Messenger IV -- Hello, Again by gizzie Summary: Byers past haunts his new relationship. Rating: NC17 Keyword: Lone Gunmen Disclaimer: Byers is the creative property of 1013 and Chris Carter. CC, if you kill him, I'll hunt you down like the mad dog you are. Lyrics from "Hello, Again" used without permission. Becca is mine, and no, she's not me, you can use her if you don't kill her. Please read "The Messenger" I-III first, get to know this mystery that is Byers. This is for Martha , who has an island in her kitchen and Gunmen Lust in her heart. Don't show this to my mom. Thank you for flying gizzie net. If you love me, let me know: gizzie@ix.netcom.com -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Messenger IV -- Hello, Again "Jesus, Jeff, I had a root canal I enjoyed more than that. Only Mulder could ruin an evening at Lisa and Jake's." We've just left Mulder and Scully in the parking lot of the popular little bistro that has become our favorite hangout. We've met here every other week or so, for the past several months, the food is terrrific, they have an astonishing variety of imported beers, and we like the blue jean casual atmosphere, so hard to find in the tight-assed suburbs of Washington, DC. Lisa, the co-owner, flirts outrageously with Mulder, and Mulder uses it to our advantage to procure a prime table, even on a busy Friday night like this one. Becca and Scully likes the entertainment provided by Jake, the deceptively masculine nick-named co-owner, a doe-eyed young woman who plays acoustic guitar and sings of misty mornings, lost loves and impossible dreams. Half the time, Becca ends up on stage with Jake, lilting an impressively warbling soprano to Jake's warm, rich contralto. Lisa usually ends up serving us herself, any excuse to lean over Mulder, and Mulder kids and teases her into bringing us extra fried cheese sticks and cutting the check. But tonight had been bad from the time we walked in the door, finding Mulder in one of his stone-faced, mono-voiced funks, and Scully glassy-eyed over too much paper work and too little support from the asshole that is her partner. Her health has considerably slipped, too, I'm shocked to see her wan and hollow cheeked; she looks like she's lost ten pounds since we saw her last. They spend the entire dinner snarling at each other, circling and snapping like rabid dogs. When Mulder makes a rude remark to Lisa about the origination of the appetizer we ordered , I want to knock him out of the chair, but Lisa retaliates by slaming his draft Guiness in front of him so hard, the foam flys up and catches him in the eye. We finally pack it in when Becca and Scully return from the ladies room, Scully pasty-faced and shaky, Becca tight-lipped and silent. I know immediatly what has happened. And now, we're in my car, heading for her apartment, she's distractedly rummaging through my tape case, looking for the folksy-pop music she keeps trying to push on me. "She had a nose bleed in the ladies room, she made me promise not to tell, how could he NOT see she's in trouble, Christ, has he always treated her like that, 'hang up my jacket, Scully, hand me the menu, Scully, cut my MEAT, Scully, waah, waah, waah, Jesus, what a jerk, he...." "OK, OK, I get the picture.." I cut in. She's hyper, even for Becca. If there's anything I've learned in the couple of monthes we've been together, it's that Rebecca Foster is not wishy-washy about ANYTHING, she burns with firey passion about everything from her job, to the animal shelter where she walks dogs two evenings a week. We have an intensely cerebral relationship and have spent many evenings at her apartment or mine, talking over mugs of hot chocolate and pistachio nuts, or watching the old romantic musicals that she loves and I love to make fun of. We've walked a shakily crooked path around our physicality. Undiscussed, but nevertheless there, I'm reluctant to make that final step that would harken us more than mere friends, and she, despite her smart mouth, is puzzingly coy, shrinking away when I get too familiar with my hands. We've had junior-high, second base make out sessions, tongue-kissing and clothes-covered touchy-feely, where we've parted for the night sweaty and aching, and I know at least one of us has resorted to alternative relief. And still, we play together, an infinite pleasure, but a puzzle, even to ourselves. Becca finds a tape to her liking, pops it into my deck, and contemplates my profile as the first strains of "Longfellow Serenade" begin. "I know he's your friend, but....you don't think he's an idiot?" "I think he was on edge tonight, they both were." "You'll defend him 'till the end, won't you" I run an exasperated hand through my hair. "I'll concede he was a bit of an asshole, but..." "A BIT!! He nearly took Lisa's head off over the stupid potato skins. She fixed his ass" "You liked that, didn't you?" She grins nastily "I always like it when a dickhead gets his." "I thought you liked Mulder." "I said I think he's drop-dead gorgeous...I