounds like an offer I'd have to be an idiot to refuse." I lean over and give you another quick kiss before pulling back entirely to leave the kitchen. I settle back on the bar stool next to you, letting one foot stroke slowly up and down your leg. I shake my head once, in caution. "I'm not a very pleasant person in the morning, Michael. You've seen me at my best, as far as that goes." I realize with a mixture of delight and unease that we've both assumed you're staying the night. I glance up from my study of our feet tangling. "You gonna stay the night, then?"

Michael: "Unless you'd rather I didn't, I'd like to do that." I shouldn't have assumed that I would, but self-doubt has never been one of my faults, and after the reception you gave me, the thought you might not want me here all night never once crossed my mind. I smile at you, and reach forward to run my finger over your forearm. "But if I do stay, I can promise you won't regret it."

Randy: "I know I won't." I blink--when did my voice get so deep? I shift forward a little bit, settling one hand on your arm, shivering a little when you increase the area you're stroking. Gooseflesh. Used to be I only got it when I was cold; around you, it's a constant. Your eyes are darker again; involuntarily my gaze is pulled downward, toward your groin. I know I never fully softened; anticipation of tonight, of later, of everything, I guess. I'm not disappointed; you're not fully erect, but I can see the definite signs of arousal there. I have to laugh then. "We're a pair of idiots, you know that, right? All I had to do at the onset was say, 'Michael--wanna come over, spend the night'. But no, I have to make both of us guess about it." I shift to the edge of my bar stool and settle my free hand on your thigh. "I'm glad you're gonna stay, darlin'. There's nothing I'd like better."

Michael: "I'll make you feel good, Caro, give you pleasure."

I toe off my loafers, and slide off the stool to pull you closer. The Bach ends, and something slow comes on--Patsy Cline's Crazy--that one I did recognize when I chose it. I slip my arms around your waist, and move us into a slow, swaying dance, pressed close to you, your arms sliding up around my neck. I can't help but nuzzle against your throat; you smell so good.

Randy: "Ahhh...yeah. You do, darlin'. You make me feel real good." I slip my fingers through your hair, stroking the short hairs at the nape of your neck, tugging on the longer hair over it. You let out a low, soft groan, and I smile. Your mouth teasing at my neck feels good, gentle, sucking kisses that do nothing but arouse me. I'm trying to remember now why I was apprehensive... but you're like a mind-numbing drug. A drug I could easily get addicted to. I shift into you, swaying in time with the music, singing softly into your ear. "Crazy...I'm crazy over you..."

Michael: I smile and relax , and press my cheek to yours, humming softly. It's not really dancing, as we don't move much, but I like it, anyway. I love having your strong body against mine, feeling the flex of your thighs against mine, and the beat of your heart against my own. Your tee-shirt has hitched up behind, and I slip my hands beneath, to glide slowly over your smooth, muscled back. So warm. "I like this...."

Randy: I shift my head a little and press my lips against your ear, smiling. "Oh, yeah...this is good. This is very good." I let my lips move downward, tiny, soft kisses sprinkled over your neck before I turn my head back, letting my fingers burrow deeper into your hair, rubbing and massaging your neck. I lick over your ear, my teeth grabbing gently to the edge. "I like touching you..."

Michael: I hear myself make a low, contented sound as you kiss and stroke my neck; it's always been sensitive. A little shiver works through me, delicious. So much of our lovemaking had been rough and tumble, almost frantic, and this slowness, this petting, fulfills a need I'd forgotten I had. "Hmm. I like that too...feels good."

Randy: "Mmhmm." I give a little growl in your ear, my voice hot and teasing. "Makes me hungry." I press a little closer to you, feeling you growing firmer, sparking the tingles that were slowly coalescing inside me. I turn my head again, letting my lips smooth up and down your neck, tugging gently on your hair to tilt your head back. I circle your Adam's Apple with my tongue, then suck on it gently, smiling when your shivers increase and you moan softly. That low, needy sound makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and I increase my sucking, teasing at the prominent bump with my tongue before moving downward a little and nipping lightly at the tender flesh just above the hollow of your throat. The weekend we spent together was incredible, but so much of it rushed and frantic. This...this slow buildup, the slow, stroking touches, the caressing...the careful build of arousal; my body drinks that in as sustenance.

Michael: We've practically stopped moving, except for the slow sway against one another. Your hand in my hair, tugging my head back to suck at my throat, is very exciting, and I can't hold back the sounds that come from me. I tip my head to the side, to offer you more. When I feel the gentle scrape of teeth, barely scoring the skin, followed quickly by the soothing lick of your warm tongue, it makes me shudder hard, and press closer, my erection growing firm and hot against your hip.

"I believe...I'd like to move this to a more comfortable place..." I lose any power of speech as your mouth moves up, to suck on my earlobe, before slipping your tongue into my ear.

