A one-shot that I promised a long, long time ago to a very dear friend. So sorry it's late, sweetie! Happy birthday, Ingrid! :)

A quickie, no plot whatsoever. Smut abounds. I'm toying with the idea of a longer fic featuring this particular beast, so if anyone's interested in that let me know. Enjoy!

From the Inside

The wood of the door was cold against her cheek. Her fingers clawed the air. Her wrists strained against the hand holding them to the door. He chuckled, a warm, husky sound that sent a shiver town her spine.

"Stop fighting," he whispered. He pushed down on her wrists. His lips were hot against her ear.

With a meek whine, she did. His grip didn't loosen, though, because he obviously knew better. Just as he knew to keep his body pressed against hers while his other hand worked to unfasten her jeans. Her breath hitched when thick fingers pushed inside, seeking. Before he touched her clit she was trembling.

"Count," he ordered, giving her one slow stroke.

"One," she whispered.

Two. She jerked her hips. Three. She moaned. He flicked, slow and steady, until her body was shuddering.

"Twelve," she cried, squirming. "Thir—oh, fuck!"

"Count," he growled.

"Th-thirteen," she squealed. "F-fourteen—Brock!"

"Cum." He pressed down on her clit, working rapidly, holding her up as she tried to muffle her scream against her shoulder.

The wall of steel that was him supported her after she slumped. She was vaguely aware that he wasn't remotely breathless and marveled, having to use him and the door to stay upright as her breath came in short, rapid pants. The finger on her clit gave a little wiggle, then moved lower, teasing, before he pulled his hand from her jeans.

"Take it off." He gave her hip a squeeze then stepped away.

"Can't you say please?" she asked softly. Her hands, numb from his tight grasp, slithered down the door. Fingers that trembled began to clumsily pull at the hem of her top. Looking over her shoulder at him, she felt her breath catch in her throat when she saw that he'd already removed his own shirt. She openly stared at the thick muscles of his arms, the sheen of perspiration that clung to his chest. He raised a hand and she gave a little sigh of appreciation, only to yelp when his palm landed sharply on her ass.

"Hurry the fuck up," he said. Lips pulling into a smirk, he quirked his eyebrows. "Please."

"Jerk," she muttered. Her shirt hit the floor within seconds. Her jeans followed as quickly as she could get them off. It was difficult to do with shaky legs, and she had to lean against the door more than once to keep from falling. After several moments of fumbling and cursing fashion in general, she threw the jeans aside. She opened her mouth to suggest that he could have helped her, but she caught sight of him across the room. Her throat went dry.

The words "magnificent specimen" came to mind. For he was one. She knew that most people didn't think so; she'd heard more than a few women refer to him as a meathead. But she knew him to show his intelligence when the occasion warranted. And she had to admit that the big, strong, silent persona fit him well.

Feeling smaller with each step she took towards him, she drank in the sight of him. His belt was undone, his faded jeans unbuttoned. A sigh of appreciation passed her lips and she stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to the center of his chest. Muscles rippled beneath her lips, causing her to smile against his flesh. She hooked her thumbs in the loosened waistband of his jeans, pushing them down. She pulled away, caught a glimpse of his smile, then his hands were on her waist. Gasping at the sensation of weightlessness, as she always did, she forced her body to relax despite the desire thrumming every nerve.

She landed in the center of the bed, barely given a time to get used to being horizontal before he was over her. Tilting her head back for his brief kiss, she reveled in the brief moment of tenderness. "Babe," she whispered, clutching at his arms.

He sat back, looming over her, callused palms grazing her thighs. There was no teasing now, no playing with her excitement. Pushing her knees further apart, he looked down, squeezing her thighs as he entered her.

"Shit," she gasped, eyes widening in delight. She was given no chance to relish the feeling of him filling her. Reaching for him as he began a slow, almost gentle pumping of his hips, she smiled when his hands closed around her wrists and held them down on either side of her head. He lay over her, leaving her no opportunity to move.

She could feel each one of his muscles strain and sighed with impatience. It felt good – okay, it felt great – but she wanted more. Pinned as she was there was no way she could move so she did the only thing she could.

"Please." The word came out as a whine, and she managed to dig her nails into his wrists. His slow thrusts ceased. "Stop," she whispered, lifting her head so she could kiss his shoulder. "Stop being gentle."

The grip on her hand loosened, one blonde eyebrow lifted. "What?"

