Fic: It’s Just Another New Year’s Fic (Part 1) Various Fandoms/Pairings, FRAO, slash
Title: It’s Just Another New Year’s Fic
Author: CPWatcher
Fandom/Pairing/Characters: Quasi multi-fandom story. See list below
Rating/Category: FRAO or NC17, Incest (Numb3rs), a little bit of angst, partner betrayal (cheating)
Spoilers: None really, at least nothing that can be obviously pinpointed.
Word Count: 6906
Summary: The year in a life.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Every couple of years I write a New Years’ fic which I try to make as fandom non-specific as I can. Sort of an ‘insert your favorite pairing/character name here’ piece. I’ve tried it again this year only with a longer piece with the fandom and pairings below. Personally I think it works well in many of them, but might be a bit of a stretch in one or two, you'll have to be the judge. Hopefully, you’ll suspend your imagination enough to enjoy the tale. Also, I suck at titles. *g*
This story is told in First Person POV throughout. The players are as follows:
Fandoms and PairingsFandomI/MeHim/HeHer/SheNumb3rsDon CharlieAmitaCSI: New YorkDannyMacPeytonCSI:Las VegasWarrickGilSaraCSI: MiamiTimHoratioYlenaNCISTonyJethroHollisStargate: AtlantisJohnRodneyJennifer
It’s Just Another New Year’s Fic
Holiday Christmas Party Fri Dec 21, 2007
I don’t usually drink at the Holiday Christmas party. Partly because it’s usually a boring sit-down affair with barely edible dinner, held at some old banquet hall, with watered down alcohol one step above the taste of piss. Also, because over the past few years the holiday party has been scheduled mid-week, likely because the hall was cheaper to rent out on those days than on a weekend. So I usually don’t drink, because I’ll be damned if I waste my time getting fucked-up on cheap booze just to have a massive fucking hangover on the next work day.
However, this year’s party is on a Friday night. It’s a ‘mix and mingle’ at an impressive golf course clubhouse no less. There are waiters walking around with trays of hot hors d’oeuvres, a sumptuous sweets buffet, and top-shelf liquor. Also on display in all his sexy glory is him. To my dismay though, he’s brought a date, he brought her. Given all these facts, it’s a no-brainer why I hang out at the bar all night, flirting with the ladies of course (got to keep up the image), and slowly drink myself stupid.
What is surprising is his insistence to make sure I get home safely, “to bed,” he says. He stares down my protests that someone else can see me home, so I spend an awkward amount of time in his and her company as we get to my place.
He tells her to wait in the car as he sees me to the door. I figured he’d leave as soon as I got inside. Instead, he goes in with me, closes and locks the door behind us, and is ushering me to my bed. His quiet “take off your clothes so you’ll be comfortable” gets my dick immediately hard. I know he notices because his eyes are glued to my crotch the moment I slide my pants and underwear down. I know I’m being a dick, but fuck, I’ve wanted this man for so damn long, and he’s known it. He wants me too, I can see through the mirror at the way he licks his lips when I turn my back to him. He wants, but he doesn’t want it enough, so he turns to leave.
Maybe it’s all the alcohol I consumed, or maybe it’s because I’m fucking tired of this thing between us that actually could be so good if we just gave it a chance. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t feel like spending another fucking night just thinking about his touch. Whatever the reason, I plaster myself to his back, pushing him against the wall and grinding my erection against his ass.
He pushes me away and turns to face me, but I just dive back in, taking his mouth is a urgent kiss. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” he asks, after tearing his mouth away from my kissing onslaught.
I grind my erection into his thigh. “If you don’t know, then I’m drunker than I thought or else I’m doing something very wrong.”
“I know what you are doing,” he says. “Why?”
“Why? Because I want you. You want me.” I grasp the hardness tenting the front of his pants. “Please,” I beg, desperately. “I’ll do anything you want, anyway you want. Just, please.” I know I sound like a slut, offering my ass up for his taking, but I want him so bad. If I can’t have him the way I really want him, in a relationship with all the bells and whistles, then I’d at least like to have him just this once, this way. And yeah, I know I’m kind of fucked up for wanting this, but that’s what happens when you’ve wanted something for as many years as I’ve wanted him.