never said I *liked* him." "God, you're shallow" "Thank you" I think about Mulder and his uncharacteristic behavior. Since the night of the break-in at the fertility clinic, when I'd told him the awful story of my late wife and lost child, we've grown close. There's a sense of comradity that was not there before, and when he is with us at the office of The Lone Gunmen, I feel llike part of the goings on, and not an observer. He'd shown up at my apartment several weeks ago, drunk and emotionally shaken. He and Scully had gotten home from a puzzling case that afternoon, he slurred out a story about wraiths and double sightings and blondes, totally confusing me. I'd ended up sitting on the arm of his chair, awkwardly rubbing his back while he sobbed about Scully and her not trusting him, he made little to no sense. He'd passed out and spent the night on my couch, awakening the next morning embarrased and disoriented. This was when I first suspected Mulder may be heading for a breakdown. Tonights performance solidifies my suspicion. "I'm... not real sure Mulder is well, Bec. You don't know him. He's got a lot on his mind right now." "And SHE doesn't? It's pretty obvious to me she's going down fast, J.D." "Yeah" It's pretty obvious to me, too. I don't want to talk about it...or think about it. It's twistedly ironic that Scully's illness is what has indirectly brought me the closest relationships I have had in years, Mulder and, again indirectly, Becca. It was my gut-spilling cleansing to Mulder that had begun the healing of my battered emotional psyche. I'd met Becca shortly after, and for the first time in five years, let myself care, just a little, for someone else. And Scully's illness is the awful catalyst. I sigh, try to find some way to justify Mulder's behavior. "I can't defend his actions tonight. I just know that he would do anything for her." "Yeah, except let her drive. How come you never let me drive YOUR car.?" "Can you drive a stick?" She slides across the seat and breathes into my ear "You'd be surprised what I can do with a stick" "Hey," I reach down and fumble under my seat, "I almost forgot...I got you a present." "Go 'head, Byers, change the subject," she smirks, and looks in the bag I've handed her, reaches in with a whoop "Oh, man, Neil Diamond's 'Jazz Singer'! I LOVE this movie! Oh, J.D, are you staying, can we watch it tonight, can we,huh, can we, please, I'll be good and quiet throught the whole thing and...." "All right, all right , " I'm laughing as I park the car, and when we get out, I reach into the back seat and hand her a bottle "Here...surprise number two." "Oh, my god, BallatorČ." She swings the door open of her apartment and rubs my thigh as I pass her "Byers, you may get lucky yet tonight." "I wish," I snicker, our eyes meet, and the room is suddenly charged. She smiles softly, tips up to kiss my cheek and smacks me on the ass . "At the risk of sounding like a very bad movie, I'm going to slip into something more comfortable. Don't go away." "Never" My eyes follow her down the short hallway to her bedroom; she unzips her skirt and let's it drop, kicking it into the room in front of her and, turning, gives me a shitty little grin as she slams the door shut with her foot. Witch. I walk around the cabinet island that acts as a divider between her kitchen and dinettee. There is barely room for me to open the refrigerator door, without hitting the island base, and as I pull out the ice cube tray and shut the door, there is a warm, furry push at my feet. It's Vandyke, her cat , who, of course, has to see EXACTLY what is going on. A curious animal, pointy-faced, long bodied , and long-legged skinny, he is solid white, except for the startling black beard on his chin, and he has a super soft plush coat that feels more like bunny fur than cat hair. Like a lot of white cats, he's stone deaf, and also spookily mute, and when he looks up at me with his intense blue eyes, his little pink mouth opens in what looks like a silent scream. He gives me the creeps, but Becca loves him passionatly and says the day Vandyke purrs will be the day she knows her life is complete. The vet has said that although he is deaf, there is no physical reason for his silence, and he will purr when all is right in his world. Wonderful...the gospel according to Dr. Dolittle. Vandyke jumps up on the counter and watches me with a grave, cerulean stare. I find wineglasses and pop the cork, he never flinches at the explosion, but opens his mouth at me. "Cat, you are spooky" I take the wine to the living room, pour two glasses, kick off my shoes, set up the VCR, settle on the couch, and am halfway through the previews before Becca comes back . She's wearing faded Levis and a gauzy embroidered muslin pullover smock that looks like a throw-back to the sixties. She's barefoot, her hair is pinned up loosly, she smells like a rainy day, and I really don't want to watch this stupid movie. "Where'd you go, I thought you went home....then I remembered you live