I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it, and it makes you smile. Thanks for your reviews, as always! Love to read them!

Chapter 18

Tobias

Tris wraps her hands around my neck, and we lose ourselves in a kiss. I need to be closer to her, so I take a step forward. She stumbles backwards against the wall and pulls me with her. My body comes flush with hers as I press against her. Our hands are everywhere, pushing and pulling, and I'm getting hard. Tris pulls my shirt over my head and throws it away hurriedly, then takes off her own top. Heat radiates off her naked skin.

I reach around her back to unclasp her bra. My hands roam over her naked back, then move to her chest. I massage her breasts and she moans into my mouth. I can't resist biting her lip softly, and she reacts by playfully pinching one of my nipples between her fingers.

I grab her hips and lift her up to carry her over to the kitchen. She wraps her legs around me and joins her feet right underneath my butt. I sit her down on the counter, and we begin rolling our hips against each other. The friction is delicious with her legs spread so wide around me.

Then Tris magically sneaks a hand between our bodies and opens the button of my jeans. Her hands slip into my pants from behind, kneading my ass and pulling me against her. I groan in pleasure. Oh, how much I want her...

Too suddenly, I wake with a start. And a hard-on. Wow, what a dream! I close my eyes again and replay the images in my mind as I rest back into the pillows. Usually my dreams end up being nightmares, but this one was... hot. I sigh as I try to hold on to the feeling I had in it, with Tris and me both being so confident and harmonic. Will it be like this in reality one day, too?

I open my pants underneath the quilt, slide a hand into my boxer briefs and begin to stroke myself. I go slowly at first, then increase the speed as my lust grows. It's not something I do often, because of the hint of guilt that still comes along whenever I touch myself, a heritage of growing up in Abnegation. But I don't want to occupy my mind with worries now.

Instead, I focus on Tris, mixing memories of our time together with fantasies I have about the two of us and the reminiscence of my dream's passion, still vivid in my heart and body. I imagine it was her hand around my shaft, moving up and down with the perfect amount of pressure. I groan as I feel myself getting closer to my release.

And then I hear Tris' voice.

"Tobias, stop!"

What's that? She's here? I open my eyes and turn my head towards the door, and there she is, eyes cast down to her feet. In one hand she's holding a coffee mug, in the other a bagel in a transparent plastic bag.

I pull my hands out from under the quilt and sit up. Why do I feel as if I have to justify myself? I'm momentarily lost for words. What do you actually say when your girlfriend walks in on you while you're putting hands on yourself?

"I thought you had training," is what I finally hear myself stutter.

Wow, what a way to start talking to her. I inwardly swear at my stupidity.

Tris

I silently close the door behind me and tiptoe into Tobias' apartment. I plan to hold the mug of steaming hot coffee right under his nose to wake him up, but my plan turns to dust when I freeze the moment I see him. Tobias isn't sleeping anymore. On the contrary, he's more than awake, his hands under his blue quilt, moving up and down above his groin. The quilt covers him only up to his stomach. He's still shirtless, his head bowed back, his eyes squeezed shut. His whole face looks as if he's in sweet pain.

Here I stand, rooted to the spot, and after the first reflex of turning my eyes away, curiosity gets the better of me and I look up again. The sight of Tobias pleasuring himself is surprisingly arousing. Watching him do it is stirring my insides, filling me with nervous anticipation of what we are going to experience together sooner or later. I can't take my eyes off him.

Eventually I hear him moan my name, and the love and longing in the way he pronounces it make me swallow. His hand moves faster now, his breathing gets shallower and, despite my lack of experience, I'm rather sure what that means.

But I don't want him to come. Not like this, with me secretly watching when he doesn't even know I'm there. It should be something we share together, deliberately.

"Tobias, stop!" I say, casting my eyes down to the floor.

From the corner of my eye I see him sit up. I didn't think about what I should say next. Actually, I didn't think much at all since I entered his apartment.

He's the one to speak up first.

"I thought you had training."

"I had. We finished half an hour ago," I mumble.

"Oh."

Silence.

.

.

.

Second

after

second

goes

by.

