Sequel to Jumping. Chris reveals his decision to Elise and starts a new life with Dan. Chris' POV. Established Relationship. [Dan/Chris]

AUTHOR'S NOTES: After I finished "Jumping" I started contemplating what would happen the morning after Chris woke up at Dan's and realized the gravity of the decision he had made. Chris is a pretty indecisive person as it is, but I think he really loves Dan and would choose him over Elise. I started toying with this idea of him explaining to Elise that it was over and trying to begin a life with Dan, maybe even getting Dan to say those three little words everyone longs to hear. Good luck, Chris! This one may have a little trouble with the tense, since I am still getting used to writing in present tense. It's difficult for me. PS. If you don't understand the "particular about his poptarts" jab, read my other Dan/Chris non-smutty one-shot "Poptarts".

WARNINGS: This story is rated for adultery, adult language, alcohol use, cigarette use, violence, graphic sex, and other adult themes.

PAIRINGS: Chris/Dan

Dan Vs. © Dan Mandel & Chris Pearson

"Free Fall"

Chapter One: Cold Poptarts

The next morning, I wake up in Dan's bed.

The sun peeks through damaged drapes, shoddily tacked to the window frame and the room is filled with the pale light of early morning. The apartment looks the same as it did the night before, piles of trash littering the floor, stained walls with peeling paint, but the air feels different somehow. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, the scent of mold and nicotine tickling my nose no longer bothers me the way it once might have. My entire life has changed. I am home.

I glance at the figure of the man sleeping next to me.

Dan is lying on his stomach, dressed only in his ripped striped boxers. The soft glow of the morning sun illuminates his pallor skin in various shades of yellow and gold, painting his naked upper-body like a sunrise. The sheets around his body are disheveled, a mild allusion to the activities that took place the night before. He sleeps with his face turned away from me. The only reminder of the previous night is his arm, thrown casually over my waist, fingernails digging possessively into my stomach.

I push myself up onto my elbows. He doesn't stir. I observe my raven-haired lover in affectionate silence. Mr. Mumbles is curled up on his legs, her teen body rising and falling with each breath. I peer around the grimy apartment and glance at the clock on the nightstand, it reads half past nine yet I can barely hear the traffic outside. At this moment, it almost feels as if we are the only people in the world.

For the first time in my life, I am content.

Dan's soft snores break the silence and I smile in spite of myself. When Elise sleeps, she looks like a fairytale princess frozen in perpetual loveliness, awaiting true love's kiss. Dan resembles the beast in his harsh disarray, but I am happier this morning than I have been in all the years of my marriage. I run my fingers through his hair gently.

I am about to leave for what feels like the billionth time in our relationship when I feel a firm grip on my wrist that stops me in my tracks. I turn to find Dan clenching my wrist tightly, possessively. His grip is strong, fingers digging painfully into the soft skin. His eyes glisten with a scorching intensity, glistening like chips of emerald in the dingy light of his apartment. When his gaze bores into mine, I feel as if every question I have ever had is being answered, then replaced by thousands of new ones.

"D—Dan?" I find myself stuttering. I think my hand is trembling in his, but I cannot tell. I don't know how much more stress I can handle tonight. He has already drained me of every last ounce of my physical and emotional strength. I have nothing left to give. His fixates me with a stare that bores into my soul and suddenly I am trapped in the emerald prison that is Dan's gaze. I feel as if time has frozen and I am caught in a paradox. I can almost feel my entire world ripping apart, shredding to pieces around me and I feel sick with fear and excitement.

I don't know how long we stood there, it was probably only a few seconds but it felt like an eternity. He doesn't speak. Abruptly, he yanks me, hard, and I stumble forward, tripping over my sandals and crash directly on top of him.

My jaw hits the edge of the couch and I see stars, "What the fuck was that?" I spit, pushing myself off his scrawny body and rubbing my aching chin. I try to free myself from his grasp but Dan glowers at me, refusing to ease the death-grip he has on my wrist. Our eyes lock and the moment his eyes meet mine, like a fire consuming a forest I am enveloped. I feel my weak resolve beginning to crumble, like the frail leafs of a tree caught in a blazing inferno. I shake my head roughly, forcing myself to regain whatever composure I have left. "Tell me what you want from me, Dan." I whisper, my voice serious. "No more games. I need you to say it."