here" "HA!! Jeff Byers made a joke!" She puts her glass down and pounces on me, tickling me 'till I gasp and beg for mercy. I am breathless and heated and pick up my wine glass, downing half of it before she smacks me on the arm "Hey!! We didn't do a toast" I refill my glass and hers and we clink glasses. She looks at me, frowns and tips her tongue across her lips "I'm not very good at this" "What. YOU are at a loss for words?? C'mon!" "OK, let's see....There was a young man from Peru, who's penis hung down to his shoe. When he'd get up to dance, it would catch in his pants, ands he'd end up all covered in goo." She winks "Bottoms up, Byers" She's watching me, her eyes shiny with repressd laughter, over the rim of the glass as she drains it in one long draught . She smacks her lips and lets out a long, contented sigh "There. I'm caught up." She picks up the bottle and refills her glass, tops off mine. Vandyke slinks along the floor in front of the television, both front legs batting in front of him, chasing the evil champagne cork. I feel like I'm watching a play, and I'm in it. This goofiness can't be part of *my* life...this can't be me, Jeffrey Douglas Byers, Jr, in Levi's and blue chambray, barefoot and mush-mouthed, half lit on sparkling wine. My heart constricts and for a second, I fear I'm going to embarrass myself and burst into happy tears. I shake my head at her, grinning, speechless. Rebecca's still watching me, reads me, and her eyes soften, she crawls across the couch and leans into me, kisses me quickly on the cheek, and picks up the remote, rewinding back to the credits. "Jeff, if this wasn't Neil Diamond, I'd ravage you right here....but, sorry, he has a better ass than you" She picks up the bottle of wine, refills my glass, then settles against me, drinking right from the bottle. It's the banter...it's the wine.....it's the blue jeans and Neil Diamond and the tingly forest smell of her hair. When Jesse Robin sings "Love On The Rocks" HIS way, we're kissing softly, chastly .. his first concert, "Summer Love", we're breathing heavy and playing tonsil tag....and when the sensual, sweet violins of "Hello, Again" accompany the bare-shoulders love-scene with Molly, we're right there with them, my shirt and her jeans are on the floor, and I know we're gonna let it happen, and it's good and right and I want it, I want her, I NEED her. Rebecca hits the remote, then climbs over me, switching off the lamp. She trembles against me,and it feels like fear. "It's all right," I breathe against her neck, I kiss up the line of her jaw , suck on her tender ear lobe, and she sighs and pushes against me. I'm kissing her, she's stroking my bare back, pushing at my jeans. We're sliding off the couch, push the coffe table out of our way, clothes are flying, She's warm and wonderful over me, around me . My left hand is on her hip, rising, caressing, I barely touch the bottom swell of her right breast, she gasps and closes her hand over mine, lacing our fingers, brings my hand to her face and chews gently on my thumb. My right hand has closed over her left breast, worrying the taut nipple, she moans against me and firey heat races through my groin and radiates down my legs. She slides up my body, mouthing my shoulder, my neck, breathing in my ear "Jeff....we're good....we're so good together....." Her hand is on me, sliding down, and it's beeen so long....so long..... The anxiety flares white behind my eyes, cramps my stomach so hard I cry out. I can't breathe. It's another time, another place. There's a fragile, blond woman child. Pain. Blood. Mind numbing worry and fear. Scared . There is no warmth, no feeling. My heart is pounding. A long, dead, quiet time of nothingness. Nothing. I push Rebecca off of me, fall against the coffee table. I feel around, grab denim, hauling, I gotta get out of here, one foot in the jeans, I pull, stumble, hung up....I have HER jeans. I yank them off my leg and throw them, reach again and find mine. I fumble into them, escaping, I don't know where I am in the dark, or where I'm going, I crash, smash my bare foot into the kitchen island cabinet, cursing mightily. I lean on the counter a moment, my chest heaving. I'm slick with sweat and want a cool shower almost as much as I want to haul ass out of here. I round the island, open the refrigerator, and grab a bottle of orange juice. I close the door and take a big gulp, choke messily, the acid burns my nose and throat. I lay my forehead against the cool steel of the door; there's a strange brushing on the top of my head and I look up--Vandyke is hanging over the edge of the top of the refrigerator, one foot extended, he's patting my head. He fixes me with his cool blue eyes, his mouth opens in that silent little scream , and I almost puke. I hear her behind me, the space is narrow, and she brushes against me as she pulls herself up onto the island counter top. I turn my face, seeking the cool, looking away from her. An eternity, my breathing is shallowing out, my heart