This chapter is from Syed's POV. It's angry sofa kiss time!
Sorry for keeping you waiting so long. I had this chapter almost finished before the awful spoilers came out and kind of lost heart. But it's here now :-)

~s~c~

And then she says it. The thing that shatters every last little part of my illusion still remaining, the scraps of which I was holding onto for dear life.

'It's just… well, yesterday I needed a bit of advice and he was there and he was so sweet. And everything he said he was so right…' Amira sighs before continuing: 'That's the main thing isn't it? You and me, we are happier than we've ever been'.

She reaches out and strokes my cheek. I keep looking at her and then looking away, trying desperately to see in her what I saw the other night, a last futile attempt at convincing myself that I did see something, that it was different…

But the moment the words came out of her mouth I knew. I understood, as my subconscious had all along. Christian. It's always been Christian. And that flicker of possibility I saw in Amira when she stood before me, barefooted, wearing only a man's shirt? All him. Down to the shirt, the shower gel, the whole set-up, all of it him.

I want to get angry. I am angry. But not for the right reasons. Not because I feel betrayed, by him, by her. Not because I'm disappointed. I'm angry because I knew. And now I have no choice but to face that truth.

I have to see him. I have to talk to him right now. I try not to think of the why, try not to think of what it is exactly that I want to say. All I know is that I can't not go. So I mumble something to excuse my leaving, I'm not really sure what, but Amira just smiles and waves me off. I shrug on my jacket and go to him.

I walk up the stairs to his flat slowly, reluctantly almost, pausing after every other step. The reality of what I'm doing is starting to dawn on me. In about a minute, I'm going to be alone with him, in his flat, talking about… I realise now that this is a spectacularly bad idea. Yet still I move on. It doesn't stop me from fumbling for my key, the one he gave me, and let myself in. And isn't that telling, that I thought ahead enough to even bring my key? The one I used when sneaking in here, in the middle of the night, slipping in between cool sheets and wrapping myself around the comfort of his warm body. The implications are not lost on me. I just choose not to think about them right now. Or not too closely anyway.

He's waiting for me. His mouth is drawn in anger, but his eyes betray him as they always do. He's angry, yes, but most of all, he's hurt. Again. And once again, it was me that caused that pain.

'It got out of hand earlier,' I start. 'I'm sorry'.

'Apology accepted,' he says.

He folds the tea towel he's holding, studiously looking away from me. Then he looks up and says: 'See yourself out'.

It's not unexpected, yet it still feels like a blow. He walks away from me, ignores me as he makes his way over to the sofa. But he's not getting rid of me that easily. I drop the keys on the table and follow him. Reluctant to sit down, I decide to remain standing.

'Look, I know you… helped Amira. She told me,' I admit hesitantly.

'Makes no difference now, you've made your feelings clear,' he responds semi-casually, like he couldn't care less. Even though I know it's an act, it still rattles me.

'Yeah that's right. So in the future I'd appreciate it if you didn't get involved,' I shoot back, unable to keep the anger from seeping into my voice.

'Sorry?' he asks, looking incredulous. The fact that he has reason to, doesn't stop me from resenting him for it.

'Well what happens with Amira, it's got nothing to do with you,' I insist.

'She came to me,' he argues.

'Yeah and I'll bet you loved that,' I accuse him bitterly.

'That's not true,' he counters.

I know he's right, of course I do. He isn't enjoying this any more than I am. But somehow, that knowledge only angers me more. I'm simply not capable of being reasonable right now.

'Yeah well thanks,' I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm now, 'but everything's just fine between us, your services are no longer required'.

I make a half-arsed attempt to leave, but we both know I'm not going anywhere. The moment he resumes talking, I drop all pretence of leaving.

'Go on, run along, play happy families. It won't make any difference,' he taunts me.

Fuck. He definitely still knows how to push my buttons. Always has.

'You know how it is for me,' I try and justify myself, try and make him understand.

'Yeah. And I am tired of it. Tired of waiting for you to stand up and do the right thing,' he counters.

'I am doing the right thing,' I insist. And I am. That's all I've been doing. Isn't it?

'Really?' he asks, getting up, really riled now. 'For who? Hey? Cause it's not for you. And it's certainly not for Amira. She came here. Distraught. Thinks it's her, thinks she's doing something wrong'.

I can't do anything but listen. It's like his words, his accusing eyes, have me frozen to the spot. His words are physically painful to me, more so because I know them to be true.

'And you know what that makes you?' he goes on, his words calm and quiet now. 'Selfish'.