“Please,” I beg again as I try kissing him. For a moment there is resistance like before, and then he’s kissing me in return, ravishing my mouth with his teeth and tongue, all the while as his hands grip my ass in a way that I know will leave ten tiny bruise spots. But I couldn’t give a flying fuck about the bruises because he’s kissing me, and touching me and humping my thigh and it’s perfect, so fucking perfect.
He runs a finger between my asscheeks and presses the tip against my entrance, with just enough pressure to make my hole want to open for him, and I tear my mouth away from his and moan his name. I scrabble at his belt, desperate to get to his cock, to suck it, to have it pushing inside me.
His left hand closes down on mine as he ends the kiss, stilling me from opening his belt, even as he slides a finger into my ass with his right hand. I look into his eyes and my voice hitches as I clench my ass around his finger, “Please, let me… let me… fuck me.”
He shakes his head no, and pulls his finger from my ass. “You’re too drunk and clearly I’m not drunk enough for this.” He pushes me towards the bed. Loosing my balance, I fall onto it. I don’t even have time to voice a complaint before I hear the doors close, heralding his expedient exit.
I should be fucking pissed at his statement, pissed at its implication, that the only way he could ever want me is if he’s fucking drunk. But the ghostly reminder of his finger in my ass, the taste of his alcohol sweeten lips on mine, and the way his erection felt so big in my hand instead only fans my arousal. I’m stripping my cock quick and rough, with my eyes squeezed shut tight, focusing on the memory of his hard cock grinding against my thigh. I pulse out my release, groaning his name. The force of my orgasm, along with the shitload of alcohol I drank, conspire to lull me to sleep moments after, semen still warm on my stomach.
Christmas Eve Mon Dec 24, 2007
It’s no surprise that the next time I see him is Christmas Eve. Nor is there any surprise at his complete non-acknowledgement about what happened the other night. Taking my cues from him, I also pretend as though nothing happened, especially not the fact that he had his finger up my ass. Gifts are exchanged amongst our closest friends and co-workers as usual. Through the whole affair she’s hanging on his arm. She’s not looking at me with any kind of disdain, so I assume he had to have composed himself before he got back to the car, back to her. I wonder briefly, if, when he fucked her that night, he thought about me.
New Year’s Day Tue Jan 1, 2008
My cell phone ringing at 4AM usually means work, and even on a requested holiday off, I know better than not answering it. For a moment after I pick up all I hear is heavy breathing. I check the caller ID to confirm even though I know it’s him by the ringtone. I go on full alert as I ask if something is wrong.
“I need to see you,” he replies. The request doesn’t sound like it involves any work.
“Now? It’s 4AM.” He sounds off, maybe pissed. Maybe even a little drunk. And I’ll be damned if now, more than a week later, he wants to give me shit about what happened. “Can’t we talk later?”
“Open the fucking door.”
He’s right outside, so the answer to talking later is a no then. “Fine. Give me a sec.” Closing the cell, I climb out of bed, and bend to pick up a pair of boxers. Before I can stick my foot into them, he bangs on the door. Fuck it. If he’s in such a hurry to get inside then he can deal with me being buck naked.
“You’re going to wake the whole fucking neighborhood with that noise,” I say as I swing open the door. He’s thrown for a moment, obviously not expecting me to be undressed. His eyes rake across my body and then darken as his nostrils flare.
“Anyway I want? Anything I want?” he asks. The look he gives me is damn near feral, and it would be useless for me to lie and say I’ve changed my mind when we both know I haven’t. I nod my assent and that spurs him into a flurry of motion. Within seconds I am pushed up against the closed and locked door, his body pinning me there. His tongue is insistently demanding access to my mouth, which I open obligingly to him, and I taste the strong bite of alcohol. The liquor sparks a thought, a reminder that I should balk at the fact that the only reason he’s here is because he’s drunk. But his hands are gripping my ass even as he laps at a nipple, and the shudder that runs through me contradicts any supposed indignation on my part, because I want this. I want whatever he’s willing to give me, whatever I can have. So much so, that I give up everything to him. When he presses down upon my shoulder I easily fall to me knees.
