"Pretty straight forward, ain't ya?" Steve drawls at me, wrapping an arm around my waist and leading me toward the hall. I lean into his side, smelling his sweat and soap and a trace of cologne, an intoxicating combination that makes my blood rush a little louder in my ears. Steve's hand is on my hip, fingers pressing a little harder than necessary through the thin material of Jeff's shirt.

"Well, it's the only way to really get what you want, isn't it?" I reason, as he leads me through his bedroom door. Lucy attempts to follow, but he releases me and gently closes the door before she can cross the threshold. I hear a muffled whine, and then retreating pawsteps back down the hallway.

Steve remains standing at the door, leaning casually against it, arms crossed. He allows me to explore his bedroom, which is surprisingly clean and organized. His bed is made with perfectly tucked hospital corners, and the open closet door reveals a wardrobe of dark colors that are all neatly hanging or folded in place. The closet door itself is made up of a giant mirror which is completely spotless, and of course I can't help but glance at myself and offer another silent congratulation of just how fuckable I really look tonight.

There is another mirror, this one atop a simple chest of drawers, and I move toward it, peering at a photograph that has been stuck into the edge of the wooden frame. It's a picture of Steve and the other bar bouncer, this "Rocky" that we'd seen earlier. It's a well-angled candid shot of the two men standing outside the bar, next to a pair of motorcycles. They have their arms around each others shoulders and they're laughing, caught up perhaps in a joke or fond memory. Neither of them are looking at the camera, or even seem aware that they're being photographed. Steve, in the picture, looks much younger than the man now standing across the room, but it's impossible for me to tell whether the change is chronological or simply because of how carefree he seems to be in the photo. I realize then that this picture is the only sign of personal effect in sight. There is nothing else to allude to who the occupant of this room might be; no other pictures or posters or decoration. Just simple clean efficiency, except for this picture. I suddenly feel like an intruder looking at it, and turn quickly away, plastering a thin-lipped smile on my face as I try to pull off the facade of non-curiosity.

Being in this room unexpectedly brings back a memory. Something of my parents, way back when, when I used to remember who they were. 'A place for everything, and everything in it's place,' she used to tell me. This room proved it true.

"Were you in the military?" I ask, trying to turn my mind in a different direction, away from personal pictures and memories of ones mother.

"No. I was in prison," he says. I turn to look at him, ready to laugh along with his joke, but he's not smiling. He's watching me, blue eyes focused, apparently calculating my response.

I don't know what the fuck to say to that. My first instinct is to ask 'what for?,' but you can't just ask someone that, can you? Not someone that you don't know, not someone that you're probably going to end up sleeping with in the next hour. Hell, I don't really want to know, anyway. I don't want to have to think and analyze and listen to stories. I came here to feel, and that's all I intend to do, at least for tonight.

"Oh," is the only syllable I can seem to force out of my mouth. He pushes off the wall and comes toward me slowly, almost gingerly, as if he's trying to collect a frightened dog that's about to bolt out into traffic. He thinks I'm scared of him now, I guess. To prove otherwise, I wrap my arms around his neck when he's close enough, and he puts his big hands on my hips.

"If you're referrin' to my house, I like things clean. It's habit. I have alotta of those. I learned quickly that the deputies are less likely to toss a clean cell. And I didn't like people goin' through my things."

I nod, not having any other response. For a moment, his eyes unfocus and he seems to be somewhere else entirely, remembering something that happened long ago. When he comes back to himself, he smiles a little and tightens his grip on me.

"We don't have to do this now, y'know. Not that I don't want to, 'cause.. fuck, I do. But I could take you out a few times first, or somethin'."

"Steve, after tonight, you can take me out as often as you want to, I swear. But right now, I need this. And I think you do, too."

"Promise? That you ain't jus' gonna up and disappear on me tomorrow?"

"Not if you don't want me to."

"All right," he says. And then again, 'all right,' though he seems to be speaking mostly to himself. His hands slide from my hips and up my ribs, across my chest, pause on my shoulders. He caresses my neck with a surprising tenderness and then his fingers are tracing my jawline, my cheekbones. Fingertips wind their way into my hair, massaging my scalp and sending warm shivers down my spine. He leans in and I swallow hard, my heart skipping beats and my hands beginning to tremble in wonderful anticipation. I feel his hot breath against my mouth, his mustache barely tickling my upper lip. And then finally, fucking finally, his lips cover mine.