slowing . I feel her foot brush up my back, rubbing, comforting. "Hello...hello, again," she says softly. I turn my head and look at her. She's wearing just my shirt, a single button holding it closed at her breasts. Her forehed is creased with worry, her eyes full of compassion."Are you all right?" I nod my head, yes... drop my eyes and shake my head, no. I can't look at her, I'm mortified and terrified and I just want to go home, climb into my bed, pull the covers over my head and stay for a year. Maybe two. I want this pain to be gone. "Did you see a ghost?" I nod. My eyes are brimming, my throat's tight , and the sympathy in her voice almost does me in. I've made a big enough ass out of myself without breaking down in front of her. I draw a tremulous breath and straighten up. I turn toward her, but I can't look at her. "I think I better go." "You can't go." "Rebecca.....I..." "I'm wearing your shirt, you can't go" We have a stare down...she wins. I start away, but she puts her leg up, effectively trapping me. "Are you going to just run everytime you feel something" I sigh. "Rebecca, don't pull this amateur psychologist crap on me, ok?? If I want analyzed, I'll go see Mulder." She jerks like I slapped her "Fine." "Anyway, it's not just that. It's ....." "I know what it is, Jeff" "No, I don't think you do, Becca. I thought I was ready...I thought I was over it, over her. But I can't forget. It's right the fuck THERE. The worry...the anger....the fear. Maybe it's Scully being sick that is making this so difficult....making it so hard to give up." She reaches and I give her my hand. She's so good, so sweet. She doesn't deserve this.... I don't deserve her. "Becca, I AM sorry. It's a ....a whole world of feeling, all by itself. It's such a gamit . And I can't FORCE myself to get over it. You don' t know how complicated it is."' "But I do know...I DO,. " she says softly. Her eyes burn into mine with a firey intensity , she squeezes my fingers, then releases my hand to unfasten the single button holding the shirt closed ; her eyes drop and she pulls the material to the right, exposing the shadowed curve of her breast. "Look." I am uncomfortably embarrased and turn away, but she extends a leg and catches me firmly around the waist with a foot, pulling me toward her "No! LOOK, I said!" she cries, voice breaking as she arches up and to the side, catching the radiating green-tinted light from the digital clock on the microwave. She has me firmly trapped ; I look , transfixed, at the exquisitly tender globe, the creamy skin, the dusky pink of the flat nipple. It is perfect , it is.... She shivers, and, confused, my eyes dart to the still cloth covered mound of her other breast, the nipple sharply, visibly erect against the soft cotton. The exposed nipple is flat...the exposed nipple is..... "It's tattooed," she whispers, "it's a reconstruction." Now she's embarrased, and pulls the placket of the shirt back to cover herself. Her foot, ,the heel nestled at the small of my back in the waistband of my jeans, is flexing against my spine, and finally, the light dawns, I understand, and my knees are suddenly trembling. Jesus Christ. She...no...I tense, jerk, but she clenches her foot to my back "No, Jeff, don't fight....." She tips my jaw, forces me to look at her. Her eyes are startlingly violet-blue and awash with checked tears. She nods her head, compassionate, anxious, and I loathe myself for wanting to push her away, to run, to hide from this beast that is Cancer, to please, just leave me the fuck alone. I don't WANT to feel this...I don't want to feel.......I turn my face into her hand, my eyes clenched tightly shut , and I'm grinding my teeth so hard, I swear I hear a molar crack. Becca hitches back on the counter, then lifts her other leg around my waist and pulls me flush against the island base. I wrap my arms around her, and she hooks one arm around my neck, the other tight under my arm and around my back, and we're skin to skin, chest to chest , the soft silk of her cheek against the fur of my beard. I cough and draw a deep, shuddering breath, trying to swallow the emotion that is choking me, but she cups the back of my head, caresses my hair, her foot is stroking my back ...."It's all right, Jeff...some of us are winners" , and I give in, burying my face in her neck and sobbing quietly. Her arms tighten around me; I feel the tremors run through her, feel her tears against my own neck. After a moment, I get some semblance of control, and lift my head from her shoulder. She loosens her desperate grip on my neck, and I lace my fingers into the dark cloud of her hair, tilting her face up to me. I kiss her brow, her eyelids, smooth my thumb across her lips, ever so gently kiss the corner of her mouth. "You could have told me, "I whisper, "it doesn't matter" She hiccups, sniffs, and suddenly, maddingly giggles "Right...." she hiccups again, and it hits me that she MAY be in some kind of strange emotional shock. "It's not exactly an easy thing to