Green eyed monster, with sparkling emerald eyes, lurking in your mind. Having you believe, he is on your side. A demon in disguise, looking for a weak spot to find, to your ghats misery to bind, in your heart. To spark a burning fire, your soul to assign in envious desire.- Milica Franchi De Luri

-8-

February 2013

(Take care: Rated: Mature!)

He had been keeping his distance from her these days. Watched her mostly from afar. When he saw her wrinkling her nose, the way it was usually (only) meant for him, he noticed a familiar sensation. A green, thick, burning liquid was running in the direction of his bumping mechanism. Every single fibre of his body copied the behaviour of his enemy. This expression on her face was supposed to be for him only.

She was keeping her distance from him these days. She was doing her job at the moment. Playing nice with a subject. He had asked her to help him with this particular case, so she did it. Help him.

She had also asked him if he would like to put a label on it - not on the case, not on their work, but on them. He had grinned at her then, and had almost run away. It was not until the next day that she saw him again, lying on his couch and smelling of cognac and whisky.

So she let him think about it. She gave him some space. She hadn't been with him for two nights, which was unusual. He had been taking his time.

What a stupid thing to do, to put a label on something like that. He didn't like to put a name to it. But as he watched the other man place his fingers on Gillian's forearm, slowly working their way up to her shoulder, he wanted to throw the bastard up against a wall and strangle him. The subject was so close to the spot that Cal liked to taste on Gillian: to smell, because to him it was home. No other invalids allowed. Cal swallowed. The taste of jealousy was now on his tongue. Nearly crashing into the doors of his neurosystem. Overpowering his every thought. It took every ounce of strength he had not to run towards her as he clenched his jaw, to fight off the feelings that were rising to the surface.

The next night, she was in his car. They agreed to talk. But they hadn't done it yet. He was silent behind the wheel. She noticed his eyes. They were as green as they could be. They turned into the street he lived on and he parked the car. Gillian was fine with the lack of conversation in the car until they were home. She reached out for his hand and he took it. Having him still by her side reassured her. She considered how to address this issue. And yes, she was in the mood for a full-on confrontation. She was sure that she wanted to pull the emergency brake now, because she had watched him over the last three days. As they made their way to his house, he let her in.

Inside, she kicked off her shoes. She watched as he threw his jacket onto a stool in his kitchen. He seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say. She had the feeling that she had to cut through his inner turmoil to get him out of it:

"Green suits you." She makes the first sharp remark she can think of. In reference to his behaviour over the last couple of days. He didn't want to put a label on it, but he certainly behaved differently.

"Oh, yeah?" Those were the first words he managed to say. Finally. His feet carried him quickly over to her, where she was still standing in front of the front door. There was an intensity in his eyes that made her shiver. He was now only a few inches away from her and was searching her face. The warmth of his body soaking into her personal space. Then the slightest smile on her lips and the shrug of her shoulder. She gave a humming response.

It all happened very quickly, faster than she could have imagined.

She felt his body press against hers, the door now in her back, supporting her. His hand reached her throat and she felt his breath on her cheek as he almost grazed her skin to turn her head. His lips were almost in contact with her ear as he hissed into it. "You want to know what we are?"

She opens her mouth to answer, but his fingers are now quickly over her lips, keeping her mouth shut. "No." He hisses. "I'm talking now." She can only nod in response, a shudder running through her body. "I'll show you." He says next, his teeth biting under her earlobe, biting down to her neck. At the sudden shift in emotion and temperature, Gillian closes her eyes.

Her brain was still trying to catch up with what had just happened. He whispers in her ear, mumbling low. The feel of his right hand on her jeans now. His fingers fumble along the edge of her trousers. Then he moves quickly forward to undo the button and zip. Gillian has to swallow. Her body was not prepared for such intimate touches. She can feel his hot breath on her neck and in her ear as his hand slides into her jeans over her panties and then around to pinch her bottom. Her head tilts a little towards him, trying to fend off a tickling sensation. With that, his hand releases her mouth and begins another journey down her body.