The kiss is tentative at first, almost chaste. I close my eyes and find myself lost in the sensation, tilting my head to the side and feeling him move opposite. His hands roam from my hair and down to my lower back, pulling me tighter against him. Mouths part, tongues meet hot and slick, and my own moan his answered with his soft rumble of pleasure.

This is exactly what I've been craving. This is perfect. I let myself lose control, all thought processes shut down, and just feel. I can feel myself becoming ravenous against his lips, thrusting my tongue into his mouth and sucking suggestively on his tongue. My hands explore everything they can reach; feeling the bulging muscles in his back and shoulders, the slick slide of my fingers against the back of his head, his growing arousal pressing against mine until we're nearly dry-humping each other in the middle of the room.

Without breaking any contact, he walks me backward until I'm pressed against the wall which I'm absently grateful for, because my knees are quickly losing their battle to hold my weight. When he starts to unbutton my shirt, I'm glad to feel that his hands are shaking as hard as mine are. He fumbles with the first button for a moment before it finally yields and he moves on to the next. Reluctantly, I pull my mouth from his and take a few gasping breaths. I immediately miss the intimacy of the kiss, but Steve is undaunted. He bends lower and attacks my throat with his mouth, kissing and sucking and biting and turning me into a writhing, groaning bundle of nerves suspended upright only by the solid structure behind me. And he still hasn't even unfastened the second button.

"Rip it," I growl, and through the thick arousal stuck in my throat, I can barely recognize my own voice.

Steve does not need to be told twice. Strong hands grip the fabric and with absolutely zero effort, he tears the shirt open down the middle, buttons popping and flying in random directions. He wrestles the remainder of the shirt from my body and lets it fall to the floor and then we're kissing again and I feel like I'm drowning and happy to do so. He turns us, maneuvering me once more, and this time we're headed to the bed, carelessly stepping all over Jeff's shiny silver shirt as it lays in tatters at our feet.

He places his hands on my bared shoulders and pushes me backward until my knees buckle at last and I'm sitting at the foot of his bed. I look at him for the first time since this all started, and can't hold back a smile at the state I've put him in. He looks just as high as I was that first time in my apartment, and I'm pleased to know that I'm the only drug he's on.

"I'll be right back. If y'go anywhere, I may have to hunt ya down and kill ya, hear?"

"Yessir," I grin at him, wondering where the hell he thinks he's going at a time like this but not having the coherency to ask. He leaves the room and I take the opportunity to unlace and remove my boots, knowing that attempting to do so in the heat of the moment would be nearly impossible. I can hear Steve's footsteps elsewhere in the house and thankfully he's only gone for roughly a minute before he comes back through the door. We laugh together when he finds me sans boots, and he pads back into the bedroom barefooted as well.

He moves to the bed and crawls over me on his hands and knees, forcing me onto my back underneath him. Reaching over, he places a pack of condoms on the bedside table.

"Sorry. I don't keep 'em in the bedroom. Usually no point in it."

"There is now," I smile up at him until my mouth once again becomes melded against his.

There is more of an urgency now and things begin to move faster. Two pairs of hands are fumbling against clothing, seemingly complicated belt buckles and stubborn zippers. Steve helps me pull his shirt over his head and my hands are on his bare back, our chests pressed against one another, the feel of skin against skin electrifying my senses. He breaks the kiss and trails his mouth down my jawline. I tilt my head back, eyes closed, savoring the gentle scratch of his facial hair against my throat.

Steve continues a steady downward trek, his lips and tongue lavishing my chest while I openly writhe beneath him. His hands are on my legs, squeezing through the tight leather until his fingers find my waistband. He sits up, kneeling on the bed as he slowly peels the fabric away from my body, and I arch my hips to allow him to do so. Finally, I'm lying naked before him, my cock so hard that it's laying nearly flat against my stomach, throbbing in time to my frantic heartbeat. I look up at Steve, and feel my body thrill in reaction to the look he's got in his eyes. He's watching me like I'm some sort of treat he can't wait to indulge in, licking his lips as he drinks me in.

His hands are on my legs again, ghosting over my inner thighs, this time without the barrier of the leather. He nudges my legs apart and I bend my knees to allow him better access, bringing my legs upward and putting my feet flat on the bed. I close my eyes again, gasping at the feel of his fingertips as they slide inward, purposefully skirting around my balls without touching, and then coming to rest on my hips.

I feel Steve shift his position on the bed, and when his tongue slides up the length of my erection, I nearly jump right out of my skin. My body jerks like I've just been hit by a car, my hips involuntarily arching toward him. I'm slightly embarrassed by the sound I make, this ragged gasping noise, that sounds so obviously desperate. He's anticipated all of this, though, and his hands on my hips press me harder against the mattress, keeping me still so that he can continue.

