AN: This story is a sequel to For Yet Another Time, and therefore peripherally inspired by the same livejournal kink meme. I'm pretty sure this can be read by itself, but I personally believe it would be more enjoyable if, you know, it was read after the first part. Since it can pretty much stand alone, I consider it a one-shot even if it is part of a series. The last piece, the ending was not so happy. This isn't meant to be a "make it all better!" fic, but I knew Veser could improve his situation a little if given a chance, so here we are. And uh, disclaimers are probably necessary. Hanna is Not a Boy's Name belongs to Tessa Stone, and I am only borrowing her characters for entertainment purposes. No profit is being made, and here's to hoping she does not one day hate me.

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THE TIME TAKEN AWAY

-by: Lira-

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Ples' house always made Veser want to scuff across the polished floors and put his feet up on the furniture. He was sure that he could leave lewd fingerprint drawings on the white walls if he only reached out to touch, the light glaze of perspiration on his fingertips paint enough. Ples' couches were an improbable black and white check pattern that Hanna might have approved of, and numerous ornate clocks cluttered the walls to the point where Veser's graffiti would have to squeeze in around their edges.

When Ples opened the door to Veser's impatient rapping, Veser breezed past the entranceway into the living room, planting himself on a couch and slinging one leg over the arm rest. Maybe he was nervous as fuck and maybe the familiar weight in his pocket was no longer a comfort, but Ples didn't need to know that. Ples didn't need to know that at all, and when Ples carefully shut and locked the door, Veser continued to watch him expectantly. Ples walked over to where Veser was sitting, gaze dropping obviously to the foot propped on the furniture before sliding back to Veser's face.

Ples looked expectant, too, waiting for Veser to divulge the reason for his visit. It was eleven at night, almost exactly; the clocks on the walls all showed the same verdict.

"You didn't start without me, did you?" Veser asked, that proprietary tone, like he owned everything.

"If you are asking for a drink," Ples said, with crisp disapproval, "the answer is, as it always is, no."

"Hey, Hanna would buy me a drink," Veser said. "Come on. No one cares if you give me a beer in your own home."

It was a conversation they'd had so many times before, but that one time Veser just needed the brace that was alcohol. This time he was going to throw his cards down on the table, for better or worse. It was too bad he didn't know how to begin. He didn't know if Ples would even believe him when he said it.

"I'll mix you something," Veser said, popping up from the couch. "Do you have any orange soda?"

"If you have any experience as a bartender," Ples began. "I'd rather not know about it."

It didn't matter. Veser was standing just in front of Ples then, and the man still had a lingering smell that was part alcohol and part some kind of aftershave and part oil, like the kind for lubricating motors, or gears. That smell could be detected even when they were in bars, even in the must of the house when Ples wasn't near. It was familiar and reassuring, and Veser was leaning in to catch Ples by the collar, pulling the man in for a kiss.

Suddenly it seemed like the right idea, to do this first. Ples would listen better if they fucked first. Kissing Ples was much nicer than talking, and for once the man did not taste of alcohol. It was a surprise that Ples really had not started without him, and Veser vainly hoped that at the end of this he'd get his beer after all. With the hands in Ples's shirt, Veser pulled the older man back towards the couch while they kissed. He maneuvered Ples around and pushed the older man down.

For a few moments Veser hovered, connected only at the lips and where his two hands rested on Ples' chest. The movement of his mouth slowed, beginning to resemble something like tenderness, thoughts skirting down paths Veser usually confined them from.

It was important to be the one in control, the one on top who could determine just how fast things were going to go. Physically, yes, but also in other ways. It was important that Ples not have a chance to leave him behind. To hurt him. It was important to make the best damn impression because this was the one Ples would take with him. The one Ples would remember beyond the moment.

Veser broke the kiss and slid backwards, hands going to the front of Ples' pants. It was worse than any time before, hands moving so fast yet doing so little. Even when Ples' cock was finally in his grasp, fingers convulsing slightly in mimicry of a handjob, Veser hadn't quite informed himself what was happening. Veser was so used to Ples' calm look no matter what he might do that when he saw Ples' face he almost stopped. This time there was a faint look of puzzlement, and Veser realized Ples already knew what was going to happen.