Dan's eyes grow wide with momentary surprise. He is not used to my showing him any sort of defiance, but I struggle to maintain my firm stance because I know his answer is the most important thing I will ever hear in my life. He frowns, the lines in his forehead deepening and I notice his eyes dart around the room as he strains to form a proper response. I can't help but think he is rather adorable when he is pissed off and trying to be kind at the same time, like an angry teddy bear.

Finally, he settles for releasing the torturous grip on my wrist and sliding his hand down into mine. His face softens slightly and he squeezes my hand gently. I give him a quizzical look and he murmurs, "Stay."

I grin, that was all I ever needed to hear.

I wriggle out from beneath Dan and place his arm at his side as gently as I can manage. He groans a little in his sleep and I take care not to wake him as I maneuver myself off the bed. On impulse, I lean down and place a quick kiss on his forehead before tip-toeing into the kitchen.

We have a lot of things to discuss this morning, a lot of words left unsaid over the past few years. My mind drifts towards my wife. I wonder what I am going to tell her. I cannot think of a single painless way to confess to someone that you are leaving them for another person, let alone someone you have been sleeping with most of your life. I promised my life to this woman, now I am running off with a man she can barely stand to be in the same room with and if I am honest with myself, this is what I have always wanted.

There is a cynical part of me that wonders if she will even care at all. Elise has always maintained a separate life from me and kept certain aspects of her personal self a secret. Did she even wonder where I was last night? Why I didn't come home? I wonder, idly. Noticing my discarded khakis in a pile on the floor where I had abandoned them the night before in haphazard desperation to return to the bed, I decide to check to see if I had missed any calls. I fish through the pockets on my cargo pants and extract my cell phone, releasing the lock on the screen. There are no calls. I shut my phone off and set it on the kitchen counter, shaking my head.

In all honesty, I have never properly connected with Elise. I have always tried to be forthcoming and honest with her, but I have always felt as if she has kept something from me. In fact, I still have no idea what she does for a living. How insane is that? I tried my hardest to be a good husband, I really did. I even attempted to put an end to my relationship with Dan, but he wouldn't hear of it. I didn't really matter anyway, because by that time I was already addicted to his abuse. Besides, if Elise could have her secrets why couldn't I? As time went on, she began to withdraw more and more and finally I realized I had no desire to be in the marriage whatsoever.

I love Elise, truly and with all my heart, but I do not think what I feel for her is true love. I do not think I love her the way a husband is meant to love his wife. Whenever my cell phone rings, I leap for it excitedly hoping it will be Dan. When I see her smiling face on the screen, instead of Dan's glowering expression, my heart sinks. I have been fucking Dan twice as long and sex with him has never once felt as stale as it does with her. I can barely recall the events of our wedding night, but I still remember my first kiss with Dan in vivid detail. It took me a long time, but I finally realized I was living with a beautiful roommate, not a wife and now that I have come to terms with it I can see our marriage for what it really was: a fraud.

I only started dating Elise because she was the safe option, the gorgeous cheerleader-type that my parents always fawned over when I brought them home in High School. I felt the need to comply with the wishes of those around me, rather than my own needs and took the least controversial path. Finally, I had decided to do things because I wanted to not because anyone else said I should. I am tired of doing things because they are safe. Dan is anything but safe. I know it will be rough. Hell, it will be a fight the whole way, but I also know I will enjoy every minute of it and that's worth every bruise I take along the way.

Dan pushes his food around his plate with his fork, ignoring me entirely. He is glaring angrily at the pancakes in front of him, the ones he forced me to make him even though it is three in the morning. He is dressed in his usual black tee shirt and jeans, paired with a worn green jacket. He smells of alcohol, but I don't comment. I tread on the foot of one of my fuzzy footie-pajamas. I am exhausted. We both are. I can see the dark-circles underneath his eyes. Dan mumbles to himself and prods his food. For the life of me, I cannot figure out what he is doing here.