Randy: I tease the sensitive channel of your ear canal with my tongue, then pull back enough to whisper. "Wanna make out on the couch, Michael?" I can't contain the surge of heat that coils through me when I ask you that; apparently you feel the same way, because I feel your erection throb against me. My belly tightens--anticipation, arousal, need. I rub myself against you, chest to chest, groin to groin, moaning softly into your ear when your cock throbs again. I swear I can feel the heat from it--two thin layers of sweats material isn't much of a barrier. I wiggle my tongue in your ear again, then nip the lobe when I whisper. "It's comfortable... close..."

Michael: My eyes half-closed in pleasure, I let my hands drop down to caress and knead your firm, muscular ass. I can feel you hard against me, pushing aggressively into my belly, firm, thick, hot, and my body responds, remembering how you felt, how you looked, how you tasted, how you sounded. I breathe out a long sigh, and shift, so I can rub against you better. "You don't have to ask me again, Caro. The couch it is."

Randy: I steer us slowly toward the couch, a huge monstrosity of a piece of furniture. It has two ottomans that push up against it, and until now I'd never realized how useful those could be. A little extra room to stretch out. I maneuver us so that I can sit down, pulling you with me, on top of me. I give a low groan, and hear you echo it, when our bodies press close against each other. You don't try to shift off me; you know I can take your weight and then some, and you feel *so* good, warm and heavy on top of me. I nuzzle your ear, then move down, licking and sucking at your neck, scoring my teeth over that spot just below your jaw that has a direct conduit to your cock. "Love feelin' you so hard, Michael... rub against me, darlin'. Let me feel you."

Michael: "You make me hard...and hot...and so hungry...." Your hands have burrowed beneath my sweater, and I can feel your fingers running over my skin, leaving burning trails. I twist a little, and lay a line of kisses from your ear to your soft, full mouth, and you open eagerly for me, meeting the probe of my tongue with your own. Your mouth is so hot, I feel as if I'm being burned alive, and I welcome it. Both hands thread through your hair and hold you tightly while I explore the depths of your mouth. Of it's own volition, my hips rock against yours, seeking the heat of your cock, the pressure, the rub that feels so good.

Randy: I succeed in getting my hands all the way under your shirt, and splay them across your back, stroking and rubbing the hot skin there. Your erection is pressing insistently against me, and I can feel the beat of your pulse throbbing in time with mine. Wonderful, so wonderful. I want more; want this to last, and last, and last. I want to tease you and be teased until we're both ready to explode. I wiggle a little under you and slide my hands down to cup and stroke your ass, loving the feel of you in my hands.

Michael: I make a sound of pleasure deep in my throat, and push back against the stroke of your hands. You have big hands, strong hands, very capable, and they can touch me with the greatest delicacy, or hold me tightly with their strength. I release your mouth, only to give you quick, soft kisses on it, to nibble at it, to suck on your lower lip, soft and succulent. I shift a little to suck and nibble on the soft skin beneath your chin, a tender, often-forgotten place. I can feel your hips rock gently against me, and your erection is strong and firm against mine. I lean a little of my weight onto one elbow to free a hand so I can run it over your chest, feeling the muscles tense and flex beneath your tee-shirt. So strong, so firm; it's a definite trigger for me, to know that you're so much stronger than I.

Randy: You circle one of my nipples with your fingers, coaxing it into budding fully, and I shiver with the resultant sensation of it rubbing against my T-shirt. I slide one hand beneath your slacks, stroking your skin with just the thin layer of cotton boxers now between me and you. I turn my head and whisper against your neck, my voice low and hoarse.

"I love to touch you. I love the way your skin feels...so hot, so firm...and god, when your fingers touch me..." I draw in a hissing breath when you pinch my nipple gently "...oh...yeah...like that. Ohhh, touch me...god... "

Michael: I rub my thumb across it, and flick it with my nail. It's standing at attention, a hard little nub beneath the cotton, begging for more. Leaning in, I bite at it, delighting at the sound you make, the way you shift upward, offering me more. My hand smoothes downward, until I come to the hem of your shirt, and begin slowly, slowly, gathering it, working it upward over your flat, smooth belly, until your nipple is bared for me. Rigid, peaked; I settle my mouth over it and begin to nurse slowly, contentedly at it, nibbling just enough to add spice.

Randy: I slip my other hand into your slacks , then begin burrowing slowly under your boxers, arching my back to press my nipple further into your mouth. I love nipple play, and you seem to love it as well. Your ass is hot and firm beneath my fingers, and I let the tip of one finger dip into the cleft between your cheeks. So hot. It's like touching the outer edge of a furnace. I slip my hands around the front of you and tug at the buttons on your pants, working to open them and give me more room to caress you. "Ahhh...ahgod, yeah...like that, darlin'...love your mouth..."