'No I love her,' I protest. Because that at least is true. It has to be.

'Selfish and gutless,' he says, his voice rising in anger.

'Back off,' I warn him. I swear I can't take much more of this. This has to stop. Now.

But it doesn't. He doesn't. Instead, he keeps talking as he steps ever closer. The tension between us is so heavy it's almost palpable. For the first time tonight, I'm starting to get scared.

'When are you going to put her out of her misery eh? When are you going to tell her… that you love me…'

He's too close, much too close. Fuck this is hard… I feel naked, both his words and eyes chipping away at me, dissecting me. I want to lash out, hurt him like he's hurting me, but all the while what I want most is to pull him in even closer and not let go. I'm in way over my head and we both know it. My heart is racing, pumping adrenalin through my veins.

'Go on… say it,' he says, his words harsh and insistent.

'No,' I protest.

'Coward,' he accuses me.

And that's it. That's what finally makes me snap.

'No!' I cry out forcefully, pushing him away from me.

I've had enough, can't take a second more of this. He grabs my hand to stop me and just like that, we're in a struggle. I'm no match for him, but my anger, my frustration spurs me on. One minute, we're standing, shoving at each other, fighting for control. Then suddenly he's tumbling over the back of the sofa and pulling me down with him.

I'm so angry. I'm not thinking about why, I just know that he's not winning.

Except that he is. Before I know it, he's pushed me on my back, his leg swinging over mine to pin me in place, his hand placed around my throat. He's smothering me, half choking me. I try and wrestle free, gasp for air, struggle in his arms as he holds me down mercilessly. I manage to pull his hand away from my throat at least, sharp, heaving breaths filling my grateful lungs.

And then I look up at him and know I'm lost. I'm lying here, like I have so many times before, on his sofa, on my back, with him hovering over me. He looks at me and the world narrows down until it fits just the two of us.

I can't look away from his eyes. They mirror my emotions back to me, the vicious anger, the raw hurt. But overpowering it all, there's the heart wrenching want. God I want him. My body screams with need, the need to feel his hands on me, his arms around me, his mouth on mine. Helplessly, I reach out, curl my hand around his neck and pull him in for the kiss I crave.

He meets me halfway, bends down to crash our lips together in a kiss that is anything but tender. It's like he pours all his anger, all his frustration, into this one kiss, all but shoving his tongue down my throat.

I don't care. In fact, I give as good as I get. This feels more like a vicious scrap than a kiss, our tongues battling for dominance while our hands attempt to rip each other's clothes off in record time. It feels like a victory when I manage to get him naked first. In quick succession, I pull his t-shirt over his head, tear open the buttons of his jeans with one harsh tug and shove them down to tangle around his feet. Of course it helps that he's not wearing any pants and that he's the one to kick off his shoes and jeans with an impatient movement while he's still struggling to get me out of my shirt.

I have an advantage because he can't seem to stop himself from pinning me down, making it very difficult to get me out of my clothes. It's like he's afraid I'll change my mind and try and escape. Hardly. I grunt in satisfaction as I manage to pull him down , his full bodyweight pressing me down for a moment. I smooth my hands over his back, revelling in the feeling of his naked skin under my eager hands. When my hands slide down to cup his arse, he almost growls at me, bucking his hips compulsively into mine. I shudder at the sensation of his hard cock, rubbing against my still jean-clad groin.

My head spins as I'm suddenly yanked up. Christian is cursing softly, attacking my clothes with silent determination. Within seconds I'm naked, not sure who took off what, only sure that I am desperate to feel his naked body against mine one more time. We're both on our knees on the sofa now and I shake with relief as he wraps his arms around me, almost crushing me with the force of his embrace. My arms are trapped by my side as he kisses me, over and over again. Harsh kisses, punishing kisses, and I can't help but moan and push my body into his.

Fuck this feels good. But it's not enough. I struggle to get my arms free, want to touch more of him, feel the warmth of that familiar skin. Reluctantly, he slides his arms down until they come to rest on my hips. His grip on me remains firm, I'm sure I'll have bruises tomorrow, but somehow that seems only right. I use my now free hands to roam every part of his body I can reach. The slight stubble on his jaw, his square shoulders, the soft, smooth skin of his belly, the coarse little hairs scattered all over his body, the curve of his perfect arse… I can't get enough of it, of him.

He snarls at me as I shove at his shoulders, making him fall flat on his back, but the allows me to move up and straddle his hips anyway. He stretches out his legs and pushes himself up on his elbows. I bend down and attack his exposed shoulder and neck with my lips, tongue and teeth. He hisses at one of my harsher bites.