"Dan, why aren't you eating?" I ask him, an obvious edge in my voice. I want him to go away. I want him to leave so I can go back to my nice warm bed in my nice warm pajamas and go to sleep and forget he was ever here, but that's impossible. Elise is out of town on another business trip and I am alone in this house. There are no barriers between me and him, no one to force him to go back home.

About an hour ago, I was having a lovely dream about becoming king of the pirates when he kicked in my back door, ranting and raving about how his new neighbor was trying to force him out of the building. After he drove accidentally away the previous tenants with an army of cockroaches and his cat shot me off of the roof into a dumpster, a young-metal head had moved into the apartment next to his. Dan was convinced that the kid was a Satanist and planning on using him as a sacrifice of some sort. He wouldn't hear otherwise. I had spent the last fifty minutes trying to convince him that an interest in Slayer did not amount to an interest in ritualistic human sacrifice.

"Ever since you got married, your pancake making skills have suffered." Dan mumbles out of nowhere, glowering at his plate. He pokes at the syrupy mess with the tip of his fork, stirring it until the entire thing is nothing but brown mush. Abruptly, he stabs his fork into the center of the gooey pile and declares, "I hate your wife."

I am taken aback. Dan has always insulted Elise, calling her every name in the book and insulting her looks and intelligence, especially in comparison to his own, but he has never come out and stated that he hated her so plainly. I blink at him, but refuse to say anything to feed into his psychosis. Instead, I reach across the table, sliding his plate away from him and begin eating the mushy pile of dough myself. He watches me in silence for five solid minutes, waiting for a response. When I give him nothing, he kicks my shin angrily and I swallow a mouthful of pancakes down the wrong pipe, choking.

Dan makes no move to help me and I pound on my chest, hacking furiously. Finally, I spit a large ball of mush onto the table and glare at him. "What was that?" I ask, my voice husky. I take a drink of water and cross my arms over my chest, glaring at him.

He ignores me in favor of continuing his tirade about my wife. "She's a jerk, you know." he whispers, turning away from me and staring fixatedly at the stove as if it is the most interesting thing in the world. "You—" he begins to speak, but stops. Dan scratches his goatee and bites his lip, his brows furrowing. I am intrigued. What am I, Dan? Am I not good enough for her? Or do I belong to someone else?

He doesn't finish.

Dan pushes himself up from the table and heads for the broken door, stopping to turn over his shoulder, "Come by my house tomorrow around three, okay? Bring some heavy adhesive tape, a stink bomb, and a CD of Yanni. I am going to take revenge on my neighbor." he says, leaving without another word.

I cannot even finish my pancakes.

When I enter the kitchen, it is in complete disarray. I shake my head, opening the refrigerator to poke around inside for something to make for breakfast. Dan's refrigerator is dingy and the overhead light falters like a bad horror movie. There isn't much to choose from. I peek into an old container of Chinese, finding it congealed and black. It smells of something closely resembling tar. Three cans of generic beer are tucked in the back corner next to some sort of vegetable that has grown furry, white mold.

I baulk and shut the door. Even I don't want to eat that.

I move onto the cabinets, opening and closing each one in turn. They are sparse, almost depressingly so. It is not until I reach the cabinet closest to the door that I discover I lone box of poptarts tucked in a corner next to a carton of cigarettes. It is not an ideal breakfast. Hell, I can eat a whole box of these by myself in a single sitting, but I am elated by the sight of something edible. I grab the box and peer inside, thrilled to see a single foil package.

I feel my stomach growl at the sight of the frosted-strawberry goodness, but I fight it. Today is important and I refuse to ruin it by eating all the food in Dan's house before he even wakes up. I remind myself that we can always go out for a real breakfast later; I just want to do something to make Dan more open to talking with me, instead of shutting me out like he usually does. This is going to be the first day of the rest of our lives.

I spot the toaster on the far corner of the counter. It still has a price tag from the Salvation Armed Forces stuck on its side, though I don't remember him purchasing it. Wow, only six dollars for a toaster? That's a pretty good deal. I note, tearing open the foil packaging and placing both poptarts into the toaster, pressing the button and waiting as patiently as I can manage. I have never been very good at waiting for food to cook. In fact, I don't mind eating most food raw, occasionally with the wrapping included. However, Dan is extremely particular about everything he eats, especially his junk food and poptarts must be toasted. I shift my weight from foot to foot like a small child who has to use the toilet, dancing in place while I wait for the pastries to heat.