And continue he does. I can't even remember the last time I had a blowjob, and I'm pretty certain that I've never had one as good as this. Steve takes his time, never rushing, his hot mouth wrapped around my cock, tongue swirling in endless tantalizing circles. He moves slowly, his eyes fixed on my face, and the look he's giving me while he sucks me off is almost enough to drive me insane. Every time his tongue brushes a particularly sensitive spot, I gasp a little louder and he immediately repeats the act, paying close attention to the reactions my body offers him. I have one hand on the back of his head and the other curled around the headboard, and eventually he lets his hands wander away from my hips and allows me to slowly thrust into his mouth.

One of his hands leaves my skin for a moment, but I don't think anything of it. Until, that is, that hand returns slicked with lube and gently probing between my cheeks. Even with a mouthful of cock, giving me the most fantastic blowjob I've ever had in my life, this guy can still uncap a tube of lube one-handed. I'm officially impressed. I don't have too much time to marvel about it, though, as two big fingers slide inside me and begin to move, gently stretching. His free hand slides down to wrap around the base of my cock, and soon enough his mouth and both hands are working in a perfect tandem that's about to send me reeling.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck, I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come if you don't stop."

He pulls his mouth away long enough to speak while smirking up at me. "Ya say that like it's a bad thing. I thought that was the idea."

"Yeah, but –" Before I can think up any more words to tell him I'd rather come while getting fucked, his mouth is sliding down my length again and his fingers are curling inside me just so, brushing my prostate and setting fireworks off behind my eyelids. I have a brief moment to be amazed by his perception and how quickly he learns what's going to drive me crazy, before my body is twisting and arching up off the bed. I open my mouth but my voice catches, and I can't make a single sound as the orgasm hits me all at once and I'm coming down his throat.

He swallows around my cock, the sensation making my hips jerk even harder before I finally fall back onto the bed, sweaty and panting. He kisses my stomach as he pulls away, his fingers slowly leaving my body, making my muscles twitch and spasm from the desire to have the contact back.

I feel him stand from the bed, but I'm currently too tired to open my eyes and see what he's doing. When he comes back, he lies down beside me, and my hand blindly reaches for him. I touch nothing but slick, hard muscle. He was taking off the rest of his clothes.

When I open my eyes, I find Steve reclined on the bed, slowly stroking his cock while he watches me. He's already got the condom on, and his strokes are lubing it up; he's just waiting for me to recover enough for round two. The sight of him watching me while he jerks off is almost too much to handle, and I can feel myself start to get hard again despite the amazing orgasm I've just experienced.

"D'ya know how gorgeous you look when you're coming?" he asks conversationally, his tone as casual as if we were two buddies having a chat, and he wasn't currently masturbating after having just swallowed my load.

"Uh, no. Can't say that I do," I chuckle, biting down into my lower lip a little as I watch his hand move.

"Well, I want ya to. C'mere." With that, he's sitting up and moving to sit on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor. He reaches for me, pulling me into his lap so that I'm facing away from him, his hard on pressing against my lower back. In this position, we're sitting directly in front of his mirrored closet doors. I can see the entire bed perfectly, Steve's eyes catching mine in our reflection. This time, I watch as his hands move over my body, skimming my chest and stomach, moving lower to my thighs, occasionally giving a few slow strokes to my growing arousal. I can see his hands, his face, as well as my own. I can watch my body react to him, nearly quivering in anticipation. It's sexy as all hell, I decide immediately.

"Ya ready?" he whispers against the shell of my ear, his hot breath making me shiver.

"Fuck yes," is all I can coherently reply.

He grabs my hips and lifts me while I reach between us, wrapping my fingers around his cock to steady it. I'm already lubed and relaxed from the previous climax, and when he lowers me onto his hard length, he slides in easily with no resistance. I pull my hand back and brace my weight against his thighs while he lifts my hips a few times, sliding in and out of me, before pulling me down completely and sinking himself balls deep.

We imitate each others groan of satisfaction at the feeling, and then neither of us moves for a minute. I lean my head backward against his shoulder, just relishing the feeling of that thickness stretching me, and listening to my heart pound. He reaches up, brushing my hair away from my face, before whispering in my ear once more.

"Watch, Chris."

I force my head back up, and the effort is nearly more than I can manage. But I do as he instructs me, gazing at the mirror and taking in the sight as he starts to move. He places his hands back on my hips again, helping me keep time with the rhythm of his body as he thrusts upward. Soon enough, I'm completely mesmerized by the sight of me bouncing on his cock, and I don't think anything else in the world could drag my attention away from this mirror.

