A/N: This is not AT ALL what I planned to write. Not at all. I had intended something less obviously shippy and more obsucre, but instead this is what came out. I'm take huge liberties here too, as you'll soon see for yourselves. None the less, I hope you all enjoy it! If you do, tell me so!

Also, if you haven't checked out chapter 6 of "When Your Heart Wears Thin," which was posted on Monday, go do it! :)

Sasha grimaced as the lukewarm Scotch burned its way down his throat. The Tanner house was the last place he wanted to be, especially with Summer flitting back and forth between she loves him, she loves him not, and Payson smiling at Max. He felt the anger simmer in his chest, not because of Summer and Steve, although that was his excuse for being gruff since his return, but because Payson was his and he couldn't have her. Instead, he had to stand by and watch as Max, that little punk, danced from Payson to Lauren and back again without more than an instant's thought. Clearly Payson was the better choice, but she wasn't putting out for him and that made Lauren the easier choice. Sasha shook his head, staring into the bottom of his glass.

Payson ran by him in that instant. He knew she was crying, could see it in the way her shoulders were hunched and her head was bowed. He knew this girl…woman, inside and out, there wasn't a thing she could sneak past him.

"Payson!" he called, jogging after her. He didn't need to, she'd stopped dead in the middle of the Tanner patio and was now sobbing quietly into her hands.

"Go away, Sasha," she moaned. He moved slowly, coming up behind her until he could almost feel her loose hair against his chest, and then laid a hand on her shoulder, brushing lightly with his thumb. He felt her shudder beneath his touch and he almost groaned.

"Payson, what's wrong…love?" Sasha asked. He closed the little distance that remained between them so that they were pressed together and he wanted to weep at the rightness of it. He hadn't touched her, had hardly spoken to her, in so long it made him ache all over. Whose bloody awful idea had the distance been?

"Don't," she whispered, her voice hoarse from the tears. He brought his other hand up to her shoulder as well, and then skimmed them down the length of her arms to twine with hers. She squeezed his fingers tightly.

"Don't what?" he asked, his lips dangerously close to her ear.

"Don't call me…that."

"Why not?" His voice was even lower now, barely a murmur, but she heard him.

"Because you can't. I just…I just told Max I love him." Sasha's fingers tightened around hers and she whimpered, though he hardly noticed.

"You what?" he hissed.

"I told him…that I love him." Payson had started to cry again and Sasha briefly wondered why. Then he realized.

"He didn't say it back?" Sasha guessed. She shook her head, sending waves of vanilla his way. He smiled faintly at the scent of her shampoo and then let his smile fade. "But you do, love him?"

She was still and silent for a long time. The only sounds were the sounds of nighttime; bugs and frogs and distant traffic, until finally she answered.

"No. I love…"

She didn't get a chance to finish, but it didn't matter. Sasha knew what she would say. Instead of letting her say it, he spun her so quickly she lost her balance and fell against his chest as his lips crashed down over hers. He hadn't wanted it to come to this, but it was better than letting her finish that statement. Months of hard work and agonizingly lonely nights would be wasted if she were allowed to say those words.

As fast as his feet could move, Sasha spirited her away to a dark corner of the patio, hidden in shadow and blocked from prying eyes by the brick walls of the house and plants that Steve had no doubt hired a gardener to tend to. He pressed her against the wall, lifting her so that she was level with him. On instinct, her legs locked around his waist and she ground down against him, nearly making his eyes roll back.

"Christ, Payson," he gasped as she raked her nails down his chest and then reached for his shirt. She fisted the material in her hands and smiled wickedly. "Don't rip it."

She pouted and he leaned in to catch her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down firmly before laving it with his tongue. She moaned and writhed against him.

Sasha couldn't keep his hands from wandering, just the same as Payson couldn't help but tear just one button from his shirt. One hand buried itself in her hair, twisting in the golden locks while the other skimmed up beneath her dress, moving along her thigh so he could feel the precise outline of her muscles and the quiver the followed the light touch of his fingers. At her hips, his hand slid around to grasp her firm bottom, squeezing so hard she hissed.

And then he ripped her panties away; an eye for an eye, and all that, although the argument could be made that a single button wasn't the same as an entire article of underwear. She gasped, and cried out in excitement, and Sasha had to kiss her again just to keep her quiet. Not that he minded. Not at all. The way her tongue curled around his was sinful, wicked, and he would gladly drown in her lips.

This would not be the gentle lovemaking of their past, not the way he knew the brick of the Tanner house was biting into her skin even through the top of her dress, and not the way he had her pressed up against a wall, outside, where really anyone who cared enough to look could see. No, this would be hard, fast, and all-consuming. But at least it was something.

"Sasha," Payson breathed as his fingers burned a path over her skin. "Please."

Sasha nearly came right then. She had never sounded so desperate for him, not even in their most passionate moments, of which there were fewer than he'd like. It drove him on like a madman; he pinned her to the wall with his pelvis, rocking against her and delighting in her groans, as he pulled the front of her dress down, and then the lacy cup of her bra. He wondered who she'd worn it for, him or Max? But the moment he had the perfect globe of flesh in his hands, it didn't matter. It was him who saw it, him who got to go inside it, not Max. Sasha's thoughts were cut short by the feel of Payson's hands on him. It brought him back to the moment, here with her, one of the few they would ever get again.

He was right, this time wasn't like the others. It was hard and desperate, and they clung to each other like a ship to its moorings, tossed in a storm. Payson raked her nails down his back and he was sure he wouldn't be able to go shirtless for a good while. He'd missed her passion, her ability to get lost in the moment. He missed her. It wasn't long before she came apart in his arms. Normally he would mourn such a quick finish, but time was a luxury they did not have.

Together, they slumped against the wall, but they didn't stay that way for long. Their desperate coupling didn't lend itself well to cuddling, though Sasha found it more difficult than ever to watch her straighten her clothes.

She was crying again. Probably for a different reason this time.

"We didn't…we made the right choice, didn't we?" she asked through her tears. Sasha allowed himself to reach out and pull her into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin and playing with the ends of her hair.

"We did," he promised, feeling his own tears burn in his eyes.

Both of their phones rang then and they pulled apart reluctantly to answer. They each listened to the caller for a moment before their eyes met in panic.

"Oh my God, is she okay?"

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