When you wake you have a terrible headache and fee like you're going to throw up. You definitely had too much to drink last night. But you still remember everything. Every touch, every look, every word. And you shiver some when you realize that you're alone in your bed. You sit up, looking around as if you're going to see Sionn somewhere. As if he's just hiding and if you look hard enough, you'll find him hiding somewhere.

But his clothes and glasses are nowhere to be seen and on your bedside table there's a glass of water and some Tylenol. At least he's courteous. You take two of the Tylenol and drink the whole glass of water. You should have been drinking it last night. Should have acted your age. But you didn't and there's no changing that. And on a second inspection of the bedside table you see a folded scrap of paper with OR written on it in delicate handwriting. So you pick it up and read it.

Orphanos,

I had a great night. Thanks for picking a skinny nerd at the club. I would've expected you to have more wild tastes, but you acted so young when we kissed. I want to see you again, if you're up for it. My number's in your phone now. You really should put a more difficult lock on it, else someone less nice than me will get a hold of it.

Sorry for leaving before you woke up, but I had something that I had to do this morning so I hope that you'll forgive me. I'll see you soon, I'm sure.

Yours,

Ψionn

You smile a little and look in your phone. Sure enough he's in there. And you've never seen a number with so many fucking twos in it. But you set your phone down and go take a shower, headache starting to dissipate some, though your nausea is still prevalent.

After a long, hot shower and a disgustingly greasy breakfast, you're beginning to feel human again. But the nagging feeling that you should call Sionn. That you should let him know that yes yes yes you want to see him. You know that you do. That you want to feel his lips against you and his heat on top of you and his solid weight against you.

You groan and rest your head on the table. The thought of him has gone straight to your so easily affected groin and you reach down to take care of the problem but soon remember that you have important work to be done. You hate working on Saturdays, even more so when you've drunken yourself into a painful hangover. With all of your adult responsibilities hanging over your head, with the exception of your sons who will be staying with their friends until Monday after school,, you lift yourself from the table and move into your office to do your work. Luckily the conference call won't have video this time so you just stay in what little clothes you have on and conduct your business with aplomb.

After the meeting, which has left you feeling drained and in need of some better contact today than that, you pick up your phone and turn it in your hands. After several, long minutes of debate, you unlock it and call him, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine.

It rings and you aren't sure that he's going to answer. Was he still doing whatever it was that he'd had to leave to take care of? He shake a little as it keeps ringing and you're beginning to feel like a desperate school girl, wanting to hear back from the boy that had pinned her. But the phone just keeps ringing and, when you're convinced that you should just hang up and that he was just trying to give your old heart some hope, the dial tone stops and you hear his voice. "Hello?"

You can't help the grin crossing your lips or the awestruck way you're chuckling, but you realize that you'd better say something. "Hello, Si."

He pauses on the other end, as if he's trying to put together just who's on the line, or maybe he's just trying to put a voice to your face. "OR?" He laughs amicably and you hear something in the background close. "Didn't really expect you to call."

You swallow and your chuckling quickly turns to nervous laughter. "Oh? Why not?" You pace around, chilly from your lack of clothes but needing to move, needing the distraction.

"Oh well you just don't strike me as that desperate of a guy, OR." You can here wind. Is he driving? Or maybe just walking.

"Well maybe I am." You suggest it in a playful tone, but really you are a desperate kind of man. So lucky in love in your youth but prone to misfortune and loss in your middle age. "Or maybe I just want to see you again."

"I should hope so, I was beginning to think that you were really just calling to say hello." He snorts and it's such a strange sound in comparison to his voice.

"No. I just don't like how things ended last night." You scratch the back of your head, knowing that it's true. Knowing that it's your fault.

You hear him hum. "And what do you want me to do about it? I'm the one that didn't get to finish, Orphanos. Are you going to pay me back for that?"

You swallow roughly. "Yes. Yes I'll pay you back and so much more..." He slink against the wall, feeling a strange sense of depravity come over you. A sense that, somewhere along the line, you lost your tough, mean facade and that this man had torn it down.

But then you hear something in the background that sounds distinctly like a young boy. You don't even know how old. But younger than your sons. It's not one voice, though. It's two. So distinctly different, but still so similar. And they're talking to Sionn and calling him... Calling him dad. Your realization hits and it's just too cruel, too wretched to be true. "You're married."

He pauses, almost too long, but then his voice comes over the line. "No."

"Then why the fuck do you have sons?"

"How did you...?" He stops and you can practically hear him telling his boys to quiet down, that he's on the phone. "I guess that that's self evident isn't it?"

"Yeah. I could hear them." You swallow again, this time feeling like a fool.

"We need to get together. Tonight."

"Why?"

"To talk. And to finish what we started." His voice is crisp and matter of fact, like what he's talking about isn't borderline pornographic. Like what he wants isn't a good fuck.

"Fine. Text me your address. I'll meet you there."

"No I'll go to your house. I know the way." You can hear the smugness in his voice and you want to hit him in his porcelain face. Want to bang his head against the wall until it cracks and red drips down his pale face. You hate being lied to and you hate when people are smug. Unless you're the one being smug. Then you simply feel it's your right as new-age aristocracy. It is deeply apparent that this is all some kind of game for him, but you are determined to beat him at him.

"Fine. Meet me here tonight at five."

"Five, huh? Seems a little early."

"Five or you'll never get to finish."

He sighs and you can imagine that he's rolling those beautiful mismatched eyes. "Whatever. Five. Now I've gotta go, I'll see you in a few hours."

