Hi, remember me? lol.

Sorry for the silence. Please bear with me Garden of Eden fans - It's coming, I promise! I've had major writers block and lots of stuff happening in real life, I apologise profusely and beg that you can just wait a little bit longer. Final chapter is a quarter written and currently with my wonderful beta who will promptly give me a big kick up the backside.

ANYWAY - This is just something to prove to myself that I can still write, sort of. Apologies if it is absolute rubbish. It was written in the last four hours to the sound of The Doors, Placebo, The Naked & Famous and lots of others. Thanks for the inspiration guys :-D

Also, major inspiration came from the story that I am currently beta-reading for - who doesn't like a helpless Randy? ;-) hehe.

DISCLAIMER: I own neither Randy or Evan. Such a shame I know.

WARNING: Smutty slashy goodness. :-D

Hope you likey xx

I kick my way along the street. Soccer with the empty can I found a mile back. It ricochets off a trashcan and I freeze. No lights flash on. Silence remains. I rescue the can and continue on my way. Step, kick. Step, kick. It's late. Maybe I should have got that cab back. I would be home by now. But the queue outside the club was too long. And I didn't want to hang around. Before I knew it, I was walking away, down the dark street, turning right then left, onto the main stretch that leads back here.

Maybe I shouldn't have gone out. I should have stayed at home. With you. Curled up on the sofa, your good arm around my shoulders, my head on your chest. But no. You practically pushed me out of the door, sick of me being sick of you being sick, injured, helpless. Only when I was halfway to the club did I realise that I should have stayed. But then it was too late. They were waiting for me.

I give the can a final kick. It clatters off the sidewalk, into the road and comes to a rest against a car wheel. I glance up at the house. Lights off. I glance at my watch. Shit. 3am. Way later than I said. I chew my lip nervously as I climb the steps to the front door. I slide my key into the lock slowly, twist and push, wincing as the hinges creak. Quietly...

The door clicks shut behind me. The house stays silent. No lights flicker on. Success. I ease my shoes off and shuffle them with my feet into the space next to yours. The light from the streetlights gives the lounge an eerie orange glow and I can see where you've been for most of the night; the couch and its cushions have a well worn dent in them. The TV remote hangs, almost suicidal, off the side of the couch. Your latest car magazine lies half open on the floor below. The book I bought you from the airport the other day lies on the coffee table, my plane ticket poking out from the pages. I can't help but grin – you rolled your eyes when I gave it to you, gave me a chaste kiss and threw it to one side. Maybe you are going a little stir-crazy after all.

I pad across to the stairs, and head up, carefully avoiding the steps the squeal under pressure. The bedroom door is half open. Blue, then white light flashes; the TV is on. The sound down. I push open the the door slowly, peer around and shake my head. You're lying in bed, pillows propping you up, your arm in the sling onto of the sheets, your head back, mouth open, soft snores filling the room. I move further into the room. You don't wake. I switch off the TV. You cough. I freeze.

"Evan?"

"Yeah..."

"What time is it?"

"Three," I wince.

"Good night?"

I turn to face you. Even without the light from the TV I can still somehow make you out in the darkness. Your head is still back, but I can tell you're watching me under hooded-lids.

"I guess."

"I wasn't mad at you."

"I know," I console. God knows I know what it feels like to be stuck at home, trussed up limbs, helpless.

"I just... I just didn't want you missing out. Because of me. You don't want to be the person to dump your friends for me... Or whoever."

"They would've understood." I throw my jacket on the chair and walk to the en-suite. I wonder if you will follow. I can hear the bed shifting, see the light flick on, but nothing more. When I return, your sling is on the floor. I scowl and you roll your eyes.

"I can't sleep with it on."

"I know." I pluck at my shirt buttons slowly. I can feel you watching me closely. I shrug the shirt off my shoulders, start on my pants.

My head whips round when you groan. But you're not looking at me anymore: you're face is scrunched up as you shift on the bed, trying to roll onto your side. I kick my pants away and walk over to you.

"Why don't you just do as you're told hmm?" I mutter. "The doctors said that for minimal pain you should sleep on your back."

"Fuck, Evan. I don't give a shit what the doctors say."

I scowl at you as I get into bed next to you. Unperturbed by the discomfort, you carry on, slowly twisting over onto your side. The pillows fall over you and it's all I can do to re-arrange them around you. You mumble your thanks, as I lean over you and switch the light off.

Shifting down into the bed, I roll onto my side, facing away from you. I can't get as close to you as I want. I miss the feeling of your breath on the back of my neck, gently tickling my ear. I miss your arms around me, your fingers running patterns over my chest, down to my stomach.

I feel the bed move again, as you grunt, shifting again. And then I feel your fingers in my hair. I shiver.

"Sorry... I didn't mean to snap," you murmur.

"S'okay."

Your fingers rub a little harder, moving down the back of my head to my neck. Your thumb on the top of my spine, rolling the skin over the bone, then back up into my hair. I want to move back, move into you, but I can't.

The sheets rustle, your legs stretch out, your feet sliding against mine. Your big toe, runs under my sole, making me squirm and moan all at the same time. I hear you chuckle. You do it again and again and again...

I can't take it anymore. I roll over to face you. You shift your arm out of the way, resting it on your side as I slide closer to you. Your breath ghosts over my cheek.

"You know why I'm really mad," you murmur.

"I do?"

He chuckles. "I didn't get to see you in action on the dance floor."

I pout in the darkness. You laugh.