I wait for the poptarts to finish, my stomach flipping nervously. I am terrified. I feel like I am falling off a cliff into oblivion, plummeting towards the ground at unfathomable speeds with no discernible place to land. I am going to crash into the earth. Yet, at the same time I am excited, elated even because I am hopeful that when I land, it will be on top of the person I love most in the world. All of a sudden, I am overcome with anxiety. What if he doesn't feel the same way? Am I taking his gestures too seriously? Inviting me to stay one night is not tantamount to a lifetime together. I am lost in my own worries when the toaster tweets happily, alerting me to its completion.

I eagerly grab a paper-towel and snatch the poptarts with the tips of my fingers, grimacing from the slight burn of pastry on flesh. I blow on them and trot over to the bedroom, seating myself on the edge of the bed. I place my hand on Dan's bare shoulder and shake him gently, he bats my hand away. I smile and jostle him a little more. "Wake up, Dan. Poptarts." I say, waving the bundle underneath his nose. He sniffs curiously and groans, turning over and sitting up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Mr. Mumbles is dislodged from her perch and mewls angrily, skittering off to do whatever kitty activities it is she does all day. Dan peers at the food and raises his brow skeptically, "What's this for?" he asks, taking one of the pastries and nibbling at the corner. I smile gently, taking my own poptart and engulfing half in one mouthful. I burn my tongue but I don't care, it's delicious.

"I just wanted to make you some breakfast." I explain, blushing slightly. "We have a lot to talk about." I murmur, finishing my food in another two bites. I am still starving. I eye Dan's poptart hungrily, but shake the desire to snatch his food from his hands and stuff it into my mouth like a rabid squirrel. I focus my attention on the raven-haired man in front of me. He eyes me strangely.

"What do you mean, Chris?" he questions, one of his eyebrows quirking inquisitively. I am lost for words. Doesn't he understand the implications of his actions? I frown at him, unsure how to explain myself without sounding as clingy as I am feeling.

"Y—you asked me to stay." I begin, but I am met with a look of confusion and skepticism that makes any attempts at an explanation die in my throat. Suddenly, I begin to feel queasy. I had thought everything was finally coming together. An image flashes across my vision, I see myself crashing painfully into the ground. My spine popping like packing peanuts crushed beneath a shoe, blood spurting from my nose. I shake the image from my head, but cannot fight back the tears. "God, I am so stupid!" I wail, feeling angry tears beginning to well at the corners of my eyes. I ball my hands into fists, slamming them into my knees. I am starting to hyperventilate. "I thought you actually meant something when you said that! I thought you wanted me, for once!" I am babbling now, but I don't care. Dan is sitting on his bed, uncertain of how to handle a six foot two man throwing a baby-fit in front of him. "I was going to do it finally, you know." I insist, blubbering. "I was going to! I—I was going to leave her!" I choke on my own tears. His eyes widen, filled with an emotion I cannot decipher, but I do not dwell on his expression. "Just… fuck you! I'm going!" I yell, hopping off the bed and trying to run for the door, completely forgetting that I am without pants.

Abruptly, I feel a powerful hand wrap around my wrist for the second time in two days and I am pulled backward with strength befitting a behemoth, forcibly thrown down onto the bed. I find myself staring up at Dan's face, twisted in an expression of fury. He is livid, his eyes glint with blistering ferocity. The smaller man tosses his poptart onto the bedside table and straddles my waist, pinning my wrists above my head. I struggle against his grip, but in his state of fury he much stronger than me and despite his small stature I am trapped.

His fingers dig painfully into my flesh and I cry out. He ignores my whimpers of protest and forces my tee shirt over my head. I struggle to catch my breath, my eyes filling with fresh tears. Dan ties the fabric around my wrists so tightly I can feel the blood to my hands being cut off. He proceeds to wrap the rest of the cloth around the bed-post, securing it in place. "Stop it, Dan! I want to go home!" I whine, trying to wriggle free of my make-shift bondage.