He couldn't risk guessing how, nor guessing why.

Veser had never wanted to suck cock before, blanching at the mere thought. He had too many lurking horrors, too many problems with placing himself in such a position. This time he watched Ples' face. He didn't look at what he was doing as he slid his mouth over the head of Ples' cock. Ples only tasted of soft skin, faintly salty, even when Veser sucked a little, even when he went harder. The puzzlement did not leave Ples' expression, but instead the calm pleasure rolled in. Things became simpler as Ples became harder.

A cock was still a cock, even when treated like a lollypop. Veser could taste what had to be precome at the back of his mouth, had to resist the urge to pull back and call it off. Ples had not even asked for this, not with words, but Veser knew that he would always finish what he started. He wouldn't ever be that guy who flaked out on someone when it mattered. He'd rather not flake out on anyone at all.

For a few moments Veser eased off slightly, tongue moving gently around just the head of Ples erection. Ples' eyelids fluttered, like wings beating, moving in time to the ticking Ples provided. So Veser had done something right. He repeated the motion, swirling his tongue over that most sensitive flesh and telling himself he didn't mind too much how it tasted. The ticking sped up, cluttering into Veser's thoughts almost like a caress. Ples was watching Veser back, but every so often he would breathe in sharply, briefly undone by the sensations.

But then, just as it was becoming fun to see exactly what would earn a gasp, a flutter, or a flurry of ticking, Ples stopped him with his name.

"Veser," Ples said, breathy but serious. "Wait, please?"

Veser actually stopped, simply because Ples had never stopped them before. Once Veser maneuvered them to the sex, he got what he wanted. He just had to pull Ples into it first.

"I'm not going to forget this, this time, am I?" Ples asked, sounding almost sad.

Veser nearly fell over in shock. He scrambled forward again, completely forgetting that he was trying to get Ples off. "You can't know that!" he blurted out.

"No, I imagine I can't," Ples agreed. "I do hope you know that I don't enjoy losing my memories."

Veser felt a pang of something, because he didn't really enjoy doing that to Ples, not any more.

"What have you done?" Ples asked simply, sounding more curious than upset.

"I took the time away," Veser said. Then, suspiciously, "How much do you remember?"

"Everything, at least I think so," Ples said. "Usually, when I have forgotten, I get echoes."

Oh fuck. Veser didn't... He didn't even know. Did this mean that-? Did Ples... Did he... Shit.

"You remember it all when we have sex!" Veser exclaimed, not even trying to make it a question.

"Well, yes and no," Ples said, still so absolutely calm with the situation.

"It's either yes or no," Veser snapped. "So which is it? What do you remember right now?"

"I do remember all of those other times, right now," Ples said. "But I always know that I am going to forget again. Whether I do these things with you or not, it doesn't matter. It is all a delusion. None of it is real."

Veser stopped completely. He had only ever thought of how it was for him, getting exactly what he wanted for an hour at a time and then having to pretend nothing had happened. He couldn't even try to imagine what it would be like, having it for that hour and then forgetting without even wanting to, never knowing if it was a reality or a figment of one's imagination. At least Veser knew that it was real on his part, even if it was as good as false on Ples' side.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Veser asked, morbid curiosity poking through. "After?"

"I'm not sure," Ples said. He seemed to have no problem with admitting his lack of knowledge. "This was your doing, wasn't it?"

Veser nodded, hand already digging in his pocket for the pocket watch. There was no point in hiding it. He stopped for a moment, looking down at the smooth bronze with its delicate embossing on the lid. His constant companion for so many weeks, always on his person. Even then he could hear the faint ticking from inside it despite the watch not being wound to take back their time together.

Ples accepted the watch with his usual air, flicking the cover open and looking down at the face. His expression was perfectly serene, although Veser would not have known what to make of it had it changed. Ples wound the watch the smallest fragment of a turn, and then when a few seconds had ticked forward, he stopped the clock's motion entirely. Again Ples looked at it for a few long moments, before closing the watch again and handing it back to Veser.