"C'mon," your voice drops, and you practically growl: "You know I love it..."

My lips press against yours. Your fingers run through my hair once more, gripping at what you can, holding me there. Your mouth is warm, your tongue almost feverish. But I can feel you struggle with yourself. I know that normally at this point, I would be on my back, with you crawling over me, pressing against me, your arms pushing mine up, making me clutch at the headboard, whilst you would continue a relentless torture of my body, enticing moan, groan, hiss and scream from me. And you know how much I want that right now too.

We haven't had sex since... Well since you got out of hospital. That was a week ago. I'm not sure how we've gotten this far. The sling probably had something to do with it. The sleeping on your back another. None of our usual body contact. Your painkillers practically knocking you out was an added factor. But you refused them earlier. Threw them back at me. Told me to fuck off.

But now, there's no sling, no sleeping on your back and no painkillers to get in the way. So I press myself against you, eager to feel your warmth once again. Eager to feel you close to me, in more ways than one. Suddenly, you're the one moaning into my mouth. And I'm the one tugging on your bottom lip, making you hiss.

"Fuck, Evan..." This time the fuck is less harsh. The Evan more tender.

I reach up, run my fingers down your cheek. Feel you shiver at my touch. I slide them over your shorn head, down to the back of your neck. Over the outlines of your tattoos that I know so well. Where I've kissed so many times. Down your arm, to the top of your cast. Over your cast, down to your fingers. Slowly, entwine mine with yours.

Your breath is hot over my lips. I nip softly at your bottom lip once more. And then trail my tongue down, over your chin, down to your neck. Suck on your Adam's apple for a second, then follow the groove between your pecs. My hand leaves yours, heads further down your stomach. Curl around your cock, my thumb rubbing over the tip.

I sink further under the sheets, my mouth at your stomach, as I slowly pump my hand up and down your cock. You grunt above me. And then I swear I hear you whimper as my tongue edges closer to your groin.

"Evan..."

I flick my tongue over the tip. You practically flinch.

"Shit..."

I slide my mouth over the head, my hand still gliding up and down your length, slowing slightly as I take more of you into my mouth. This would be easier if you were on your back... But I don't want to stop now.

Your arm has followed me under, your hand on my head, rubbing slow, but firm circles on my scalp. Your fingers digging in every so often, in time with your hisses, your moans.

"Fuck... Stop... Evan... I said, shit, fucking stop."

I let you slide from my mouth. The tip hits my chin, wet, sticky. I can't help but take one last lick. Even if you do curse at me for doing so.

"You're not the only one who won't do what they're told,' I grin in the darkness, as I emerge from the sheets"

"Very funny," you groan.

"Roll over..."

I can see your scowl, so I gently roll you onto your back myself.

"Sit up."

You grumble, so I lean into you, pulling the pillows up behind you, my mouth against your ear. "I'll make it worth your while..."

"You'd better."

As soon as you're upright, I crawl on top of you. I can feel you hard against my own cock. The friction makes me groan loudly, as I lean forward, kiss up your shoulder and find your mouth once again.

"Lube," you moan against my mouth. "In the... the drawer..."

I breakaway for a second, fumble for the side, the drawer, the lube. Flick it open, spill half of it over your stomach. You tut then laugh. I can never do things smoothly. I dip my fingers in the spillage and then rub them over your cock, listening to the sound of slickness, mixed with your heavy breathing. Your fingers slide against mine, and then over my thigh, under my ass.

"Move," you grunt.

I lean forward and up. Your teeth sink into my neck, as I feel one of your fingers push inside me. I hiss. And I can feel you smile against my skin. Your power back where it belongs. Another finger. In and out, making me moan against your forehead, as I press feverish kisses there.

"Another?" you ask, even though the third finger is almost breaching me already.

I nod and you oblige. My fingers dig into your shoulders as you twist them around inside me. Stretching me, opening me. One final twist and they slip out, one by one, making me moan wantonly each time. I lean further forward, reaching behind me grasping your cock, lining up the head.

Your arm curls around my waist, easing me down slowly.

"Breathe," you whisper. I exhale, as you lean back against the headboard. I can feel you twitching inside me.

I start to rock. You groan. Normally, you would clutch at my hips with both hands, move me how you want. Rarely, do I set the pace. But when I do... You let me. Tonight is one of those nights. Control shifts between us, but now I have the reins. And I decide on the slow...

I can feel your fingers, the rim of the cast on my thigh. I swear you're leaving brusies, but I couldn't care less. Your other hand has slipped between us, scooped up more excess lube. And now you curl your hand around my shaft. Moving up and down at the same pace I'm moving on you.

I move more firmly, building the pace. Your hand follows suite. I lean forward, capture your mouth, that insatiable mouth that I've barely felt all week. You whimper again... It makes my stomach flip. The same way it does when you growl at me. Like when you're hovering over me, pumping into me and you growl my name. I roll my hips, moving faster still. Your fingers dig into my thigh, your hand around my cock tightens.

I slow for a second.

And then you beg.

And send me over the edge. Spilling into over your hand, my stomach, your stomach.

And then you breathe my name as you explode inside me.

I slump forward onto my chest. I hear you wipe your hand on the sheets and then feel your fingers up my spine. I feel your breath on my forehead, your soft kisses, as you slide out of me.

"Sorry," you murmur.

"What for?"

"Being an dick."

I roll my eyes. And stop you from saying it again with a kiss. Apology accepted.