"I made you breakfast," I explain when I can't bear the quiet any longer and can't think of anything else to say. I raise the cup and the bagel to show him that I came here to bring him food. "If you still want it," I add, unsure if he's mad at me.

"If you still want to give it to me, then yes, I still want it," Tobias says, and I'm relieved that he doesn't sound angry.

There's something else in his voice, though, something I can't place. Is it shame? Does he feel guilty?

I stumble over to his bed and sit on the edge where he pats the mattress with his hand, indicating I should sit with him. I hand him the coffee, and he takes a sip, then places the cup on the nightstand.

"So...," he begins, "given that the coffee is still hot, I guess you haven't been standing there for long?"

I shake my head. I still can't look at his face, but I see him turn around the bag with the bagel in his hands absentmindedly.

"Maybe a minute," I whisper.

He nods, eyes on his hands fumbling with the bag the whole time, but otherwise he stays silent.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to... disturb you. I just wanted to surprise you."

"Well, you succeeded in the last part."

Heat creeps up my face.

"You're not angry, are you?" I ask, although I'm almost sure he isn't. But I need to hear it from him.

"No, I'm not. You neither, I hope?"

Why would I be angry? The image of him acting out his lust for me will stay forever imprinted in my mind. The way my belly churns with longing, I'm sure my body will remember this sight, too.

"It's your apartment. I came here without warning, so I guess it's me who has to apologize."

My answer seems to calm him a bit. At least he unwraps the bagel and starts eating it, telling me it tastes delicious between two bites. I get the feeling it's his way of killing time before the conversation becomes more difficult than it already is.

Once he's finished eating, he takes the cup in his hands and takes another sip. Finally, I dare to look up at him again. Our eyes meet and I spot embarrassment as well as concern in them.

"So, a minute, mmh?," he starts, scratching the back of his head in a nervous gesture. "Did I scare you?"

I think about his question. It's logical that this worries him, and I want to answer him honestly. I was surprised and a little embarrassed, too, but not scared.

"No."

"Then why didn't you say something earlier?"

His puzzled look almost makes me laugh, and if the situation wasn't so awkward, I probably would. Instead, I think of how to phrase what I felt. Why is it so difficult to find words whenever we're talking about anything sexual?

"I didn't want you to stop."

"Maybe I have to remind you, you told me to stop," he gives me a tentative smirk.

I welcome it, since adding humor to this conversation reduces the tension of the whole topic.

"Yes, before you... I didn't want that first time to be like that, without you knowing I was there. I didn't interrupt you right away because I... was just curious and I couldn't look away."

"Are you telling me you enjoyed watching me?" he says, somewhat amused now.

"Kind of."

Silence.

Once more.

"Well, if you want to," he swallows, "we can— you can — watch me again. Maybe... tonight."

Our eyes meet and for a few heartbeats we both hold our breath. And then we put our lips together in a soft and promising kiss. Heat pools in the pit of my stomach at the thought of it.

Tobias sighs. "I have to work this afternoon and get some stuff ready for Eric, and at eight we're meeting at Zeke and Shauna's place with them and Uriah. You should bring Christina, too. We found out some things last night that we need to talk about."

I have to choke down my curiosity, but I know it's probably too little time to ask him to tell me about it right away. Christina is waiting for me to have lunch with her anyway. At least we've already been up for hours.

At the door, Tobias kisses my cheek and then he whispers in my ear, "Just so you know, and don't get mad or frightened or anything like that: I'm sure I'd enjoy watching you, too."

Tobias

After Tris has left, I have problems concentrating on the tasks at hand. I go through my handwritten notes about the initiates, and it takes me almost two hours to get them finished. Then I make my way down to the control room. There's a desk with a computer in a small connected room for people to work on if they need to. I greet the guys working the day shift and start the computer without talking. I have to concentrate now.

Zeke and I spent half the night writing a small program that is able to capture a computer and shut it down, but time-shifted. The plan is to secretly hide it on the data stick on which I hand my reports over to Eric, so his computer will stop working some time tomorrow afternoon. I will be working at the control room and surely Eric will ask me to fix it. With a special key sequence we've made up, we'll hopefully be able to access the data on it before we have to hand it back to him. The program code on the stick is set to destroy itself immediately after the first connection to Eric's computer, so he won't notice it — given if Zeke and I have done our work well enough...