"You should put that away," Ples told him. "Perhaps back where it came from. I don't think you should be carrying it around any more."

Veser would never admit that he stole it from Hanna, but somehow he thought Ples knew that. He would also never admit that the watch's ticking, which sounded so much like Ples, was reassuring to him. Veser had not even admitted to himself that it was consoling to hear it when he was alone and in need of assurance that life was so much more than his looked like sometimes.

"So basically you broke my watch?" Veser asked, sticking it back in his pocket. He didn't sound quite as angry as he should.

"Consider it fixed," Ples said, and Veser almost thought he sounded amused. "I'm going to remember this, this time."

Veser didn't know what he was supposed to make of that, so he covered it up by lunging forward and catching Ples for a kiss. It didn't matter that now Ples remembered all the other times, and that now Veser couldn't take anything back. It was still a little like a first time, because they were both aware they'd remember everything in the morning. This didn't stop Veser from biting perhaps a bit more than necessary, and it meant that for once Ples' arms came up and Veser could tangibly feel the older man's touch.

Veser broke off after a minute, immediately calculating what he wanted. He couldn't ask Ples if it bothered the man that this was all real. Doing would prove that far more easily.

"I still want to fuck you," he said. He'd never just said as much before.

Veser wanted Ples to be surprised, to have to think about it, to do something. Ples thwarted him, only appearing amused, perhaps at Veser's vulgarity of all things.

"I imagine you are already prepared," Ples murmured.

"Of course I am," Veser said dismissively. "And then you can give me a beer."

"I don't know about that last part," Ples said. "Perhaps you should take this all one step at a time."

It was a joke, or at least Veser thought it was Ples' idea of a joke. And so Veser kissed the man again, digging in his pocket for the lube and condom he had told himself he wouldn't be needing. Maybe he should talk about the safe sex thing, but it was something he could shove forward if Ples ever tried to back out. Veser knew what he was doing; Ples would have to try harder if he wanted to break things off now that there was something.

Veser was still impatient, stripping out of things as fast as his skinny body could move. This was the first time they'd fuck or fool around anywhere other than a bar bathroom, and in Veser's head that meant some nakedness was in order. He wanted to know what Ples would look like without all of his stuffy clothes. He wanted to be naked first because then he could just sit there while Ples disrobed with infuriating patience. Veser had to stop before he started counting exactly how many pieces were involved in Ples' outfit.

Veser wondered if Ples actually knew just how much he was being stared at, and if he was therefore doing it on purpose. When the man was done he slid back onto the couch, eying Veser with the same expectant look from before. It was odd to even think it, but Ples might have been issuing a challenge.

"I didn't actually want you to forget," Veser said, as he crouched over Ples close enough for a kiss. "I mean, who would want to forget my great prowess in bed, right?"

Veser decided to ignore the fact that Ples seemed to be trying not to smile.

"You tick faster sometimes, you know that?" Veser continued, one hand now stroking Ples as he spoke.

In the back of his head, Veser could hear the ticking stuttering in and out of pace. He suspected Ples did know, never mind the blank look the man was offering him. Blank save for that eyelid fluttering, something that even Veser realized meant something.

"I think it's because you're all hot an bothered," Veser said. He reached for the lube again with one hand, squeezing a bit out onto his fingers. "But I don't blame you. I mean, I am a sexy beast and all."

Veser slid his hand between Ples' legs, probing with one finger before pressing in. Ples' expression shifted slightly, something Veser couldn't name, and his hips arched gently into the motion of Veser's hand. So encouraged, Veser began that forward and back slide that had worked so well before.

"I think you must be stalling with me just now," Ples said, voice surprisingly even considering what his hips were doing.

It didn't even occur to Veser that Ples would know just what would get Veser riled up. It didn't occur to Veser that Ples might want to do that to him in the first place. It did occur to him that he could go quicker, could go rougher if Ples was not going to stop him. He eased in a second and then a third finger, finding out how to twist his wrist to spread them for best results, the expression he was showing Ples challenging the man to criticize.