Michael: I release your nipple, and shift us over to our sides, pressing you into the back of the couch, giving us a little more room in which to touch. Your mouth, swollen and pink, catches my attention, and I lean in again to taste it, a quick light touch. When I pull back a little, I tug off your glasses and fumble them onto the end table, hoping I didn't break them. Your eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, sleepy looking, warm with desire and need. I make a pleased, low sound in my throat, and lean in again to kiss you once more.

Randy: I finally get your pants undone, and push the fabric open, sliding my hands slowly inside. I can feel my groan when I rub over you; it's released into our kiss. You feel so good. I stroke one hand downward to rub over your straining erection, my thumb smoothing over the damp patch on your shorts, rubbing against what I know is slick, ruby-red engorged flesh. Touching you is such a pleasure, and the low moan that rings from your throat makes my own cock throb harder.

Michael: When I pull away from your mouth, I'm breathless, and a little dizzy. I bury my face in your throat, and I can feel the heat coming off my face, burning your skin.

"God, that feels so good..." My voice is hoarse, scarcely recognizable to me. I can't help but move against the warm grip of your hand encircling me, thrusting shallowly, growing wetter, slicker as I do. My own hand skitters down your belly, burrowing beneath the waistband of your shorts, and when I encounter nothing but smooth, bare, hot skin, it makes me quiver with pleasure. No underwear. God, that's so arousing; I feel myself leap in your hand and my own fingers slip around to hold your long, heavy length.

Randy: I wiggle against you, my lips curving into something I'm sure resembles a hungry grin. I can feel you surge hotly in my hand, and I stroke you with a little more purpose, using your foreskin to increase the sensation. I whisper hoarsely against your neck, "You like this...like me naked like this."

Michael: "Yes...I do...I like being able to touch you....whenever I want..." I stroke you strongly, purposefully, feeling you grow impossibly thicker, heavier. Your hand on me is skillful, moving on me just how I love to be touched, and I'm torn between the sensations of giving and receiving pleasure. Both are equally wonderful.

Randy: "I did like this...since that weekend, Michael. I'd lay myself out," I groan and shudder against you as my cock surges into your hand. I slide my hand into your boxers, my fingers curling around the hot, hard column. I slip your foreskin back and rub my thumb over the head of your cock, slicking it up, spreading the abundant moisture over the crown. "…and think about you about the...look on your face...when you touched me, or fucked me and I'd touch myself."

Michael: "You thought of me?" The visual of you, lying with your legs spread wide, working your rigid flesh while thinking of me is a heady one, and I almost lose it, thrusting hard against you, then holding myself very still, fighting for control, fighting to hold off the orgasm that wants to rush through me. I pant against your throat, every muscle in my body rigid. The sensation passes, and I relax fractionally. "That's so...fuck, that's such a turn-on... "

Randy: "Lemme show you." I can't help the low growl that my voice has turned into. I shift us so that you're lying on your back, your dark eyes nearly black as you stare up at me. You're so close; I could feel the tremors moving through you a moment ago. I pull your pants and shorts down, letting your cock surge upward freely. Just the sight of it makes me want to go down on you; suck you in deep and taste you all the way to my gut. Its a very primal, primitive desire, and it takes me a minute to sublimate it. "Let me show you what I did...demonstrate." I reach with one hand and begin stroking your cock slowly, firmly, increasing speed and pressure incrementally as you wiggle and moan beneath me. I reach with the other hand and cradle your balls; they're hot and swollen with need, and roll wonderfully in my hand. I squeeze them gently, then with a bit more pressure, watching your face tighten with pleasure. "My hand, Michael, touching me...thinking about you...I came, darlin', remembering what you did to me--what we did to each other. Once was right here, where you're gonna come for me."

Michael: When you shifted, I had to release you, and my hands move to pull up my sweater, baring my belly and chest for you. Your words run hotly through me, and your touch is incendiary. Just the thought of lying here, as you did, imagining your hands on your flesh, and actually feeling you touch me so skillfully, exciting every single nerve I have, is enough to send me skating toward the edge. My eyes open wide, and I see you above me, your face shining and intent. Opening my legs wider, I can feel the rush beginning, gathering in my sac, making my whole pelvis heavy and tingly. I have time for a surprised "Oh!" before I spasm, thrusting hard against your hand, sending my seed in a heavy arc that splatters on my chest and belly. My hands clench into fists, at the same time, seeking to hold on to something, anything, as I'm washed away by the sheer pleasure of your hand on me, of your voice caressing me.