bring up, you know, 'Hi, I'm Rebecca Foster, I like leather pants, dirty limericks and Neil Diamond, and by the way, I have a silicon boob and a tattoo in the DAMNDEST place'.....yeah, I coulda told you." She shudders, wipes her face with the sleeve of my shirt, leaving dark smears of mascara behind. She's a mess. "Yeah, well...." I gently disengage her legs from my waist and turn to pull some paper towels from the colonial spindle holder, runnning the water cool in the sink, "I told you about Monny" I swab my face, soothe my smarting eyes. I'm a mess. "And I was supposed to tell you *I* had had Cancer after you told me THAT ? Give me a break, Jeff, do you think I'm STUPID? You would have been out of here so fast, I would'a' thought your ass was on fire" She's breaking my heart.....mostly because she's right. Still, a flare of unreasonable, selfish anger tightens my lips "So you lie to me?" "I didn't lie! I just.... didn't exactly present all the facts. I'm an attorney, it's what I DO." Her already strained voice cracks, and when I turn back, she's crying again, silently, her face impassive... like she's cried this way a thousand times. A pang of guilt twists my gut. My gentle, eclectic, sweet sweet girl....what have I done? "Rebecca...honey, don't cry, please....I'm sorry" I crush her to me, stroking her back, caressing her forehead with my chin, my lips. I want to engulf her, pull her inside me, protect her from the asshole that is myself. Her breathing steadies, she drops a quick kiss to my shoulder, and sits up straight. She pulls the shirt tail up and wipes her nose, shakes her head. "I think I owe you a new shirt, Mr Byers" "You don't owe my anything" I pick up the wet paper towel from where I've dropped it on the counter beside her and wipe her face, down her neck...hesitate.... She takes the towel from me, presses it to her chest and the slight valley between her breasts. "It's ok, it won't break", she smiles tremulously , and I blush, look away. "Are you all right now?" "As good as I can be with a head full of snot." I grin, shake my head--God, she IS something. "No, I meant.....you know...."I gesture vaguely,. "Oh. The "C" word" She sniffs noisily, lifts her hair up with one hand and clasps the towel against the back of her neck with the other, closing her eyes and arching her head back against the coolness. The shirt falls open, and I can't stop myself from looking, comparing. "It's been five years...statistically, I'm probably fine. I know I'm damn glad to be here..... You're staring" I look away and she laughs softly, draws the cool towel across my collarbones, down the line of hair on my chest. I shiver, and she puts the towel to one side, once again hooking a leg around my waist, but this time, I don't feel trapped. I put my arms around her, and she turns her face against my chest, sighs softly. I feel the soft fluttter of her damp lashes against my skin, she's combing her fingers gently through the coarse hair of my chest and I'm not so cold anymore. I stroke her hair "But are you....safe?" I have to know--I'm pathetic. "Are any of us?" She lifts her head, pulls back " You could fall down the steps when you leave here tonight and break your neck . I could get run over by a truck on Shaden Avenue tomorrow, or choke on the Lentil soup at Donna J's. What are you gonna do? Hide?" I shrug. I don't know. Becca's watching me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl, and hiding sounds pretty damn good right now. I drop my eyes. "There's a saying in recovery, " she's stroking my forearm, her hand stills with her thumb pressd to the underside of my wrist; my pulse is racing. " 'Yesterday 's a memory, tomorrow a wish, TODAY is the gift'. Right now--it may be all we ever have. That's why I'm.....high, goofy, hepped up most of the time" She crosses her eyes and, smiling, I lift her hand to my lips, kiss her palm. She lays the hand over my heart "I've seen the other side, sweetheart, looked at Death with a capital "d". He's mean, and he doesn't play fair, and I'm NOT playing anymore. " She looks deep into my eyes. "You already had round one with that fucker yourself, J.D., and again, statistically, " she gives me a litttle enigmatic smile, "you probably WON'T get another turn. But you can't sit out the whole game, babe. Not if you're on my team." "Jesus, Becca " I struggle, flex, but she tightens that foot on my spine and clasps a gentle hand to my shoulder, squeezing, soothing. I shake my head, my breath is sticking in my throat " I didn't want....I can't.....I never wanted to....." "What?" She fingers my throat, catches my eye, looks into my soul. "I never wanted to FEEL.... this ....this......" "Pain? Anger? Love? " She said it...more scary than the "C" word "All of the above?" "Yeah." I drop my eyes, watch my hand that, on it's own volition, is running slowly up and down her bare thigh. I clasp behind her knee and lift that leg up to, once again, wrap around my waist. I look up through my lashes, she's watching me, intent, her