"Yeah. Til then." The line goes dead and all you hear now is your own heart and your breathing. You stand up and just go about your day, calling your sons to make sure that they're fine. The younger is apparently dumbfounded by something and you're not sure what. You're just going to assume it has something to do with one of his friends. Maybe he'd had his first kiss or his first hand job. You honestly don't care but you hope he's not being stupid about anything. The elder is indifferent and snarky as ever. Just like you at that age, you realize with a sigh.

The rest of the afternoon is uneventful until you hear the telltale knock on the door, forcing you to get up and answer it. It's Sionn.

He comes inside and you close the door, but he presses you to it. "Sup, OR?" He grins at you. The same grin from last night. A knowing one that tells you that he still wants you.

But now is not the time. "You're married." You gaze is accusatory but you see his grin disappear.

"No. I told you already, I'm divorced." He sighs.

"How long?"

"Two years." For some reason he sounds excited about that. You assume it's just relief at being divorced.

"How many kids do you have?"

"Two sons. They're twins. And they're ten years old." He smiles. For some reason you feel like the fact that they're twins is calming to him.

"I have two boys, too. One's sixteen, the other's thirteen." You blink slowly and just stare him in the face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were a guy that I met at a club I didn't think that I'd be coming back." He rests his head on your shoulder. "Please don't think I'm just some weird, married fucker just living a lie. I couldn't manage that. The lie would eat me from the inside."

With a sigh you pick up your arms and wrap them around his waist. "I never expected to want to see a man again. Not like this." You rest your chin on his shoulder. "You're an interestin' kind a guy you know."

He nuzzles into your neck, lips ghosting over your skin. "Can we keep going?" He presses closer to you and you can feel his heat on you. His desire.

And you know that you want to say yes so you pull him close "Yes. But not here. Upstairs."

He pulls from you and you take his hand, pulling him up to your room. He pushes you onto the bed and you, so unused to not being the aggressor, can't help but to feel strangely excited by everything. Caught in your reverie, he brings his lips to yours and you're amazed by how it feels like there's electricity moving through you. By how each movement leaves you feeling ultra-sensitive to his touch.

Fingers trail down your clothed chest and grip at the bottom of your shirt for a fleeting moment before you feel him pulling up and you just instinctively let him peel the shirt off of you. He does the same for himself and, once again, you feel his solid weight and heat on top of your growing erection. It makes you want him to just ride you so you can stare up at him. It makes you want him to keep you down. To pin you to the bed and just take all of your authority.

You've never wanted to be so submissive. To let someone else take control. But now that your life is so meticulously taken care of and your nerves are on their last threads, the only thing you want is not to think. To not have to take control of what's happening in the world.

Before your thoughts can get much further, his hands go back to trailing your chest and his lips tease at your neck. Without the alcohol dulling your senses, everything feels so much more real. The numbness from last night is gone and it makes every miniscule motion and touch burn against your skin.

It's like he's pure energy on top of you with a weight just from that. And as he moves it's like he's trailing lava across your skin. You aren't sure how you didn't notice this heat last night, but you're so glad that you called him. So glad he left his number.

As he nips at your neck, you let out a low moan and he bites a little harder, making you squirm beneath him. You still aren't used to being pinned down and feeling helpless beneath someone. To wanting him to just have his way with you.

You bring your hands up, though and grip at his thin, arched back. It's surprising how someone so small and just slender can overpower you like this. Can make you feel so helpless. And how you can love it so. But his pale skin is starting to flush and you realize now that you aren't the only one in desperation now. He wants you too, and that sends a shiver of anticipation through you. It tempts you to just flip the two of you over and to have your way with him instead, but you want him in control. You want him to bring you over the edge.

He trails his lips up your neck and jaw before he meets your lips at last. He tastes heady and strong, and you just want to devour him. To know that only you will taste this.

You aren't sure when you became so desperate, so needy. When all that you wanted to do was to taste him and know him and have him. You've only known him for... No. You don't even really know him. He's an enigma, a puzzle, a lie to you.

You want to catch him. To figure him out. To know his truths from his lies, but you know that you won't. You know that this is probably the last, the only, time that the two of you will actually have sex. That after this he'll probably disappear. He'll stop answering your calls. And you'll be left alone again.

In the meantime you hold him tightly, refusing to let go at all, in fear that if you do he'll disappear into an ethereal mist.

But he struggles against you and pushes up, looking down at you. "OR. I'm not going to just leave stop holding me so tight." He chuckles as he presses a kiss to your lips so gentle that you can't help but to feel like it's just a dream.

"How did you...?"

"You've been holding onto me like I'm a fucking life line, OR. It was hard not to know." He kisses you again, as if he's reassuring you. "Just let go. I'll stay here."

You nod your head weakly and let your arms fall to your sides. To your chagrin, he gets up. "You said you were stayin' there." You can hear the pathetic sound of your voice. The longing and the near whimpering tone of it.

He frowns at you. "OR. I said I was staying. Just scoot onto the bed and relax you sexy goof."

You scoot back, but can't help but to be entertained by him calling you a goof. For fuck's sake he's twenty-eight. That's not something that you'd expect a man his age to say. "Goof?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Got something against it, big guy?"

You look away from him, already feeling cold with his body heat gone. "No." Your voice is firm. Resolute. You're trying not to feel let down that he's moved away, but you know that your face probably shows it.

You hear him chuckle softly. "I just have to go out and get something from my car. Figure you'll appreciate it more."

You look back up at him, face serious. "If it's what I think it is then there's some in my bedside table."

He shrugs. "I have particular tastes." He gives you a quick wink before grabbing his shirt and running out of the room for a moment.

You're half worried that he won't come back. You're almost more worried that he'll come back with a camera to show the world how pathetic you are. You're paranoid. You have to be.

But you just don't want to be alone anymore.