Randy: "Oh, that's it, darlin'…." I grin down at you, delighted I brought you here, though I really did want to tease you a while yet. I let my hand continue to pull and play with your balls, but shift back a little so I can lower my head to suck your cock into my mouth. I want a taste of you before you spend yourself totally. You jerk in surprise and cry out again when my mouth closes over you, and I'm gifted with several more spurts of warm, thick, salt-bitter fluid. Delicious...I could and would gladly drink you all night. When you've finished coming I lick your cock clean, teasing at the small fissure at the tip with my tongue before moving up to lick your belly and chest clean. "You taste good, Michael. So good.…"

Michael: I can hear you, vaguely, floating in that soft, gray place the best orgasms leave me in. I open my eyes slowly and see as well as feel you licking over my skin, pink tongue collecting the stray, pearly drops caught in dark hair, wetting it down into whorls and arabesques, designs of desire and fancy. Your hands slide over my ribs and hips, smoothing, petting, soothing as your mouth works over me, warm and moist. I swear I can hear my body purring, like a big cat. "You're so good, Caro.…"

Randy: "Mmmm. Yes..." I lick over your nipples, teasing each one into a tight bud, then sit back on my heels, still kneeling between your splayed legs. My shorts are bulging out from my erection, and there's a large--and still growing--damp spot where I've leaked onto the fabric. I stroke myself roughly, then pull my shorts down, exposing myself. My voice is thick, a little hoarse when I speak, catching on the odd syllable or word. "Watch...me do it...for you... watch...what you can make me do...even when you're... not with me." I lean back just a little, arching into my own hand, stroking with long, heavy, fast strokes. My balls are already tight, drawn up against my body, full and ready to spill. I look down at you through half-slitted eyes, your eyes narrowed and hot-looking, staring at me. Your fingers are twitching on your thighs, and I take one hand in my free hand and guide it to my balls. "Help me come for you."

Michael: I can't remember if I've ever seen anything so incredibly arousing as you kneeling over me, stroking yourself, pumping hard. I scoot down further, until my legs can lock securely around your own, until our balls can almost touch. I roll yours gently in my hand, and let the fingers of my other hand trail along the smooth, hairless skin of your groin, slipping around and beneath your sac, pressing against the perineum, stroking in time to your pumping. "Come for me...come on me...come all over me...cover me with your hot cream...give it to me.…"

Randy: "*Yes*...gonna...give it to you.…" I stroke faster, leaning back and thrusting against my strokes into my hand. Your hand feels so good touching me, lightly stroking, keeping rhythm with me. It actually only takes a few; just before my body begins to spasm, as I'm tightening in delicious anticipation, I raise my hand to my tits and pinch the right one, pulling and squeezing the little peak. That's all it takes; combined with all the other sensations, it sends me flying over the edge. I give a low grunt and send ribbons of come streaking across your chest and belly, and over your cock. "Here it is Michael....."

Michael: It's one of the sexiest things I've ever seen. In extremis, you're incredible--strong and supple and powerful. Your come splatters hotly over me, and I want to crow in triumph, but manage to turn it into a laugh, deep and low, rubbing it into my skin as you begin to collapse, your muscles turning to rubber in the aftermath of your orgasm. I reach up and squeeze you a little, getting the last of it from you, a welling up of your come at the tip of your cock, and catch it on my fingers, bringing them to my mouth and tasting. Sweet; sweeter than any other I've tasted.

Randy: I practically fall on you, sagging forward the way I do. My legs are nothing but mush now; my body is filled with a warm glow that is just spreading outward. God, you make me feel so good. You've got the warmest look in your eyes, and the heat reflecting back at me when you bring your finger to your lips is enough to make the tingles stir a bit again. I reach down and grasp your hand, running your finger through the smears of my semen on your chest, then putting it to your lips again. My whole body quivers when you lick it off, the heat in your eyes growing. I repeat the gesture, then bring your finger to my lips this time, to taste myself and you combined.

Michael: I thread my fingers into your hair, and pull you down, opening to suck your tongue into my mouth, tasting you deeply. My legs tighten around you, sliding up to lock around your waist and hold you to me while I explore your mouth. So good, so very good...

Randy: God, it seems to be like this every time we touch. Incendiary; addicting. I can't keep my hands off you; I don't want to try. Feeling you close against me, touching you, tasting you I still can't believe its happening. Can't believe I ran into you and here we are again. I can still hear the sounds you made when you came--the hoarse sound of *my* name on your lips. God. Your mouth is teasing at me, and I open willingly for you, shuddering when you suck on my tongue like you might on my tit or my cock, waves of pleasure and heat moving through me. I rock into you, loving the feel of you beneath me.

When I can't breathe any more I pull back from you, staring into your eyes; they're wide, dilated, a deep, dark gray, nearly black. It's full dark outside now, and suddenly, all I want to do is hold you; lay together in bed, holding hands, and talking. Just *be* together. I lean down and brush a gentle kiss over your mouth, then around to your ear to whisper. "Come to bed with me? Wanna hold you, darlin'."

Michael: "Yes...how could I resist such an offer?" Reluctantly I release you, and we both lever up off your couch. I feel a little weak, but its still goo