lip caught between her teeth, chewing. Her foot runs up my spine and hot tendrils of desire curl through my belly and tighten my groin. "I guess it's a little too late to NOT want that now, huh?" "I hope so" Her heel twists into the small of my back, and I want her badly, right now, right here, on the island counter top. She brings my shaking hand to her mouth, kisses my palm, tongues the webbing between my thumb and index finger, and I gasp. She smiles, a wicked little grin that freezes on her face when I lift my left hand and tuck my thumb under the button placket of the shirt, run it softly between her breasts, then pull the shirt aside, cupping the soft weight of the reconstructed breast. "Can you feel this?" I trace the contours with my fingertips, knead softly. "Yes," she nuzzles my hand, places soft kisses along the inside of my wrist "of course I can feel it." "I mean..."I palm the fullness, caress the rounded tip with my thumb, "does it feel good?" "It always feels good when you touch me, Jeff," she whispers. I lean in to kiss her on both cheeks, run my lips over her jawbone, she arches into me and puts her hand over mine, pushes my fingers tighter into the soft swell of the breast "It feels good here...." she slides my hand across her chest, and presses it above her left breast, over her pounding heart "and here." I nuzzle under her hand, lave my tongue across the heated flesh. She runs my hand down her torso, I suck gently, my teeth barely grazing the hard little nub, she inhales sharply and pushes my hand lower, pressing my fingers down into the warm dampness between her legs. "I feel it here" I'm so shocked, I almost bite her nipple off. My fingers flex against the soft hair and she moans, tightening her legs around me, pushing, "Jeff...." I brush my hand up and around her upper thigh, push under the sweet roundness of her ass, she slides forward, I lift, and she's straddled against me. Her legs scissor around me, one dropping low around my hips, one tightly around my waist, her foot pressing, pushing into the waistband of my jeans at my back. I feel the wet heat pressed against my belly, I'm trembling and dizzy with desire, I lean into the island and lower us.... there 's a catch, a sharp pull. Becca's suddenly giggling under me-- I'm hung up by a belt loop on the handle of the cabinet. Shit. I fumble , frustrated, Becca reaches , snickering, and pulls the zipper down on my jeans, pushes them off my hips, and I'm naked and free above her. I slide the shirt off her shoulders, lower her to the cool linoleum. We kiss feverishly, our hands are everywhere, we roll over, bang off the refrigerator, I push against her, feeling, grasping, we're twisting again and there's an odd scraping sound "Oh, Jeff! Stop! Wait!" she cries out against my shoulder, and I pull back, stunned. She whoops with laughter and reaches under her...she's rolled over the dust pan, which we apparently knocked from it's place beside the refrigerator. I roll onto my back, groaning. "God, are we doomed, or what?" "This NEVER happens on 'Mad About You'. Jesus " Becca sits up and arches her back, shaking out her hair, and the desire flames up in me again, no problem. She smirks, glances at the obvious sign of my interest and shakes her head. "Byers, you are so cheap. C'mon" She rises and extends a hand to me. "Let's take this to the bedroom, before one of us breaks something vital. That is...if you still want to." "I don't know" I sigh, look up at her--I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life-- "I kinda wanted to watch the end of the movie." "Oh. OK." She takes a false step, I grab her by the ankle, and she's got me by both biceps, hauling me up. We're kissing before I'm fully on my feet and I have a neanderthalic urge to sweep her into my arms as we grope our way down the narrow hallway. We are wired with passion, the atmosphere of the bedroom further charged by the spicy aroma of pot pouri and the dim glow of the conch shell light on the night table. The bed is turned down, the sheets a muted shade of dusty rose. The stage is set. "You litle wench, " I breathe, pulling her against me, mouthing her ear, the tender flesh beneath it, making her moan, "you had this all set up." "Not really," she's kissing her way across my chest, running her fingers over my ribs, making me ache for more , "when I came in to change," she bites my shoulder, cups and squeezes my ass, ."I put the sheets on, lit the pot pouri. I was hoping......." She's pushed me back closer to the bed, and now reaches around me to the lamp, but I catch her hand, pull her fingers to my lips and breathe against her palm "No....leave it on" I mimic her earlier action, sucking the tender webbing of her hand, and her eyes dilate with desire. "I want to watch you...I want to see us....." Nearly at sensory overload already, I groan as we slide, together, onto the bed. The slippery coolness of the sheets tingles my sensitized skin, my entire body responds-- it's satin. I've never felt anything