"Shut. Up. Chris." Dan snarls. His voice is throaty and vicious and my blood turns to ice in my veins. I close my mouth. Often when he is angry, Dan shouts and stamps his feet like a toddler throwing a fit, but when he is truly furious, he becomes an entirely different person. He is intense and focused, a raging tsunami that consumes everything in its path. "You are so goddamned frustrating." he hisses into my ear, sending shivers down my spine that settle in my cock. I mewl, trying to turn away from him.

Dan refuses to allow me to break eye contact, gripping my chin painfully in his strong fingers, he turns my face back toward him and descends his lips onto mine, consuming them with feverish passion. He pushes his tongue into the warm confines of my mouth and a groan escapes me. I feel tortured, my emotions whirling faster than a runaway cyclone and I cannot keep track of them. A moment ago I was headed for the door determined to never see Dan again, now here I am once again: trapped beneath him, a slave to my hormones and begging for more. My skin buzzes like a million wasps are trapped beneath the flesh, quaking for his touch. I will never be able to escape this cycle.

He breaks the kiss and hops off of me. I whimper for contact. He smiles devilishly, sliding my boxers down my hips and off my body. He tosses them aside into the mess that is his apartment. Dan removes his own underwear and climbs back onto the bed, crawling up my naked body. His skin is scorching hot, like a wildfire traveling down my chest. His slight down scratches against my bare skin and I cannot stifle my needy moan. It isn't fair how attractive he is.

Dan's hand grips my cock sternly, pumping it with quick, hard strokes. I buck my hips upward to meet his movements. He is watching me closely, observing my every moment with such intensity if feels as if I am being dissected. I try to stay quiet as he demanded, but the moment he places his tongue on my body I let out a strangled yell. "D—Dan!"

The raven-haired man bites the nape of my neck roughly and my cock jumps in his hand. I can feel his arousal pressing against my belly, leaving a trail of pre-cum down my stomach. My fingers are itching to wrap themselves around his hardness. I want him so badly I could scream. I have no idea how he manages to do this to me. He ensnares me like a fly trapped in the web of a venomous spider, and even though I know I am inching closer to death I am in bliss. His breath feels like flames against my bare skin and I think I am going insane. "Please." I choke out, my voice breathy and filled with need. He smiles.

Dan moves slowly down my body and grips my cock in his calloused hand, directing it into his mouth. Running his tongue up down the expanse of my length, swirling gently around the head, he draws me fully into his mouth. Dan inhales me in my entirety and I shiver, I swear I can feel each one of his taste buds as he explores the grooves of my shaft with his capable tongue.

His free hand drifts downward to grip my balls. He kneads them gently, possessively. I feel my orgasm beginning to build and I suck air in between the gap in my teeth in an attempt to keep from screaming. My toes start to curl as his tongue dances across the dripping head of my cock, lapping up traces of pre-cum with a look of amusement I rarely see him wear. He knows that when he demonstrates those miraculous tongue-skills, he has total control over me to the point I would sooner give up bacon than have him stop teasing me and that's just how he likes it. Just when I feel I am about to fall over the edge into bliss, he stops. I whine like a puppy that has been struck, but he dismisses me.

Dan trails his tongue down my scrotum and begins teasing the outer edges of my anus. I baulk. He has never done anything so dirty before. I release a low mewl in protest, trying to pull my ass away from him. Dan pushes my waist back down onto the bed and pats my right buttock with surprising gentleness, assuring me wordlessly to have faith in him. Suddenly, a wave of calm washes over me and I feel at ease. Despite the power inconsistencies in our relationship, I would trust Dan with my life. The moment I come to terms with this, the quicker sex seems so much simpler and agonizing over it incredibly stupid. I relax in his grip and allow him to continue.

The instant Dan's tongue touches me I swallow whatever protestations I had in favor of giving myself over entirely to the smaller man in front of me. A shiver runs down my spine, filling me with an unknown but immensely pleasant sensation that I cannot put into words. I long to grab the back of his head and force him deeper, but I am forced to settle for wriggling beneath him in approval. The paler mane forces his tongue into the pucker of my anus and I cannot stifle my moans.