This time it’s his hands that reach for his belt buckle, his hands that unzip his fly, and his hands that fish out his erection. It’s his hands that push his dick between my lips, his hands that grip my hair and hold my head steady as he fucks my mouth. I moan at the taste of him, big and thick and there, filling my mouth. His eyes are closed and he grunts as he picks up speed, sliding just a little bit further in the back of my throat with each pass. It’s been a while since I’ve done this and he’s pretty big around, but I relax my jaw and tilt my head back a little more and on his next thrust he slides down my throat. His eyes fly open when he feels me clench at his arm with my hands, my gag reflex kicking in. He slides out, letting me catch a breath, but his eyes hold a gleam to them, a dangerous look. He doesn’t say anything, but he keeps his eyes on me as he pushes into my mouth again, slower this time, but deeper. When he’s finally worked me up to the point of being able to deep throat his thick erection, he face fucks me that way a few more times.
On the next in stroke he pushes down my throat, and grips my head tight, pressing my face into his groin. Our eyes are locked on each other as he holds in my throat. I don’t pull away, allowing him the access that he wants. But when my lungs begin to burn, I try to move off of him.
“No,” he says, tightening his grip on my head. I try to move again, but he just jerks me in tighter, his wiry pubic hair itching at my nose. “No.” My hand shoots out to grab at his wrists even as his eyes bore into mine, into my soul. My lungs are aching for air, but I release my
grasp on his wrists. He holds me there for a few more seconds but it feels like a lifetime and then he slides out of my mouth. I gasp in a lungful of air and I’m trying to form the words to ask him what his fucking problem is when he says, “I want to fuck you.” Damn if my asshole doesn’t contract just from hearing him speak those words.
Rising from the floor, I lead the way to my bedroom, going directly to my dresser to get condom and lube. When I turn back to him, he’s standing in the doorway, looking like he’s having second thoughts. I’m way too fucking close to having what I’ve craved for so long, so I think quickly to figure out something to get him moving again. I don’t want to approach him for fear that it might make him bolt. So instead, I set the supplies on the end of the bed and crawl upon it, situating myself on hands and knees in the middle of the bed. I spread my legs wide, wiggle my ass in further blatant invitation, as I look over my shoulder and whisper “Fuck me.”
I let my head hang down between my shoulders, close my eyes and wait. I hear the rustle of clothing and then his hands are on my ass, kneading and squeezing. The bed dips under his weight, and moments later a slick finger circles my hole. When he pushes his finger inside both of us groan at the feel. That apparently spurs something in him as he soon replaces his single finger with two. At three fingers I am mewling and shaking with need. “Please,” I moan.
His fingers leave my ass and are immediately replace by his erection. The pace he sets is hard and fast and perfect. When he leans across my back and begins stripping my dick, I almost lose my mind at the intensity of his touch, just this side shy of being too rough, too much. He speaks near my ear, his voice a low sexy growl. “Come on, give it up. You wanted my dick up your ass, wanted me to fuck you. Give it up to me. Come for me. Come now.”
“Oh fuck!” I moan his name as I spurt semen over his rapidly pumping fist. Even before I finish groaning out my release, he sits up, grabs my hips tightly with both hands and thrusts into me hard, deep, about a dozen more times. He stills, buried inside me, and then I feel the heat of his release filling the condom.
After a few moments he slides out of me. Unlocking my arms, I sink down onto the mattress. I hear him remove the condom, tie it off and throw it into the wastebasket by the nightstand. He’s sitting on the side of the bed, neither of us saying anything, and after a while the silence grows awkward. Then he turns off the light on the nightstand, settling the room into darkness. I feel him shift on the bed, and I’m not sure if he’s staying or leaving. Eventually he settles down next to me. After being well-fucked, it takes no time at all before I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.
It’s not a surprise to find him gone later in the morning, when my alarm goes off. Hell, as fucked out as I was, he could have left 10 seconds after I started snoring and I wouldn’t have known. My only question now is how do I deal with what happened a few hours ago? Do I chalk it up to a really good, albeit one-time only experience or the worst fucking mistake I’ve ever made in my life, and I clearly have made enough bad ones to put this up against. The only way I’ll know is when I see him again. I wonder briefly how he’ll respond. Will he be pissy and resentful, making my life miserable, or will he be flirty and solicitous.