He leans his chin on my shoulder, breathing hard against the side of my throat and moaning lowly into my ear. His thrusts vary; hard and fast for a moment, making me keen and grab at his thighs. Then he'll stop, leaving himself buried completely. And then he'll move again, slower than my lust-addled brain can comprehend, deep strokes that pull him out of me almost completely, before sliding back in at an agonizing pace that leaves me whimpering wantonly.

My re-newed erection is complete by now, bobbing hard and heavy between my legs, begging for attention. My legs are quivering from the strain of supporting my weight, my thighs starting to ache as I fuck myself on his cock, his hands still guiding my movements. I continue to watch in the mirror, beads of sweat trailing down Steve's face and arms, my own perspiration dampening my hair as it sticks to my shoulders and Steve's cheek.

He stops moving again, pulling me hard against him, my ass seated perfectly against his hips. Then he grinds upward, not thrusting, but moving inside me until he brushes that spot that makes me gasp and cry out, my cock visibly twitching and leaking fluid all over itself. I want to hold out longer, not wanting this to end so damn soon, but I can't help but wrap my hand around myself, my precum providing a wonderfully slick slide of skin against skin as I start to stroke. Steve's eyes catch mine in the mirror again and he smiles knowingly at me, grinding upward again, watching me tense and shudder.

The feeling is so overwhelming that my eyes start to slide shut again, wanting to concentrate on nothing except the approaching orgasm that is sure to be one of the best of my life. Steve spares one hand from my hip, sliding it up into my hair and tugging sharply, making sure my attention stays where he wants it. My eyes go slightly wide in the mirror and I instinctively moan at the slight amount of pain his hand provides. Apparently gauging my reaction, he tangles his fingers in and pulls harder, and then chuckles breathlessly against my ear when he sees that I like it.

Steve is in absolutely no rush to get this over with. He continues to be almost still, experimentally grinding against me, buried as deep as he could possibly get. Every time the head of his cock brushes my prostate, I can feel that familiar spring inside me coil tighter and tighter, getting ready to snap at any moment. My hand moves a little faster, but I make myself stop every time he stops, building the anticipation which is quickly becoming intolerable. I can barely breathe, and I'm gasping frantically. My entire body seems to be on fire, every nerve ending I have tingling in desperation for release.

Letting loose his grasp on my hip, Steve moves to instead wrap his entire arm around my midsection. He pulls his other hand from my hair, and I watch as he covers my hand with his own, guiding my movements as I jerk myself off. He forces me to increase the pace, something I am not upset about at all, and uses his arm to hold me steady as he finally starts thrusting upward again.

After that, it takes about ten seconds for me to totally lose it. Miraculously, I am able to keep my eyes open and trained on the mirror long enough to watch the beginning of the orgasm, seeing the first two shots of sticky fluid escape to coat both of our hands. After that, there's nothing I can do besides throw my head back against his shoulder and ride it out. Whereas last time I couldn't make any sound, this time I don't think I could stop the hoarse screaming if my life depended on it. My entire body goes rigid, wave after wave of unbelievable pleasure coursing through me. My muscles contract hard, making Steve's cock feel even bigger inside me, which does nothing except make the orgasm even stronger. He never stops fucking me throughout, and it seems like an eternity before the feeling starts to fade and I'm able to open my eyes again. When I do, I look at him in the mirror, and my stomach knots in excitement all over again when I see the look of rapt desire on his face.

"Oh yeah, that's what I wanted. That was perfect. I know you're tired, baby. I'm almost there," he pants, still watching my eyes as his body becomes even more brutal against mine, his hips slamming against my backside. Then he closes his eyes and latches his mouth against my skin between my neck and my shoulder, sucking almost hard enough to be painful. Both his arms wrap tightly around me and he gives a final thrust before his body stills, his loud groans vibrating against my flesh. I can't hold back a moan of my own as his cock jumps inside me, making me regret the condom a little; I wish it were me he was filling. He thrusts twice more, his legs shaking with the effort, before he pulls his mouth from my neck with a loud sound of breaking suction. Then he lets go of me completely and collapses backward onto the bed with an exhausted groan, almost taking me with him, since I no longer have his solid body keeping me upright. But I manage to keep my bearings, very slowly lifting myself off of him and rolling to his side.