Dan begins making soft rotations around the outside of my rosebud. He reaches upward, his hand encircling my cock and he starts to pump it with swift, powerful strokes. Sparks ignite behind my closed eyelids like fireworks bursting into life and I gyrate beneath his deft caress. I think I have started to hyperventilate again, but I can't be sure. I can barely focus my thoughts on anything besides his incredible tongue and I can swear I am melting. I feel dizzy and I do not remember ever feeling this fantastic in my entire life. I struggle to say his name as I rocket towards the pinnacle, crashing into the wall…

Dan and I are standing outside the New World Order Bank at eleven in the evening, waiting in line for the ATM-machine. His clothing is shredded, we both smell like sour milk and eggs, and I am missing a shoe. We had just returned after taking revenge on a pastry company in the San Ferdanando valley that Dan declared war on after he broke his tooth on a cherry pit lodged in a fruit pie. Somehow, Dan had managed to get himself caught in packaging machine and tear his clothing to ribbons as well as bruising his face and arms. We managed to escape, but only after he accidentally knocked us both into a huge vat of milk. I lost my sandal while we were running from the security guards.

My eyes rove his half-exposed body. The torn fabric of his tee shirt reveals the ivory skin usually hidden underneath his clothing, untouched by the rays of the sun. His slightly pudgy stomach bands over the waistband of his jeans and I cannot help but want to toss him down onto the sidewalk and blow a raspberry directly into his abdomen. I might consider it, if I wasn't positive that he would strangle me to death on the spot.

The older woman in front of us finishes her banking, gathering her money and clutching it to her chest, holding her nose as she skitters away down the sidewalk. Dan approaches the machine, tugging his soggy wallet out of the back pocket of his ripped jeans and extracting his debit card. He slides the card into the machine and types in his PIN number, "Five. Four. Seven. Five…" he mutters underneath his breath. I smile to myself.

Suddenly, Dan's relatively nonchalant expression transforms into one of frustration. He kicks the machine angrily. I bite my lip, worriedly. I don't need another revenge mission today. I have one shoe. "Insufficient funds." he snarls, pressing a couple more buttons. "I don't have any money." Dan mutters, averting his eyes from mine as he pulls his card out of the machine and turns to face me. He is smiling, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I can't buy food, Chris. Pay for me." Dan orders, running his fingers through his milk-scented hair.

Dan has had money troubles since he was a kid. Though in recent years, I will often push him to get a job or use his skills for things other than revenge I can never abandon him when he looks at me with that face. In his torn clothing, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment, I see an image of the young boy I met all those years ago in elementary school.

I look around us. At this time of night, the street is relatively deserted and despite our appearances few people are giving us a second glance. I suppose this is one of the benefits of living in California. Quietly, I extend an arm and pull him into my chest. "I'll pay." I whisper, burying my head in his shaggy, sour hair.

"Mmph" he responds, his angry voice muffled against my larger chest. I know Dan has difficulty conveying his feelings, so I don't push for appreciation. I choose to accept his stifled noises and the fact that he has not yet pushed me away as thank you enough. I release him and we head towards the car.

When I cum, my entire body seizes and I am pretty sure that I cease breathing entirely. White flashes dance in front of my eyes and I barely manage a gurgling noise, trying my best not to pass out until the quaking subsides and I am able to regain what is left of my composure. Dan wiggles out from between my legs and repositions himself so that his cock is poking at my entrance. I barely have a moment to process what is happening before he is inside of me.

When he enters me, it feels like a semi-truck barreling into my innards and a desperate moan rips from my throat: a twisted mixture of agony and pure pleasure, an expression of torture and need. Somehow, I feel as if this moan is a summary of my entire relationship with Dan but my thoughts are lost as the smaller man digs his fingers into my hips and forces himself into me all the way to the hilt with strength likening a demon.

I am fixated on his face.

I watch his expressions closely, with every thrust the muscles in his face expand and contract working to maintain composure as he fights to control his own lust and drag out the experience. Sweat beads on his forehead and he grips my hips tighter, thrusting directly at my prostate. My breathing quickly lapses into staccato and I notice how Dan bites his lip, increasing the speed of his motions, pistoning into me with the force of a train engine.