He’s neither. He’s just his normal self, same as he was every single day before he fucked my ass. So it looks like we’re back to ‘it never happened’ scenario, which is okay. I can work with that. Really, I can. And it’s doesn’t even matter that the ache in my ass fills me with both happiness and remorse.
Second week of February, 2008
When my phone plays his ringtone at 1:30 in the morning, I’m settled in on my couch watching a DVD. His response to my “Hello” is a terse “Open the door.”
He doesn’t seem drunk, but he still smells of alcohol, as he pushes me against the door, taking my mouth in a hard kiss. I give as good as I get and soon he pulls away panting. He takes my hand and places it on his cock, pushing up into my palm.
Apparently the art of verbal communication has left him because he simply looks at me, waiting on the next move. I’ve never been one for words when action can suffice, so I squeeze his erection lightly, watching his eyes as they watch my hand. I really want him to fuck me again, but I also want to taste him. My oral desires win out, so I pull him over to the position on the couch I’d just vacated.
He seems content to let me drive for the moment, so I make short work of the buttons on his shirt. I don’t remove it, just push it open, framing his full chest. His pants and underwear do have to go as I want complete and unfettered access to him. Kneeling in from of him, I untie the laces to his shoes and he steps out of them. He removes his slacks and underwear under my watchful gaze and sits down on the couch, legs spread wide. His cock is stiff, red-tipped and shiny with fluid. He strokes it a few times to bring a pearl of pre-come to the tip. He smears the fluid on his fingers and then holds them out to me.
“Fuck,” I groan, as I lap at his outstretched hand, my erection further tenting the sweats I have on. While I clean his fingers he uses his other hand to stroke my cheek. Grasping my chin, he lifts my face, making me look at him.
“Suck me. Make me come down your throat.”
It’s all I can do not to come in my pants right then.
I spread his legs wide, moving him forward on the couch so I can get to his balls as well. Then I give him the best damn blowjob I’ve ever given in my life. I suck his cock. I lick his sac. I even stick my tongue back towards his asshole. My jaw aches after a while, but I draw it out, loving the way he moans and bucks beneath me. I bring him to the brink over and over till finally he grabs me by the ears and fucks up into my mouth.
“Damn it,” is the only warning I get from him before he fills my mouth. I swallow and swallow and then swallow some more as he pulses hot, thick and bittersweet. Part of me wants to sit and suck his dick until it goes limp in my mouth, but the other part of me, my dick, is seeking its own relief. He seems to have read my mind as he pulls me up beside him. I shove my sweatpants out of the way and moan as his large hand grips my heated flesh.
“You are so good. I could fuck your mouth all damn day. Put my dick down your throat and make you take my cream,” he whispers in my ear as he strokes me to a violent, shuddering climax.
We sit on the couch for a long time, just getting our breathing back in order. He doesn’t say anything when he begins to button up his shirt. He doesn’t say anything when he pulls on his underwear and pants. Nor when he grabs his coat and walks out the door. Funny thing is neither do I.
Third week of March, 2008
By his fifth visit, a second in February and so far two times in March, I finally give this thing we have a name. I’m having an ‘affair’ with him. I call it an affair because he’s still with her. I am, for all intents and purposes, the other woman. And I’m okay with that, really.
Like anything with him, this affair has its own set of defining parameters, its own set of rules.
There’s the rule about not talking about the affair with anyone, especially our friends, which is understandable, a no-brainer. But that rule also seems to encompass not talking about our affair between ourselves as well.
Then there’s the ‘behind closed doors’ rule, which basically means that I can touch him, can be touched by him, but only as long as its in the confines of MY apartment, and only at the designated times, which is a rule unto itself. The times and dates of our encounters are based upon some algorithm known only to him. I never know what night he will grace me with his presence. He never gives me even the slightest hint, he merely shows up on my doorstep, rings my phone and I let him in - into my apartment, into my bed, into my body, and yeah, into my fucking heart.
First week of June, 2008
It’s really not that hard to be the other woman, except when it really is.
Like when I stopped over by his place today. Yeah, it was an unannounced visit, but we’d been so busy lately, that he hadn’t had a chance to stop over at my apartment. So I figured I’d bring the mountain to Mohammad, as it were. Of course, I remembered the ‘location’ rule, but I figured just this one time it would be okay.