Nothing was forthcoming, so Veser slid his hand free while kissing Ples once, sharply, more teeth than anything else. His hand moved to his cock instead, stroking a few times, quickly, even though he was already plenty interested and Ples was practically challenging him still. It was so simple then to tear the condom wrapper, to roll it onto flesh that seemed so sensitized that even that gentle contact felt like too much.

The couch was far more welcoming than a stretch of wall in a bathroom, with Ples spread out under Veser as Veser nudged himself into place. He shoved in more quickly this time, all of his anxiety over the conversation with Ples channeling into raw sexual passion. Ples' hands ended up on his waist, but the older man made no real effort to control Veser's movements. Veser punctuated his thrusts with kisses, angry-feeling kisses that disguised how much he really did need Ples.

Ples was as receptive as Veser could have hoped for. Veser never really thought much about what Ples' sex life might have been like before he came along. He tended to approach such things as if the other person had never existed before they met him. But Ples' body was taut with the efforts of his muscles, clamping down on Veser's flesh every time he tried to jerk his hips back. It was like Ples did not want him to withdraw, and the sensation was overwhelming. Veser would kiss Ples at the same time, breaking off each kiss with a gasp as he thrust back in. Ples would kiss him back then, recapturing Veser's lips in more gentle fashion, something about the manner of it making the kisses all the more erotic.

Ples' hips would arch up and up, a gentle rocking that moved with Veser's thrusts, pulling him in deeply. The entire time Ples' ticking was surging in Veser's ears, rolling in and out and in again like a tide he could not avoid. Every time Ples gasped there was a single loud tick to denote it, and every time his eyelids fluttered the ticks would all go out of sequence. Veser could tell, just from the ticking, when Ples was enjoying himself the most. It was comforting, in that it was a constant reassurance that he was doing things right, and in that it felt like an intangible part of Ples was impossibly caressing him.

Veser tried that time to jerk Ples off as he moved, hand stuttering over Ples' cock as it tried to keep time with the motions of their hips. Ples didn't object in any detectable way to the quick, aggressive motion of Veser's hand, not even when Veser clamped down a bit too hard upon reaching his orgasm. Ples didn't object to Veser's biting down on him when he came, as Veser trembled where he was holding himself over Ples and clutching at the couch behind Ples' head. By that point Ples was spurting over the hand Veser still had around him.

There wasn't the hurry, then, as in bar bathrooms. Veser was comfortable just sliding out of Ples, carefully rolling off the condom, and sitting atop the older man as if he had every right to be there. He did. It was disconcerting, Ples figuring everything out, but fuck that noise Veser was glad to get what he wanted.

"So hey," he said, after a pause to recover. "You gonna give me that beer now?"

Ples looked at Veser with a faint glimmer of what might have been disbelief. "You are underage," he said. "I do have lemonade."

"Is it hard lemonade?" Veser persisted.

Ples gave him another one of those weird little looks, and Veser realized that he might have to learn how to read them. There was no way in hell he was going to stay that much in the dark if he was jumping Ples on a regular basis. Maybe he could make a cheat sheet.

But then there was the sound of the ticking, a faint tune now that Ples and Veser had both calmed back down, and Veser knew that reading faces wasn't going to matter. Ples' ticking would always give him away. It was obvious enough for Veser, and still almost sophisticated. Just then, Veser would guess the sound meant Ples was content.

Ples was content and Veser had done it.

"All right, not hard lemonade," Veser said, too manic to actually feel disappointed. "I'll take a glass. What are you having? Vodka maybe? Does it taste good in lemonade?"

Veser slid off Ples and off the couch, feeling no need to redress. Ples took the time to put his pants and shirt back on, but he still looked astoundingly disheveled. They took their drinks in the kitchen, sitting on wrought iron stools with soft white cushions for seats. Veser didn't manage to get any vodka into his lemonade, but considered it mission accomplished because Ples got drunk and sleepy before remembering to shoo Veser out of the apartment.

If Ples thought Veser was actually going to sleep on that couch, he had another thing coming.