His chest heaves with every deep breath he takes, and he's thrown his arm across his eyes so that I can barely see his face. I have to smile a little at the look of him; flushed, sweating, panting, and fully sated. I place a tender hand on his leg so as not to startle him when I move to peel the condom off. He makes a low "mmm" at the touch, and I tie the end of it and toss it in the trashcan by the bed.

"Can ya walk?" he asks, still not moving to look at me.

"I think so."

"D'ya know where the bathroom is?"

"I'm sure I can find it."

"Go get a towel, wouldya?"

I laugh a little and stand on shaky legs, finding the bathroom with no trouble. When I've returned with the towel, Steve looks slightly more composed; he's at least laying the correct way in the bed, leaning up slightly against the headboard. I wipe myself clean and then toss the towel to him, moving to join him back on the bed. We don't speak as he cleans himself up, and I can sense the awkwardness coming on. I hate this part.

"So, uh. That was fucking fantastic," I announce, and he laughs.

"Yeah. It was. Toldya ya look amazing when you come."

I laugh and glance at him, but his eyes are still averted. He folds the soiled towel neatly, and sets it on his nightstand. "Yeah, guess you were right."

He just nods once, and the air is quickly becoming thick.

"Do you, uh, want me to go now?"

At that, his eyes dart quickly to me and then away just as fast. "If ya want to."

"Maybe I don't."

He looks back to me slowly, almost cautiously, and this time we keep the eye contact. "Then stay."

"For how long?"

"As long as ya want."

"All night?"

"Sounds good."

"Okay." I smile a little and he smiles back, and then we're rearraging ourselves to be able to slide under the sheets and comforter on the bed. We lay there for a moment, not touching, uncomfortable. I roll over onto my side, facing away from him, deciding that I'd let him decide how this was going to be. It's his house, after all; his rules about this sort of thing. I have no idea.

He lets me lie there for a minute or two before shifting onto his side as well. His hand slowly trails down my back, and I shift my weight to lean into the touch. Apparently encouraged, Steve scoots closer, putting his chest against my back and wrapping his arm around my waist. I sigh contentedly, glad for the contact, and almost immediately drift into a dead sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I'm awakened by a sound coming from Steve's side of the bed. It's an insistent buzzing noise, vibrating against his bedside table. He jerks awake and then moves away from me, and I open my eyes long enough to see him grab his lighted cellphone from the nightstand, answering it quietly as he moves toward the door. I'm left alone in the bed and I take the opportunity to stretch out, feeling my body ache pleasantly. It's a little colder without him there, but I don't stay awake long enough to really mind.

When I awaken next, it's due to the sunlight streaming through the opening in the middle of the curtains. The warm body is back in bed, pressed against my back again, but on top of the covers this time. I smile and stretch, feeling completely at ease and quite satisfied with myself that I had completed my objective. After last night, I'm having a little trouble thinking about Steve as an objective; but that's how it'd started out, at least.

The warmth behind me shifts, and I'm startled completely awake by a long, wet tongue on my ear. I flip over quickly and surprise myself with the hysterical laughter that overtakes me when I find Lucy lying there, thumping her tail against the bed and looking at me almost guiltily.

"You scared me," I tell her as I move the covers back and sit up on the edge of the bed, stretching my arms above my head. I look around; there is no sign of Steve, and the rest of the house is perfectly quiet.

"Where'd he go, huh?" I ask Lucy, and she answers by wagging her tail some more. I stand up and glance at the items on the floor: Jeff's ruined shirt and my leather pants. There is no way I have the energy to try to squeeze back into those right now, and so I make my way to Steve's closet, instead. I grab a pair of black boxers and slide into them; they're a little big, but perfectly comfortable.

Making my way out of the bedroom, my curiosity is growing. Where the hell is Steve? As I walk into the kitchen, I look at the clock: it's almost noon. I'd slept like the dead. A lovely smell still lingers in the kitchen; apparently, Steve had been cooking something not too long ago.

After a cursory exploration of the kitchen, I notice the piece of white notebook paper laying on the counter. It's being weighted by a set of car keys lying atop it. I slide the keys aside, and pick up the scrap of paper. It reads:

"Chris,

Sorry to leave you alone. I had an errand to run. There's clean towels for a shower, help yourself. Made breakfast, it's in the oven for you. Left the keys to my truck in case you need to go anywhere. I will be back ASAP… please don't go home.

S."

Huh. I wonder how he's "running an errand" without his truck. Did he go somewhere with someone else? I vaguely remember him taking a phone call last night… or had that been a dream? I can't recall.

Anyway, I guess it doesn't matter now. He's left me here, to my own devices. I eagerly make my way to the oven and crack the door open, looking forward to whatever is waiting inside.