I figured wrong.
She answers his door, dressed in one of his shirts (the shirt he’d worn to work yesterday if I’m not mistaken, and I’m not because I watch him like that) and nothing else on underneath. Nothing. She’s all comfortable and at ease, with a slight flush to her skin, as she greets me, like she owns the fucking place. He comes to the door, standing behind her, before I can backtalk my way out of this. His tone is light, but his eyes are boring into me, disapproval clear in his gaze.
She saunters away to go change, and I am left alone with him, standing in the living room. He’s in a pair of pajama pants, and nothing else, and I know he’s just slipped them on because I still see the rigid outline of his erection. And then it hits me, as I inhale and smell the scent in the air, I interrupted them having sex. Fuck!
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’ll just leave.”
He doesn’t say anything as I make my way to the exit. I only let out the breath I’d been holding when I’m on the other side of the door. My mind reels and my emotions run a mile a minute - hurt warring with jealousy, and anger giving way to resignation. He couldn’t be with me because he was with her, fucking her, loving her, anytime, all the time, and all I ever got was what was left over. And again, I realize how fucked up I am, I don’t want to give up what little I can get. So I’ll continue to settle for the leftovers.
Fourth week of June, 2008
It’s the first time he’s visits since the day I stopped by his place. The sex is hard, fast. But he’s not angry, not really, just frustrated. When it’s all over he gets up to leave. Of course I don’t stop him, I have no right to as I’m just ‘the other woman’. I’m still in bed when I hear the front door close.
Second week of July, 2008
He’s an honorable man, always have been, our current situation notwithstanding. He takes pride in his work. He loves to help, to teach, to nurture and protect. He is an honorable man.
But he’s also just a man. A man with needs and desires. A man with faults.
He stays with her, in their relationship, because he loves her, he doesn’t want to hurt her. He stays with me, in our affair, because he wants to fuck me, he doesn’t want to lose that either. So he splits his time between both our beds.
He is an honorable man, but he’s still just a man.
First week of August, 2008
He almost died. He almost died a week ago, and I’m still reeling from it. I was so close to losing him, so close to losing this. And no matter how much I tried to keep it on a ‘fuck-buddies’ level, I know in my heart that I love him. And he almost died.
Tonight is the first night he’s been over since the incident that nearly took him away from me. And while I resign myself to the fast, hard sex we usually have, I am totally surprised when he takes me slow and gentle, when he holds me when it is over, when he whispers he loves me in my hair after he thought I’d fallen asleep.
Second week of August, 2008
We’re back to sex being hard and fast, but that’s okay, because I know he loves me, it’s not just sex to him. And this time, before he leaves, I break another rule. I ask him if I can see him again, later in the week.
At first he just looks at me, and I think he’s going to ignore my request. Then he tells me, “I’ll try.”
Fourth week of August, 2008
The saying is ‘be careful what you wish for’ and never has an adage been so true. He’s been over to my place at least once or twice a week for the past three weeks. I should be happy, ecstatic. But I’m not. Because each time he smells of sex, he smells of her.
Tonight is the last straw, because when I go down on him, I taste her.
“What the hell. Can’t you at least take a fucking shower before you come to my bed? Is it asking too much for you to wash her scent, her sex, off of you before you come fuck me? I’m sure you never leave my bed with my come all over you and slide between her sheets, do you?”
And he gives me a hard glare. “You were the one who asked me to come by more often. You asked for this.”
“Well if my choices are going back to seeing you once a month, shower fresh, or having you more often and licking her cunt juices from off your dick, I’ll take the former.”
It doesn’t surprise me when he pushes me off him. He dresses quickly, anger simmering just beneath the surface. But what right does he have to be angry at me? He’s at the bedroom door before he turns back to talk to me.
“Do you have any idea how difficult this is for me? What I have to do to try and spend time with you like you asked.”
“Oh I’m sure it’s such a fucking hardship. You spend the night making love to her, and then you come here and fuck me. I feel for you, I really do.” I spit back at him sarcastically.
“Fuck you,” he says.
“You already have,” I reply, turning my back to him. I heard the front door slam and I figure it’s the last I’ll have to worry about his visits anyway.
~#~#~#~ TBC in Part 2 ~#~#~#~