so sensuously smooth, but the soft, supple pliancy of the woman beneath my hands quickly overpowers even this , and I gasp and twitch with sensation as she strokes and caresses the fevered skin of my belly and upper thigh. We are on our sides, kissing frantically, our teeth click, she jerks back and comes down on the furred bone of my jaw, lathes her tongue around my ear, down the side of my neck, and clamps her teeth on the sensitive tendon of my shoulder. I moa and pull back slightly, she hitches her leg over my upper thigh, works a hand between us. I can feel the heat radiating from her, smell the musky scent of our passion as I nuzzle across her chest, gently suck her breast. She's breathing tiny little sounds of passion, further inflaming me. The hand thats caressing my belly slides lower, the backs of her fingers brush softly across the super sensitive head of my penis and I gasp and thrust against her as she wraps her fingers around me. I tighten painfully, questing.... "No... god, Rebecca, wait..." I gently pull her hand from me, push it down 'till her fingers rest against my inner thigh. She starts to knead immediatly. "Take it easy, ok ?" I can't stop kissing her myself, touching her "This isn't a race." "I've wanted you for so long. I've wanted you since the day you tried those leather pants on in Kaufmann's." She burrows against my chest, slides her arm over me and pinches my ass. "I wanted to throw you right on the floor in front of the register in Fine Leatherwear. Fine, indeed... oh!" She gasps and closes her eyes as my stroking hand pushes over the sodden curls between her legs. "Jeff.....aauuugghhh" She's barely touching me, but I almost lose it at the sound of that breathy moan. I watch her face as I finger the slick folds of her inner lips; when my thumb finds and caresses her clitoris, she gasps and grimaces with pleasure and arches into me. She pulls me down into a deep, soul shaking kiss, her tongue stroking behind my teeth. I rotate my hand, palming her mons, and slide a finger into the tight heat of her . She comes immediatly, crying out into my mouth and convulsing around my fingers, surprising us both. I pull my hand gently away, roll partially over her, and hold her tight while the tremors subside and her breathing slows. There are tears on her face. Stricken, I run my fingers along her hairline, kiss her browbone, thumb away the moisture from her cheekbone "Rebecca, I'm sorry. Are you hurt, did I hurt you?? " "God, no! I... oh, Jeff." She pulls my face down and kisses me softly on both cheeks, a gesture so poignantly simple, I get a lump in my throat. She smiles up at me, and my heart swells . "Anything I say at this point would be misconstrued as pillow talk. Let the record show that the defendant refuses to talk, and pleads the fifth." I take a deep breath, poised on the edge of forever. Her face is still flushed with passion, her eyes shiny with emotion. I jump "Then also let the record show ," I bend over her, touch my lips to her temple, "that the prosecutor," kiss the bridge of her nose "is in love with the defendant." It feels like stepping into a cool shower at noon in mid-July. Becca makes a strangled little noise and pulls me down, her legs come up and over mine, there are so many hands stroking, I think there is surely someone else in the bed. I lift up slightly, working my hips, blindly thrusting. Rebecca slides a hand between us, feeling, grasping me. I shudder and flinch from her touch, I'm painfully hard, so ready, I'm afraid if she strokes me..... "Let me do it" she breathes against my ear. I thought I couldn't get harder or want her more--wrong on both counts. I groan in exquisite agony. She pulls my face down to her and plunges her tongue deep into my mouth, the stroking rhythm of her tongue matching the scratching hand on my back. The hand at my groin is cautious, kneading my upper thigh, patting the wiry hair nesting my genitals. She tightens her legs around me, grasps my shoulders, and pushes me into a roll, 'till I'm on my back, and she's straddled above me. She massages me gently, sensuously, running her hands from the tops of my thighs, up my torso, palming the flat nipples of my chest, kneading my shoulders. She takes both my hands in hers and pins them next to my head , then leans over me, her hair leaving goosebumps wherever it brushes my sensitized skin. Her tongue runs from the edge of my shoulder across my collarbone, kisses up my neck, across my cheek, barely grazes my lips, then continues to the opposite shoulder. My chest is heaving, I can feel the tingle of every hair on my body, the edge of my vision is tinged with red,and I wonder if one can spontaneously combust from contained passion. "Raa...Raa..." Christ, I can't talk. I pull my hands from her grasp, push her upright. She, too, is breathing heavily, pulling air in shallow little gasps. Her eyes are heavy and hooded with desire, and I can hardly stand to look at her, she's so beautiful. "Rebecca...please...you're going to have to call 911 for me in a minute" She slides forward and over me, the awesome sensation of heat and wet make me groan and thrust. My eyes close in pleasurable focus. "No," she slaps my face lightly, " I want you to watch me....I want to see your eyes when you come." Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She lifts up on her knees, guides me toward her opening. I twitch and thrust at her touch, but she pushes one hand against my hip bone. "No...be still...let me do this for you." There's heat and slick and tight, tight friction, and she's settled on me, I'm in her and I think I may pass out from pleasure. She slides up and drops back down, once, twice, and I'm sure it's not me making those animal noises. I can't help but thrust, I want to be in her totally, I want to disappear inside her and not come out 'till the next millennium. She puts her hands on me, in front of her, stilling my hips. Our eyes are locked intently. I reach a hand to where we are joined, touching her, gently stroking. I touch the sharp little point of her swollen clit, and she jerks, gasps, her eyes flash with pleasure/pain, and she pulls my hand away "No, it's ok," she croons and kisses my fingers, "I don't need you to touch me.....I could come again just listening to you breathe" Her words inflame me, I lose my tenuous control and thrust violently, my hips lifting off the bed. She falls forward, her hands braced against my chest, and rocks, rocks, sliding on me, around me, her internal muscles grasping, clutching. Rocking, rocking faster, and the tension coils and builds in my belly, the electric ripples flaming down my legs, numbing my hands. She slows and pulls up, clenching tight, 'till just the tender tip of me is clutched in the pulsing mouth of her womb, then she slides slowly back down. She does it again, stopping on the up stroke and clench, release, clench and release. She's watching my face, I'm trying to watch hers, but as she slides back down, the room tilts around me, my vision blurs,and I'm bucking up against her in mind-blowing orgasm , screaming her name and several impressively colorful expletives. She grasps my shoulders and pulls me half upright, wrapping her arms tight around me, then she's falling heavily onto my chest, spasming around me, drawing another powerful wave of climax through me, biting and yelping into my neck. I think we pass out. We sound like we just ran a marathon, we're puffing like steam engines. I feel like I got hit by a train. Becca is running her hands slowly up and down my sides, and I want her to stop, my skin is still so sensitized it almost hurts, I never want her to stop. She's massaging the back of my neck, chewing the tender flesh near the hollow of my throat... I'm gonna have the most impressive hickey since high school. I need a drink of water , I never want to leave this bed. Rebecca shifts, flexes her hips, and I moan, my body trembling with aftershock. We are still joined. I hook a leg up and over here, and she shifts again, settling firmly against me. There is no weight, we feel like one. I pull her face around, kiss her slowly, gently, chastely. She runs the tip of her tongue across my bottom lip, kisses the corner of my mouth, and lifts up, studies me gravely. "This is the part where you're supposd to ask if it was good for me, too." Unbelievable. I laugh, and she burrows back into my neck, giggling like a child. Her hips press and she's squeezing me from the inside, another little flame of pleasure shoots through me and I gasp, jerk. "God, Rebecca stop, you're gonna give me a stroke." She smiles smugly. "I'm prety good, huh?? Wow, who'd'a thunk it, old rubber-tit Foster" "Rebecca!" She's incredible. "What do you think, could I teach? Fucking 101, I bet it would be REAL popular, the field trips would be a bitch, but the homework will be interesting." I slap her ass, and she laughs, "God, it's FUN to be BAD..... Ooops, look who's here" Vandyke is rubbing against us, warm and as smoothly sensual as the sheets below us. He stops and looks down into my face, his blue eyes glittering in the muted refraction of fhe dim light. He lifts a paw and pats me softly on the cheek, circles above me and settles against the top of my head. "Well, that's that," Rebecca puts up a hand, strokes him, strokes my hair, "I guess you stay" "I'm not going anywhere" She kisses the tip of my nose, settles her face against mine, rubbing her smooth cheek against my beard. "Ya know, this is illegal in six states." "What?" "Woman on top. Montana, Utah, North Dakota, SouthDakota, Colorado, Arizona...and parts of Texas, too, I think. There was an encompassing mandate in 1987..." "Rebecca" "What?" "Shut up." She giggles against my neck, I hold her tighter, our hearts beat together. Vandyke is purring. "Hello, again, hello. It's good to need you so. It's good to love you like I do, And to feel this way when I hear you say 'Hello' " *********************************************************** ...and they lived happily ever after. -- End --