As if by mutual agreement, we don't speak. Our panting breaths, combined with sporadic groans and grunts, are the only sounds in the room. My fingers rake through the hairs on his chest and I watch my hands as I follow the trail down until I brush my hand against his straining cock. I laugh hoarsely as he bites his lip to stifle a moan. Yes, I think and now.

I place one hand on his shoulders and use the other to take his cock in a firm grip. As I start pulling in quick, urgent movements, he arches up off the sofa and moans under my hands. I enjoy this moment of dominance and clamp my knees firmly around his hips, trying to stop him from flipping us over. To no avail of course, because he has me on my back with embarrassingly little effort. I forget to resent him for it when he makes a grab for my cock with one hand and uses the other to squeeze my arse. Fuck that feels good. I've missed this, him, so much…

There's an urgency to our movements. Nothing about this is slow, this is going to be quick, rough, perfect. My chest is heaving from my labouring breaths, my heart thumping loudly and impossibly fast. He looks down on me, his eyes burning with an almost destructive desire. I shiver in anticipation, holding my breath, waiting for him to make the next move.

The hand on my cock stills. He keeps looking at me as he pauses and then slides the hand up until it comes to rest in the middle of my chest. I stare up at him unblinkingly, captivated by the sight of him raising his other hand to his lips. He hesitates for a moment before he sucks in two fingers and wets them. I swallow convulsively. Wordlessly, I spread my legs for him and raise my knees.

His lips curl up slightly into a small, almost cruel smile. Again I shiver, realising how very vulnerable I am right now, basically allowing him to do with me whatever he pleases. This should not turn me on. But my stifled moan and leaking cock betray that yes actually, it does. And he knows it.

'Syed. Sy…'

The sudden break of silence startles me.

'Yes?' I answer, sounding rather breathless.

'You want this?' he asks.

His eyes are locked on mine, unwavering, relentless. I nod.

He closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head. A cold dread trickles down my spine. Surely he wouldn't…

'I need you to say it,' he says, his voice hoarse, his eyes back on mine.

There's no doubt in my mind. Not even an inkling of hesitation. So I say it.

'Yes,' I confirm. 'I want this. Want you. Now. Please…'

After that, it all happens fast. There's an urgency to our movements, an impatience that won't be denied. When he enters me, it's too soon, too fast, but I wouldn't have it any other way. It hurts, fuck it hurts, but I don't care. The pain will fade soon enough, and I can already feel the intense pleasure mixed in with the pain.

Somehow, I end up on my knees with Christian behind me. I use my arms to steady myself, Christian thrusting into me with such force that I need to hold on to the back of the sofa for support. We move together fluidly, so used to each other even after what feels like an eternity of being apart. One of his hands is on my hip while the other is stroking me to a quick climax. This is going to be quick and dirty, and we both know it.

The pleasure builds up inside of me with irresistible speed. I can't hold back, won't hold back. Instead, I give myself up to him, to us, and just feel. As I tumble over the edge I shout out his name repeatedly. Christian follows only moments later. I can feel him tense behind me, thrust into me a couple of times more and then drape himself over my back, body still twitching while he rides the wave of his orgasm. We collapse together, our bodies sweaty and both of us struggling to recapture our breath.

It's hard to breathe with him on top of me, so I give him a little nudge. He resists for a moment, using his full weight to keep me in place. But at my strangled protest he eases up a bit and pulls away from me. Even though that's what I wanted, what I asked for, I instantly miss his warmth, the feeling of his body against mine. I grasp his hand, stopping him from moving too far away.

The look he gives me is heavy with questions. But there's only one question he asks me out loud.

'Come to bed?'

I know what he's asking. Are you going to stay? Can we just be together for now and not think about anything else?

The choice is easy. I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing, but right now Christian is within my grasp and I absolutely refuse to let him go. Not yet. Please God, not yet…

'How about a shower?' I suggest.

Straight away, I know that's the wrong thing to say. Christian's eyes cloud over in disappointment and he starts backing away from me.

I could kick myself for my own stupidity. That's what I used to do, wasn't it. Sneak out of his bed in the early hours of the morning, take a quick shower and leave.

'A shower first I mean,' I clarify hurriedly. 'First shower, then bed'.

A careful smile curls around his lips.

'Alright,' he says.

I smile back at him and let him pull me up and lead me toward the bathroom.

~s~c~

Reviews very much welcome!