"You are mine." He whispers as his fingers find their way to the front of her pelvis and begin to caress her through the layers of her underwear.

"Cal!" She tries to push against him, but he just shoves her back again.

Their fumbling prompts him to hold her in place, to stroke her. Again. And again. He had no problem finding the perfect rhythm for her, to build up her heartbeat and bring a quick pounding to it. Her body surrendering to whatever he touched. Instead of rejecting it, her head is now focused on the sensation his fingers are trying to excite. She needs to touch him in return, to hold on to him, but he is on a mission of his own. He pushes her hands away from him and suddenly drops to his knees. "Cal." She tries again, but his mouth is now over the edge of her jeans, leaving silent, light kisses. His hands leave her area to pull down her jeans and panties, over her skin, which shivers at the sudden cold. As he urges her to step out of her clothes, her hands find his hair to hold on to. Once she is, she feels a little exposed, standing half-naked before him, but she can't think about it long enough because Cal is already making her stand a little wider, pushing his head between her legs, reaching her folds with his mouth. His tongue is hot and wet, licking her in her most intimate place.

Not being able to reach every part, he positioned himself a little lower to be able to do so. He could feel and taste the way her body was becoming more and more tense. The wetness of her body is slowly taking over the taste of his tongue. He moans, breathing hot against her. There really isn't much more he can do in this position, with her on top of him, leaning against the door, he tries his luck. Leaning back slowly, he looks up at her, sees her eyes closed, her forehead furrowed, her cheeks blushing and her lungs working overtime. He licks the tip of his finger, then slowly runs it over her clit, stroking it as he lets it glide gently inside her. He hears the moaning she makes in return. He twists it to give his tongue room to work again.

Sucking and stroking. Sipping and brushing. Again, again, again. Creating an unbearable tension.

Both sensations fill her, and all she can think about is his tongue on her and his finger inside her. And with the rhythm he is creating now, he is building up fast movements that allow her to reach the point where she is able to let herself fall. But she wants to hold on to him and that feeling a little longer; she is trying to fight the tightening of her body. Warmth rushing through her. She grips his hair again, pushing him closer and harder into her. Her hips are now buckling up against him, trying to increase his affection. When he hits a spot inside her that makes her soar, and sucks a little more, she lets go and lets the waves of her orgasm wash over her.

She can feel him get up from his knees and inhale into her.

"You are mine."

"Have you thought of anything?" Emily stood by his side in their kitchen. They were spooning up some pineapple ice cream, as it had become a tradition for them to do on Thursday evenings. At least it had been when Emily had still been living with him. At the moment, she was on winter break and was here for a visit. They were both having a father-daughter evening, catching up with each other and planning to watch a film together.
Emily had cut off her long hair, something that Cal still had to get used to. It was now just a little bit longer than her shoulders and she straightened it as well.

"What do you mean?" He asked her, sucking on his spoon.

"Gillian?"

"What about her?"

Emily looks at him with raised eyebrows, almost in a state of shock. "She's been your you-know-who for almost a year now!"

"What? You think that means something?" Cal gets up from his leaning position and turns away, picking up a tea towel to clean up a small mess he made on the counter. Emily's eyes follow him, pinning him down with their brown. "Yes!? Hello? You should get her a special present. Even more for the hell of a year you two have been through?! She deserves it!"

"And in your opinion I should be the one to thank her?" He asks her. Then grins. "She should thank me that she is still alive." He has an almost proud look in his eye so that she just rolls hers. She snatches the tea towel from his hand to throw it in his face.

Next: End of the story

So, this has taken me ages as you may have noticed! I am not sure yet, if you will like it. I know I keep loads of questions unanswered yet, but here we go. This has been on my mind. I also have been a little afraid to write it down and post it. But then I thought: at least I am writing.

Thanks for your support!