Suddenly, his eyes lock with mine and I feel as if I am being broken open, shattered as easily as a glass window beneath Dan's crowbar. The world stops rotating and my heart ceases to beat entirely. In a split second, I am stripped of whatever vestiges of fortification I may have once held and am left naked and exposed. I am trapped beneath a dark-haired devil, weak and vulnerable, subject to his every whim. Yet in that moment, with his deep emerald eyes burrowing into mine, I feel more whole than I ever have in my entire life.

When he reaches the pinnacle, I feel the warmth of his orgasm spreading throughout my entire body and engulfing me in the wave of his afterglow. I am consumed by a raw connection between my soul and his. I desperately wish that I was not tied down so that I could kiss him, ass to mouth be damned. Once he finishes, he stays inside of me for a few moments, staring at me intensely without saying a word.

In that moment, it dawns on me that this is the first time since he took my virginity nearly twenty years ago Dan has looked me in the eyes while making love. Suddenly, I am overwhelmed with emotions I cannot word and the tears I had managed to fight back earlier suddenly rise to the surface, overcoming me. My body wracks with sobs, obscuring the vision I have waited so long to see.

"Chris?" Dan's voice is concerned. He pulls out of me quickly, not bothering to clean up behind himself and crawls up my body to awkwardly straddle my waist. "Stop," he whispers, his voice hoarse. He sounds pained. Dan brushes a calloused thumb underneath my eyes, wiping away my tears and leans over my head to untie the knots, tossing my tee shirt onto the floor. He climbs off of me and perches himself on the edge of the bed, staring dejectedly at the ground. "Stop crying, I'm s—sorry. You can go." Dan mumbles angrily, refusing to look me in the eye.

I flex my wrists and push myself up onto my elbows, staring at his hunched figure. I am confused. Dan glances in my direction but turns away quickly, his face red and heated. Suddenly, the realization of what just occurred hits me like a ton of bricks. Dan assumed my tears had been ones of pain, not the happiness I had been expressing and he was actually trying to let me go no matter how much it hurt him. I am touched, but at the same time I cannot help but want to laugh. A snigger escapes me and I reach out, wrapping my arms around the man who has escaped my grasp for so many years and pulling him back into my body, smearing his back in the long-forgotten cum on my stomach. "Stupid," I whisper. "You're so stupid." I chide, burying my head in his hair and inhaling the scent of nicotine and sweat.

"W—what!?" he asks, infuriated. Dan tries to wriggle free, but I refuse to release him. I am far too content to allow him to escape me now. "Let me go, you jackanape!" he yells, nipping me arm like an angry kitten and squirming out of my grip. He turns to face me, pushing his forehead against mine so that his eyes are practically touching my own. I know he is trying to be intimidating, but I am too happy to take him seriously. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. "What is going on?" he asks, his voice surly.

Even Dan's tantrums can't knock me off my cloud. I smile, leaning backward and placing a kiss on his forehead. "You can be confusing sometimes, do you know that?" I tell him, "In fact you can be the most frustrating person on the planet." I inform him, grinning. Dan glowers at me, obviously not pleased with the direction of the conversation since he would much prefer I sing his praises. I smile, sucking air in between the gap in my teeth and murmur. "Sometimes, I can't tell if you care." I confess, "But— I like to think you do."

He scowls for a moment, the lines in his forehead deepening in irritation then his smirks, taking my left hand in his and raising it to his lips. He wraps his tongue around my ring-finger and I blush, my entire body stiffening. Dan runs his tongue down the length of my finger, twirling it around the wedding band. Suddenly, he clamps his teeth around the gold ring and pulls it off, abruptly spitting it across the room and into the piles of clutter. I watch with wide-eyes as the symbol of my marriage disappears in the heaps of shit that surround Dan's home. There is not even a glimmer to signal to its location.

It's gone.

"Is that clear enough for you?" he asks, glowering at me. He is wearing a similar look to the one he wore when I told him about my marriage all those years ago, except his eyes are sparkling with new life. I grin and cup his chin in my hands, tilting it upward and kissing him deeply. For once, Dan makes no protests and allows me to snake my tongue into his mouth, wrapping my hands in his wayward locks.

Finally, I break the kiss and stare directly into his eyes, "You're clear."