It's a risky plan, but there's hardly another way to check Eric's files. I just hope it's worth the risk, and we find something useful.

I type in my reports and safe the file to the stick. Then I go to the fridge to get a bottle of water and check what my co-workers are doing. They're sitting next to each other, deep in conversation about their plans for the upcoming weekend. Good.

Back at my desk, I copy the virus program from the stick that Zeke and I saved it on last night to the stick I want to bring Eric and activate it. My heart is thumping hard in my chest while I sit and wait for it to be launched. When everything's ready, I take both data sticks and store them in a pocket of my pants.

Alright. That's done.

I make my way to Eric's office, my heart unable to slow down. It's racing, although on the outside I appear calm and concentrated. If this goes wrong, I will end up factionless — in the best case.

The first seconds after Eric connects the stick are the important ones. If he clicks it during the first twenty seconds, he'll see that there's another file on it apart from the text file with the reports.

I wait a moment in front of Eric's office to steady my breath. I don't want him to notice that I'm up to something, and although I hate him, I mustn't underestimate him. He can be clever if he isn't blinded by his inflated ego.

"Hey Four, what are you waiting for? Thinking about last minute changes in your reports?" Eric sneers and walks up to my side from behind, slapping my shoulder harder than necessary before grinning at me coldly.

"No, I was waiting for you to call me in. Didn't know you were out."

Eric opens the door, and I follow him inside. The air in his office smells as if he hasn't opened the window in a long time, causing a slight nausea. I hate stale air. It reminds me of being trapped in a dark cupboard.

Don't get distracted, I tell myself, not now.

The computer ventilation is humming low. Good, at least he has left it on when he left. Eric goes over to a cupboard opposite his desk and retrieves a bottle and two glasses.

"I'm coming from the cafeteria, I need a drink. Want one, too?"

His tone forbids a no.

"Yes, sure. Do you mind if I print out a copy of my report for my files, too?"

I see an unsuspected opportunity in his offer.

"If you're unable to decipher your own handwriting, go ahead," he snorts, clearly amused by his remark.

I can't believe how lucky I am as I walk around the desk and connect the stick, fighting to keep my demeanor casual. Eric is occupied with filling both glasses with a huge amount of clear spirit. He's doing this to annoy me because he knows I usually don't drink that kind of hard liquor, and especially not in the afternoon, and not with him.

Under the impression that it's safe to open the window showing me the content of the stick, I click it and see both files there. I open the report and press the print-button. A few seconds later, the pages start coming out of the printer in one neat pile. I store the stick back into my pants, then take the papers and go over to Eric.

He's sitting in one of his three visitor chairs that are draped around a low metal table, his drink already in hand. I have no other choice than to sit down with him. He makes me clink glasses with him, and I have to concentrate not to cough as the burning liquid runs down my throat. As there are so many types of good-tasting alcohol, I'll never know why anyone would choose to drink this. It has to consist of at least seventy percent pure alcohol and doesn't taste of anything else.

But I motivate myself to keep drinking by thinking about what I've just succeeded to do. The program is installed and Eric has no idea. I inwardly smile at the irony that he's clinking glasses with me, relishing his superiority, while I celebrate my own secret triumph.

"So, tell me about the initiates. How are simulations going? Anyone about to fail the landscapes?"

I weigh my words as I speak about the initiates and their problems and progress, careful to be as neutral as possible. I try to talk about everyone in the same professional tone. Eric listens attentively, but doesn't ask any additional questions, which is rather unusual for him.

The only thing he concludes after I've finished talking is, "So nobody is going to fail, that's good."

He pours himself another drink and raises his glass to me as he drinks, wordlessly ordering me to finish mine, too. It's his way of ending our conversation, and I stand to leave. I'm already halfway out the door when he calls after me, "And Four — if any of the remaining initiates fail, I'll hold you responsible for it."

DISCLAIMER: I own neither the Divergent world nor the characters, they belong to Veronica Roth.