"You promised to fuck me. So… Fucking fuck me already."

He actually laughed. "You're fuckin' crazy, y'know that?"

Of course she did. She was with him, wasn't she? She nodded, nibbling at his shoulder. "I want you to fuck me. Not this pansy-ass gentle shit. Fuck me until I can't move, then fuck me until I can't breathe." Her teeth sank into his skin and she heard his sharp hiss. "Fuck me, Brock."

The grip on her wrists tightened. He sat back, yanking her with him, eyes blazing. Surprised when he pulled her off the bed, she stumbled, only to smile in anticipation when he nudged her towards the dresser. Her palms slammed against the cool surface as he pushed her over. She tried to watch him in the mirror, but as soon as he pushed into her she let her head drop forward. She had a fleeting hope that the piece of furniture was sturdy before he began to move. A breathtaking, brutal, bruising rhythm that made her legs buckle. Still in a weakened state from her first orgasm, she was unprepared for the second.

Brock's hand caught the back of her head when she arched her back. His fingers tangled in her hair, he leaned forward , continuing the relentless pounding of his cock into her. "Look at me while you cum."

Her fingernails scrabbled against the top of the dresser, struggling to manage a grip. He pulled on her hair, forcing her back to arch further, until the tips of her fingers barely brushed the smooth wood. She barely noticed the pain, too focused on how fucking good he felt. And how fucking good he looked. Eyes locked with his in the mirror, she managed to wet her lips seconds before her body began to twitch.

She was vaguely aware of him coaxing her, even more vaguely of him catching her flailing arm and holding it still. The only fully coherent thought was that he didn't stop despite her convulsions. Euphoria took hold of her and she let go, her eyes slipping shut.

Still crying out, she realized he was dragging her elsewhere. Her back met his chest briefly, a moan pulling from her chest as his lips brushed her ear. It was followed quickly by a whine of displeasure when he pulled out of her. She spun to face him, retort dying on her tongue when he gripped her hips and lifted her up to his height. Legs made of jelly haphazardly tucked around him, and she tried her best to hold onto sweat-slickened biceps as he guided her onto his cock.

"Fuck," she ground out, once again amazed by his strength. She didn't weigh two tons, but she wasn't as light as a feather either. He didn't seemed bothered, though, holding the back of her neck with one hand while the other held onto her hip. Shivering, she dug her nails in for a better grip and tightened her legs around his waist.

"Done?" he whispered. When she managed a nod, he moved towards the bed, smirking when she moaned. "No you're not."

"Ain't my fault you're so fucking good," she murmured, hissing when her back met the mattress again. The bed trembled as though knowing what was about to happen.

His hands moved to her shoulders as he began thrusting into her again. Beads of perspiration dripped from his forehead, but he was undeterred, pushing her further into the mattress with each brutal arch of his body against hers. She lost track of everything but him. Time, orgasms, her screams, they all jumbled together until she was little more than a writhing pool beneath him. Still he continued, unrelenting, obviously determined to fulfill her request. Unable to do anything but lie there, she gasped for breath, staring up at him in awe. His grunts punctuated each wild slam of his hips, seemed to travel through her, until they matched the wild beating of her heart.

"Fuck," he roared, going rigid. He pushed away. Reached between them.

She drummed up enough energy to push him onto his back. His fingers found her clit and stayed there, rubbing furiously as she bent over him. Lips parted, she whispered his name and breathed in the scent of their sex. Hips jerking against his hand, she squeezed his cock, holding still until she felt him throb. Nails bit almost viciously into her skin as he shuddered and strained. The throbbing increased and she held onto his arm until his fingers ceased torturing her clit. Feeling his body strain once again before relaxing, she hummed in appreciation as he tugged her down on top of him.

It seemed hours passed before she could move. Sore, sticky with sweat, and still feeling the aftershocks, she slid off him onto the cool sheets. Taking his heavy breathing and the arm over his eyes to mean he was asleep, she tried her best to wriggle under the covers. She stilled when he rolled over, flung his arm across her chest, and met her lips with a bruising kiss.

"Shower?" she whispered when they broke for air.

"Later," he mumbled. He shifted, groaning, then the sheet and blanket were pulled over their bodies.

Tenderness was in every touch as he helped her find a comfortable position. Affection was behind the gentle kiss he offered before turning off the lamp.

Just as she was about to fall asleep, he nudged her breast with his chin. "Happy birthday."

~fin